50. Ethan
“Maybe we should install a revolving door,” Myles says dryly as Troy steps aside to let me into the Balmont Boys’s study in the heart of the Devil’s Den. Actually, it’s more a den than a study, but that seems redundant.
“Where is she?” I don’t bother with civility. This woman has me tied up in fucking knots, and I can’t explain it any more than I can try to untangle myself.
“She left,” Smith says from his seat behind the computer at the large chrome-and-glass desk. He flicks back his cuff to glance at his watch and adds, “Over an hour ago, in fact.”
A growl escapes me as I sink down into the nearest sofa. Richmond brings me a beer, and I stare at it for a moment before taking a sip. “Did she interrogate you?”
Myles laughs. “She tried.”
I shake my head, letting out a rough sigh. “Am I really the asshole here? Or should I keep entertaining this delusion she has?”
“She believes there was foul play,” Smith says. “You claimed the same thing with Hearst at one point, too.”
“Yeah, but then I moved on, Smith.” I glare at him, then over at Myles. “I know what it’s like, being stuck in that limbo. Waiting for her to walk in the front door, like she’d just popped out to the shop.”
“You’re sure you never had an appointment with Monroe in April?” Smith says from the back of the room as he gets to his feet.
I growl, and then take another chug of beer. “I told you, I never met Rebecca.” I shake my head. “I was holed up at the penthouse March through June. There was a whole month I didn’t even set foot outside. Angelo handled everything.”
“Even your correspondence?” Smith asks, frowning.
My eyes are glued to my beer for a long moment before I can summon the words. “You know how it was back then. I only stayed sober long enough to find the next bottle of whiskey. I couldn’t deal with anyone back then. Not even myself. Angelo took it upon himself to keep the business going.”
“Why didn’t we speak to Angelo?” Myles asks Smith.
He turns to Myles, arms crossed over his chest. “Because we knew Ethan wasn’t lying about knowing Rebecca.”
“I’ll try to explain it to her.” I study my nearly empty beer and take another sip. “If she’ll even fucking talk to me.”
There’s a long, pensive silence, and it reminds me of unpleasant times. Nothing could bring down a mood like me walking into a room back when Becks first ran off.
I was sullen, violent, and willing to do anything to get out of my own head. That was the first time I began receiving complaints from Devil’s Den clients.
The Den is a safe place. The Balmont Boys had strict protocols in place to protect their clients.
Safe words.
Hard limits.
I began ignoring them all.
“Cordelia!” Rich announces.
“Oh, yes, I almost forgot,” Myles says, leering at me. “The happy couple have set a date. Have you decided who you want to work with yet? Seems Cassidy isn’t very keen, but you still have a bit of time to persuade her.”
I grind my teeth. “Really? This? Now?”
“A few hours of your time seems more than a fair trade for the hours we put into finding Rebecca.”
“Cordelia!” Rich yells.
Everyone in the room turns to look at him like he’s lost his mind.
“Easy on the coke there, chap,” Myles says, mildly annoyed at being interrupted. “We’re in the middle of it now.”
Rich snaps his fingers, storming up to me. “No, no, see, I couldn’t think of her name for the fucking life of me until you walked in.”
I stiffen when he prods a finger into my pec.
“It was Cordelia!”
I glance over at Myles, who sighs and runs a hand over his face. Smith is staring at Rich with narrowed eyes, and doesn’t even bother to make eye contact with me when I look over at him.
Firmly removing Rich’s finger, I let out a slow breath. “I thought you went to rehab.”
He shakes his head, eyes unnaturally bright. Jesus, how much coke has he had tonight?
“The opal. I recognized it. Always liked opals. All those colors.”
Christ, I want to punch this guy. But that’s not exactly a new, or a unique experience. Myles gave him the scar on his face.
Smith walks up, grabs Rich’s shirt, and tugs the man to face him. “Are you talking about Cassidy’s necklace?”
The black opal. I never even got around to telling her about it after she asked me what it was in the library. Fuck, that feels like centuries ago.
“Yes. Yes! I’ve seen it before.” Rich drops his eyes, shakes his head. “Not the necklace. The earrings.”
“She wasn’t wearing any earrings,” I say calmly, quietly. Like anything louder would shatter the fragile chrysalis containing my reality.
“Exactly!” Rich snaps his fingers again. Smith grabs his hand like he wants to snap those fingers, too. In half. “Because Cordelia was wearing them.”
I stare at Smith. “What the hell is he talking about?”
“Where’d she get them, Rich?” Smith asks, and it’s probably the first time I’ve ever heard him sounding rattled before.
Rich grimaces. “Wedding present from her husband. He bought them from Angelo.”
Smith shakes his head as he turns to look at me. “We have a problem. A big fucking problem.”