Chapter 6
CORA
Ipull my white fur coat tighter around me as the block of flats tower before me.
Snow settles in my eyelashes. I blink them away and wrinkle my nose as I turn back to the taxi driver pulling out my brown custom embossed luggage.
The driver struggles with the two trunks and my duffle bag.
He puts them down onto the wet ground and I let out a small squeal.
It doesn’t matter, it’s just a bag. Relax, Cora, you can just order a new one as soon as you get upstairs.
“Fifty quid please, love.” The driver barks. What did that mean? Was that slang for pounds? I giggle at the absurdity of carrying cash. The driver raises a thick, unruly eyebrow at me which cuts my laugh short.
“I only have a card, is that okay?” I ask, suddenly frightened he would put my bags back into the car and demand that I return to my father and marry the Duke of Devonshire.
He sighs and shakes his head as he reaches into the taxi and pulls out a portable card machine. It beeps upon contact.
“Now, I’m on floor eleven if you wouldn’t—um, excuse me! Where do you think you're going?” The driver is getting back into his seat. Panic rises inside of me. He doesn’t so much as look at me as he drives away, leaving me stranded in the cold.
I clutch the fur tighter.
“Oh bollocks. What ever happened to chivalry?” I sigh, the cold night air bites at my cheeks as it hits my lungs and steals my breath.
Well there’s nothing for it. This whole expedition is about taking back control of my life and helping my friend out of a mess that I’m responsible for.
I can carry my own luggage. This is fine.
I get to the third floor before I collapse. Why had I brought so much with me?
I sit on the floor in the hallway, letting my head lean against the beige wall behind me. So far my adventure is miserable and cold.
Who the hell builds these buildings and then doesn’t install an elevator?
My hands ache from the leather handles of my luggage that has cut into my skin as I dragged them up step by step.
I have to do this. Louisa needs me. Frankie needs me.
I gather my strength and heave myself up onto my feet. They’re numb from the cold, which I am thankful for; the heels on these boots are unforgiving but vital to the outfit.
I replay what had happened in the maze with each step. Daphne’s screams echo in my head with each click of my heel.
I’m pretty sure I have PTSD at this point, but that is surely nothing compared to what Louisa is going through.
I bet she’s wracked with guilt at what she’d done that night.
Then again, the way her eyes had turned…
A shiver runs down my spine at the memory.
I’d convinced myself at the time that it was simply a trick of the moonlight, but I could have sworn her eyes turned silver as the stone came down over Daphne.
An odd stillness had settled over her too.
The entire ordeal was eerie, and I had a gut feeling that it had everything to do with Benjamin Grenville.
The great brute.
I’d been taught never to question the rumours that surrounded the Grenville’s.
The elders of our social circle were terrified of them, but I never knew why.
I wasn’t considered important enough to be graced with the information everyone else seemed to have about them.
But still, I had listened intently at the soirées and from behind closed doors.
It was the world’s best and worst kept secret.
I understood a long time ago that certain things were to be kept a secret from the majority of the population or else they would cause mass hysteria. My world, the world of the 5%, ran on a delicate set of rules and the balance of it could never be tipped.
My role in society is to pop out as many heirs as I can. Girls are groomed to hope for nothing more or less. But things are changing. The internet brings ideas and theories crashing down into our world like a burning meteor. And we have unlimited access to it.
I want more.
And here I am, desperately trying to prove it. With nothing but Father’s black card and three trunks of clothes to my name. I should commission a memoir about this.
I slip on the next step. My head comes down onto the edge of the stairs with a sickening thud and stars dance across my vision.
God I’m useless! Who am I kidding coming here? What use will I be to anyone? I open my eyes and my gaze falls on the floor number that had been painted onto the wall in big bold letters. A smile creeps up my face.
FLOOR 11
I made it.
Almost.
Not wanting to tempt fate again, I drag my bags up one by one and begin my search down the corridor for Frankie’s flat number.
A new buzz of anticipation begins in the depths of my stomach.
It had been a while since I had seen him last. If you don’t count stalking his Instagram (which he rarely updates) and following his every move in the tabloids.
My cheeks glow pink as I remember the way his muscles had rippled when he took off his shirt.
