Chapter 4
What happens to someone when the obsession runs so deep, they can’t avoid it any longer? What happens to their soul as it chews them up from within, warping them into something akin to a monster? I’ve pursued countless leads that brought me nowhere.
Photos.
Messages.
Even the smallest likeness to her, I’ve jumped to my feet, ready to find her.
Only to be left disappointed again.
I think about the large amounts of cash I’ve spent on private investigators, photographers, mercenaries, and even cops, all for it to come back with no leads.
Maybe she died. Emmett’s voice echoes through my head, and I remind myself of where I am by bringing my attention to Miss Isla Knight, the one person who might just be the key to everything. Or the one person to ruin it all.
I watched her as she tried to keep her composure beneath my intensity. I could tell by the way her shoulders were set that she was unsure if she should believe me or not. She doesn’t realise the game she’s playing. She thinks she’s the one in control, but I can see that it’s all an act.
The first meeting had gone according to plan. I knew how to get into people’s heads, and I welcomed the challenge Isla brought with her cold professionalism and sharp intellect. I needed someone like her who would dig, someone who thought they were above it all. Someone who couldn’t be manipulated.
But I can see the chinks in her armour. I saw the way she looked at me when we first met.
There was a curiosity there, beneath all the hardness and restraint.
It was a small spark, but it was still there.
People tell themselves they can resist involving themselves more than they need to, but it’s all a fucking farce.
Humans are curious creatures, and I know that it’ll get the better of her. She just needs a little…coaxing.
I knew that about her. That she tried to hide behind her work. I saw the way her eyes lingered far too long on my arms, the way she clenched her fists, attempting to keep her calm, but the subtle shift in her voice when I said her name proved to me just how easy it would be to manipulate her.
She asked me to be honest with her, but is omitting the slightest truth lying?
I don’t care.
She’s the only one who can ensure I don’t spend another day in prison, and I’ll play her like a fucking puppet to get what I want.
“What time did you leave Mr Albani’s penthouse?” she asks, direct and purposeful.
Now I can confirm she’s trying to convince herself she isn’t affected by me. With the way she crosses her legs, pressing them together, the way she idly fidgets with her fingers.
Do I make her nervous?
She purses her lips, waiting for my answer, and I lean back in my chair, the chains sliding on the metal table.
“I don’t know. The night is still fuzzy in my mind. I was angry that night, so I didn’t take notice of the time.”
She shakes her head, crossing her arms as she stares me down.
“How long is it going to take for you to get me out on bail?” My question visibly irritates her, and I absolutely love watching her body react as I get under her skin.
The flare of her nostrils, the pursing of her lips, it’s all enough to fill my confidence that once I’m out of here, she’ll bend at my will, squirm beneath my weight, and give me everything I need to get into her mind.
Maybe even her pants, too.
“That’s my job, and right now, you’re not making it any easier.”
“Is that all this is to you?” I gesture between us. “Just a job?”
She keeps her composure, and it’s obvious she’s gone through this before. I wouldn’t blame anyone for hitting on their attorney when they look anything like Isla. Midnight hair, cascading past her breasts in a mild wave, perfectly sculpted cherry red lips that I’d happily trace with my tongue.
Delusional of me to think she’d want someone like me, especially with the large fucking rock sitting on her finger like the damn Titanic.
“Why else would I be here?” she asks.
Others would not be able to pick up on the subtle shift in her demeanour or the slight straightening of her spine, but maybe that’s the difference between me and others.
“No,” I say, leaning forward across the table, my voice low. “You’re here because you enjoy the thrill and rush of knowing you can bend the rules. It gives you a sense of superiority.” I purposely extend my arms further until my hands almost brush hers on the table.
“You want to believe I didn’t kill Tony,” I whisper.
A silence hangs between us as she studies me, but I can see the glimpse of temptation in her eyes.
“Malik…”
God, the way she says my name makes me want to suck the air out of her lungs. I’m here because I need something from her, and she’s making it so difficult by looking at me with her cat-like hazel eyes, darkened by the makeup around them.
“You’ll get your truth, Isla. I’m betting on you to find it. But when you do, don’t be surprised if it changes you,” I whisper.
The truth she’s searching for is something she isn’t ready to hear. At least not yet. There are other truths she must face first, before this one upends her life.
Such as what’s hidden in her fiancé’s glove box. The dirty motherfucker sneaks around, and because she’s always working, she never notices. Or maybe she does and refuses to do anything about it because she’s afraid.
Emmett did some digging to find the perfect lawyer with a track record of wins, and in order for me to hire her, I needed to know everything about her life.
I know her clientele because I work for them.
Gangsters who deal drugs, own multiple fronts as establishments, and don’t really care who they have to step on to get what they want.
For her to take this case was a big deal.
I know she’s represented them—it was all over the papers—but she’s never taken on someone like me before, and I’m surprised she said yes.
When the silence becomes deafening, the tension thicker than her delicious thighs, I watch her swallow. Her jaw tightens, and I see the smallest flicker of desire in her eyes.
Is it because she wants to win…
Or is it me?
“You don’t trust me, do you?”
“Should I?” she asks.
I stand, looking down at her, still seated, her round breasts sitting neatly beneath her black blouse, the only fucking colour she seemingly likes to wear.
Leaning forward, I place both hands on the table, my face an inch away from hers.
Coursing electricity jolts through me at the slightest contact of her skin on mine as our fingers brush.
Just as I notice her sharp inhale and hesitation, she quickly pulls away.
“Mr Faris—”
“Don’t be afraid to embrace that side of you.” My eyes drop to her plump lips. Since that night in her office, I’ve wondered what words they’ve spoken, what food they’ve eaten, and what sounds crept between them when she was aroused.
No.
I feel it then, as I stare into her eyes, the flicker in my chest, once there when I was a boy, before the world labelled me a monster.
Before I was hardened by the unforgivable things I have done.
But how?
Not since her.
Not since I saw her face at the orphanage.
I smile at the obvious curiosity in her face, ignoring the foreign feeling inside me. She doesn’t understand what she’s feeling or how deep she’s about to fall into my trap, the one I’ve worked so hard to set.
I inch into her space, and she remains still.
“Get me out of these chains, Isla, before I break out of them myself.”