Chapter 33
THIRTY-THREE
CORA
When Cressida dropped me off at my apartment, she told me not to let anyone inside.
While I don’t know her well, there was something in her tone and the fact that she has knowledge of Soren and Arlo’s extracurricular activities that makes her hard to ignore.
I gave her a confused look, and she just said to trust her.
So an hour later, when I’m undressing, and a knock sounds on my door, I immediately freeze.
With a calming breath, I walk to the door, look out the peephole, and see Arlo standing there. His hands are tucked into his pockets as he stares at the door as if, by some strange will of magic, it will open if he glares at it hard enough.
Does he plan to break in again?
Should I be calling the police already?
He focuses his gaze on the peephole like he knows I’m watching him, and he says, “Do you plan to let me in?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I’m on my period. We can’t fuck, so there’s no reason for you to be here.”
“A little blood on a man’s sword never hurt anyone.” My mouth opens in shock at his crass words, and I remember the blood from the last time we were together. It didn’t bother him.
“Let me in, Cora.”
“No! Should I call the police again?” I yell.
“Cora.” His voice is calm. “Let me in.”
“No,” I repeat, but a part of me is itching to let him in.
“Those beads I choked you with…” I wait for him to continue.
“They’re the same beads I killed my foster mother with.
” His confession makes my body lock up tight.
“She would beat me with whatever she could find, and when I was on the floor and could no longer fight back, she would strangle me with them until I passed out.”
My back hits the wall near the door as I listen to him.
Why is he telling me all this? I never asked him.
But I have. I asked him why he wore them, and he told me they were a means of control. His tone is emotionless, indifferent, but I can feel the hurt he tries to keep buried. Knowing he went through all that as a kid has me hurting for him.
“I took that weapon and made it my own,” he says, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Before I can stop myself, my hand wraps around the doorknob and pulls it open.
“Why did you tell me that?” I whisper, my gaze snagging on the ever-present beads clutched in his fist. I should be disgusted with what he just told me—that he knowingly took a life—but I’m not. I think that’s what disturbs me more than his confession.
“It was personal. I want you to know the only person who knows that is Soren.”
“Do you plan to kill me because I know?”
“Of course not.” He lifts his hand to my cheek. “That thought actually pains me.”
“But you’re a bad man, aren’t you?” Everything points in that direction, no matter what his job might be. No matter how much he helps people, this man in front of me isn’t a good person.
“I am bad, yes,” he affirms as his thumb strokes my jaw. “I do bad things, and I enjoy them.”
“Would you kill me?” I ask, my hands trembling at my sides.
“Never. And I would never let another soul hurt you.” Don’t ask me why, but I believe him. “Can I stay?”
“I’m tired,” I whisper.
“Let’s go to bed.” He closes the door behind him and then bands his arms around me. My legs go around his waist as he lifts me. “Do you think I’ll wake up being handcuffed again?” he teases.
I lay my head on his shoulder. “Only if you ask nicely.”
I feel his chest rumble with soft laughter before we enter my room.
He lays me down and hovers over me as I let go of him.
Standing, he removes his shirt, followed by kicking off his shoes and then dropping his trousers.
He grabs the blanket at the end of the bed before he climbs in next to me, and he pulls it over us.
His arm hooks around my waist, and he turns me, pulling me into the curve of his body.
“Go to sleep, Cora.”
True to his word, he doesn’t try anything.
He simply holds me all night.
* * *
I thought he would still be in bed with me the next morning.
So I’m actually surprised he isn’t.
His smell still lingers on my bedsheets, but there is no sign of him.
When I get up, I find a croissant and a cup of coffee on the counter. As I pick up the mug, I feel it’s still warm. A small smile plays on my lips at the thought of him leaving and going to get me breakfast, and then coming back.
I look around my apartment for any indication he might still be here somewhere, but then I hear my phone ding from the bedroom. I head back to my room to find he’s sent me two messages.
Arlo: I had an emergency at work.
Arlo: Come to dinner with my friends and me tonight.
I’m not sure if I want to be around him and his friends tonight.
I feel like he keeps a lot of secrets from me; he’s quite the mystery I can’t seem to crack.
I also think that if I dig any deeper, that could be dangerous.
Cressida told me to be careful, but I can’t help it.
I let the man into my home, my bed, and my body, so it’s only natural to want to know the person getting so close to you, right?
I know parts of him, and I’m thankful he’s shared those things with me. I haven’t had to share too much for the simple fact that he already looked into me. He knows my mother is the most important thing in my life.
I get ready for the day because I need to visit her. I open the kitchen cupboard where I store several bars of white chocolate and grab one. I drink the coffee, then head outside to find Matty waiting for me.
The drive goes by very quickly as I answer a few emails and do some work.