And the tattoos… god that boy is a work of art.
Get it together, you daft cow.
What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if he doesn’t believe me when I tell him that I think that Grenvilles are behind everything? I’ve come too far to turn back now. I look up at the door, the number 101 written across it in small black letters. It’s now or never.
I knock on the door and take a deep breath in, ignoring the aching in my lungs.
Movement sounds from inside but nothing prepares me for the sight behind the door.
If it wasn’t for the hideous beard, I’m sure that my knees would have buckled.
Frankie is wearing a pair of grey joggers that make my throat dry and leave little to the imagination, paired with a matching grey hoodie that no doubt smells like him.
He is also pale and gaunt, the tattoos peeking out from the neck rim of his T-shirt are stark against his skin.
I clench my suitcase harder to stop me flinging my arms around him.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” And all thoughts of a romantic reunion quickly evaporate upon hearing the tone of his voice.
“Well, that's no way to greet someone who’s here to help you.” I give him my best cheery smile, it's genuine but I had also been taught the art of dazzling the male species into doing whatever I please. But apparently, my pearly whites are not enough to blind Frankie. He looks at me like I’m a ghost.
“No, seriously. What the fuck are you doing here?” His eyes are wide as he frantically searches the hallway.
Unhinged paranoia is the only way I can describe his features right now.
Dark circles beneath his eyes make him look half dead.
All traces of the charming, cheeky chappy I had met at the rugby game have disappeared, hidden now behind a thick veil of grief and stress.
“I came to help you look for Lousia.” I hope he hears the sincerity in my voice. It’s the truth, albeit my fault she’s gone in the first place.
Frankie pulls the door open wide and gestures for me to enter. It smells like sweaty balls in here and makes me crinkle my nose. Empty takeaway containers and bottles of alcohol litter the space.
This is the home of a man who needs help.
“No offense, but there’s nothing you can do to help. You shouldn’t be here, it’s not safe for—” The sentence dies on his lips. I know what he’s going to say. Perhaps it’s not always the poor that fall beneath the sword of judgment.
“For someone like me.” I finish for him.
Frankie shoves his hands in his pockets and clenches his jaw at the harshness in my voice. “Exactly. Posh birds and the streets don’t mix well.”
It’s a punch to the stomach. But what did I expect? That he would hug me and tell me he was glad to see me? I had basically destroyed his life. He probably hates me.
“Well, lucky for you, this posh bird managed to find her way off the street and into your flat. Besides, I'm not here for you. Louisa would want someone to take care of you while she’s—away. And you need a serious PR overhaul.” My god, why can I not stop talking?
“The fuck is a PR overhall?”
“Um, well, you’ve been in the papers alot and— It would help your sister's image a little better if you dressed more appropriately.”
Frankie’s eyes narrow. “So you’re telling me the reason you came all the way here is to give me a makeover?
” He lets out a laugh that holds no humour and runs a hand through his messy hair.
“You do understand I couldn’t give a fuck about any of that shit right?
And lets get this straight, my sister isn’t away on holiday.
She’s being tortured and held against her will.
Just call it what it is.” Frankie picks up the half drunk bottle of whiskey from the floor and slumps down onto the white sofa that is littered in stains.
I snatch the bottle out of his hands, ignoring his protests as I walk over to the sink and pour the amber liquid down the drain.
“No, please don't pour that?—”
“Too late. Perhaps if you drink less then you’ll be quicker at catching me next time.” I smirk as the last drop hits the sink. Frankie’s deep brown eyes light up with rage for a split second before he slumps back against the cushions. Good, at least he’s feeling something.
“Please, just leave me alone Cora.” He’s so lost, which isn’t surprising considering death seems to follow him wherever he goes.
I could leave now, and at least I’d be truthful when I said that I’d tried.
But I can’t shake the feeling that I need to stay.
Something in my gut is telling me he needs me and that he holds the missing piece to this terrifying puzzle.
That part will have to be dealt with delicately.
I’d have to lay the groundwork before he spills the tea on what really happened that night that Lousia was kidnapped.
“No.” I say assertively. Frankie keeps his eyes fixed on the blank TV screen in front of him. “I’m not going anywhere, Frankie. Not until you’ve got your act together.” My fingernails drum against the kitchen sink as I wait for him to try and kick me out again.