I never dreamed of being a real estate agent growing up.
Honestly, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my life.
I just knew I wanted to do something that would make me a lot of money.
At first, real estate paid me fuck all. But when I landed my first big sale, I remember the adrenaline rush that came with it and the realization that I was going to get a substantial payday for all the hard work. And now I’m addicted and can’t stop.
“I won’t be long,” I tell Matty as I get out of the car.
I sign in at the reception desk and pull out my wallet to pay the bill when the nurse waves a hand at me.
“It’s been covered for the next five years.”
I look at her, confused. “What? I don’t have any family, so no one else would pay for my mother but me.” The smile wipes from her face, and she looks down at the computer and types something before she looks back up.
“Sorry. It’s definitely all paid.”
“Can you tell me by whom?” I ask her, leaning over to see if I can spot who might have done this.
“I would, but it was all done over the phone. Anonymous,” she says and smiles.
“What a blessing.” I stand there a moment longer, stunned, before walking to Mom’s room with my mind reeling.
With every slow step, I let a multitude of feelings wash over me: relief that this weight has been lifted off my shoulders, sheer disbelief that someone would do something like this—for Mom, and for me.
Warmth and appreciation because I’ve been on my own, working so hard—for so long…
and yet someone out there is taking care of us Ashford women, even from a distance.
Once again, I find a fresh bouquet of flowers sitting on her bedside table. Who the hell keeps sending her flowers? Who the fuck paid all that money for her care?
I take a seat across from her, not kissing her cheek this time.
She’s to the point where she doesn’t recognize me anymore, so I don’t want to freak her out by having her think a stranger is kissing her.
I ask her how she is, and she answers me today.
Some days, she doesn’t. Then I pull out the chocolate.
How her eyes sparkle at the sight of it, and she immediately reaches for it, so I give it to her.
I tell her about how my week has been, but she doesn’t really pay much attention. After an hour has passed, I realize she isn’t going to talk to me, so I get up and leave.
I always try my best not to cry, as crying is seen as a sign of weakness.
At least that’s what one of my mom’s husbands told me.
I actually think he was weak because shortly after we received her diagnosis, he left her, which suited me just fine.
She and I are each other’s constants in life.
I detested all her husbands and would hate to deal with any of them now.
On the car ride to the office, I finally message Arlo to ask him for the address for tonight. He tells me it’s at his restaurant and that he can pick me up. I request that he not and tell him I’ll meet him there. For some reason, he doesn’t argue.
When I’m settled at my desk, I get to work on some last-minute contracts, which end up taking me well into the afternoon, and it’s not until Matty calls from out front that I realize the time.
Quickly gathering my things, I then head out to the car.
Matty drives me home so I can get changed.
I’m already late, but that was not my intention.
I put on a short skirt and a button-up shirt.
My hair is already styled, so I keep it the way it is and then proceed to slip on my red-bottomed heels before I step out the door.
When I arrive at the restaurant, I wonder if I should ask Arlo if we’re something more than fuck buddies. What are we doing if it’s not just having sex? I haven’t shared with him that no-strings sex isn’t what I’m looking for. Yet, I keep giving in.
When I push open the door, the restaurant is quieter than usual. I hear soft music but don’t see many people.
“Mr. Graves said to escort you to the back,” the hostess says when I approach.
She starts walking, expecting me to follow.
I check my watch and note that it’s past dinner time, and when I raise my head, I see Arlo and his friends sitting in booths at the back with a few other women.
He spots me right away, his gaze tracking me as I make my way toward him.
Arlo doesn’t bother standing when I stop at his table; instead, he looks around before pinning his gaze back on me.
He smirks as he pats his thigh, indicating for me to sit on it.
I raise a brow at him as if to say, “Really?” and he raises his right back before he pulls me down onto his lap.
“Your friends,” I fret, noticing others watching.
“They can look,” he says, caressing my cheek with his knuckles. “Did you miss me this morning?”
“Thank you for the food.”
“Pleasure to meet you under different circumstances, Cora.”
I turn and see the detective, Boston, standing there. He offers me his hand, and I lift mine to shake it. But as I do, Arlo adjusts me so I can no longer reach.
“Probably best you don’t touch what’s mine,” he says, a warning note in his tone as he stares at his friend.
“Yours?” I scoff.
Arlo doesn’t respond, just continues his stare down.
“Of course. Nice to see you again, Cora,” Boston says.
I glance around again, only to find the others watching us.
“Who are these people?” I whisper.
“Most work for me. Or they’re my competition. Every now and then, we have a night when we meet up.”
“So, they’re all therapists?” I question as his hand rubs up and down my back.
He leans in and whispers, “No, most of them are killers.”
I freeze at his words, and I feel his grin as he kisses my shoulder through my shirt.