“I don’t want your help. I don’t deserve it. I deserve all of this—” He gestures to the mess surrounding him. “—after the things I’ve done.” He murmurs as he tilts his head back to gaze up at the ceiling.
“Frankie, you didn’t do anything wrong, none of this is?—”
“Isn’t it? If only you knew. Then you wouldn’t come in here looking all bright eyed and hopeful. I’m a fucking hazard to be around.”
My brows furrow together. What could he have possibly done to make him think that he earned this existence? “Try me. Tell me everything. Then I’ll leave if that’s still what you want me to do.” I say as I walk back over to him and take a seat on the settee next to him.
Frankie’s head lolls forward, a strand of his dark brown hair falling over his forehead. “I’m the biggest fucking drug dealer in Birmingham.” He narrows his eyes at me again, waiting for my reaction. I roll my eyes.
“Seriously? That’s your big secret? I gathered that when you showed up at the university with a bag full of drugs.” I raise an eyebrow at him and smirk which makes his jaw tick.
“I’m also the shittest drug dealer in Birmingham.”
“Right now I’d have to agree with you. Aren't you supposed to walk around wearing a suit and barking orders at your henchman?” A spark appears in his eyes. Yes! I’m getting somewhere!
“My dad went to prison because I fucked up.”
That I had also gathered. “Shock.”
“That deal was meant to be mine, but I didn’t want to go because I was too busy getting fucked up in a nightclub.
So Oscar, my sister’s dickhead ex, went instead of me, but he fucked it up too.
I got there just in time to watch my sister cave that fucker’s head in.
She’s got a thing for heavy objects you see—” My eyes widen in shock and finally he grins.
“Ha! I win! Now fuck off, before the wicked witch of West Birmingham comes back and finds out I’ve told you her secret.”
What the fuck?!
“Wait, wait, wait. Louisa killed someone before Professor Daphne?” And here I’d been, thinking this poor girl’s soul was mangled by murdering someone to protect me.
“Yep. Lou got the full works when it comes to the Garrick temper. If she’d been born with a cock, she’d be running this shit. That’s how my dad ended up in prison. He took the fall for her.” The pieces of the Garrick family history are beginning to come together in my head.
“Anyway, you’ve got to go. I have an important meeting to get to, and you can’t stay here.”
I scoff, my mind reeling at all of the new information about my friend. Her past had not been as clear cut as I had thought, which only puzzles me further. My hands twitch for my phone, I need to speak to Bella.
But there’s something more pressing before me. “You’re going to a meeting half pissed and dressed like that? I thought you were the biggest drug dealer around!” I smirk, but my humour is only met with his hard gaze.
“I killed a Russian tonight, this place is on the brink of war, and I can’t have you anywhere near it. These people don’t give a fuck who your daddy is or how much money you’ve got. They’ll take you out without blinking. Especially if they think you have ties to me.”
I swallow. “Well, my ‘daddy’ won’t want much to do with me right now. I stole his black card and refused to marry the Duke of Devonshire.” I fiddle with my hands, looking anywhere but at him.
“Why?” Frankie wrapped his hand around the bottom of my jaw and pulled me up to meet his eyes. My god he’s gorgeous. Even in his dishevelled state he still gives me butterflies.
“Um, well, because you need me.” It comes out as a whisper and I savour how warm his hand feels against my skin.
“Full of surprises, Cora Stanley.” His eyes flick down to my lips.
Oh my god, is he about to kiss me? I’d never kissed anyone with a beard before. I’d always imagined it to be like an uncomfortable exfoliation treatment. “How do you know my last name?” I ask as my heart rate increases.
He’s inches from my face now.
“You’re not the only one who keeps an eye out for their friends.” Frankie smiles and releases my jaw. Right, that’s right. We're friends.
“Fine, I’ll let you dress me up like a Ken doll. You can’t stay here in my flat though, I have company in the spare room. Do you have somewhere you can go while I’m at this meeting?” Oh. Someone else was here? A girlfriend? My stomach drops.
“Yes, I rented the flat down the hall for a few weeks.” He smiles a little brighter, as if he hadn’t just shattered my heart into a thousand pieces.