Chapter 2 Colecion
AWeek Later
My life had become a complete disaster, and very quickly. Between constantly looking over my shoulder, wondering if today was the day Lesley decided I was too much of a liability to keep breathing, I was barely holding it together.
Hiding out in this downtown hotel was the best thing I could think of doing, though I knew it probably wouldn’t make a real difference. If he wanted to find me, he would. At least here, surrounded by other guests and hotel staff, I felt marginally safer than I did alone in my home.
Pilates was the only thing that kept me from spinning out completely.
The routine. The burn. The silence. I wasn’t trying to find peace; I just needed somewhere to put all the energy I’d been bottling up since Friday night.
I could still smell him in my home, that cologne, that presence that seemed to linger in every room like smoke.
Lesley Grimson hadn’t called. Hadn’t texted.
Hadn’t sent one of his silent, brooding messengers with some half-coded message meant to check my temperature.
Instead, he sent jewelry. Van Cleef, Alhambra, yellow gold, mother of pearl—tasteful but undeniable.
It sat heavily on my wrist and neck as I walked back from my morning workout. I hadn’t taken it off since it arrived.
But I wasn’t stupid. A gift like that wasn’t just an apology. It was a warning. A claim. A line drawn in the sand, but he couldn’t buy me.
My phone buzzed as I reached the hotel lobby.
Unknown: Marry Me.
I stopped dead in my tracks, my hand frozen on the elevator button. Not “Will you marry me?” Not even a question. Just a command, delivered the same way he probably ordered his morning coffee.
My brows knitted together before I even realized I was reacting.
Him. It had to be. Completely unserious at the most serious time.
I knew what I’d seen in that basement. Knew what it meant.
And I knew that in his world, witnesses didn’t usually get to walk away with their lives, let alone jewelry and pet names.
I stared at the screen, thumb hovering. The audacity should have made me angry, but underneath it, I heard desperation, maybe. Or strategy. With Lesley Grimson, it was hard to tell the difference.
Finally, I typed one word, “No,” and hit send before I could overthink it. He didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.
Back in my room, every option felt impossible. Stay quiet and hope. Run and end up alone again. Or marry a man who could make me disappear. A proposal. In the middle of this nightmare.
The knock on my door made me freeze, fork halfway to my mouth with the sad room service salad I’d ordered. My heart started racing the way it had been doing constantly for the past seven days.
“Room service,” came a muffled voice from the other side of the door.
I exhaled slowly. I hadn’t ordered anything else, but maybe they’d made a mistake.
I crept to the peephole and looked out. A young Black man in a hotel uniform stood there with a covered tray, looking bored and checking his phone. He looked harmless enough, but at this point, I didn’t trust anyone.
“I didn’t order anything else.”
“Says here room 412, Colecion Outlaw. Compliments of the house.”
My blood turned to ice. I’d registered under Sarah Mitchell, paid cash. The only way anyone would know my real name was if they’d been watching me.
“Just... leave it outside the door.”
“Ma’am, I need a signature.”
My hands were shaking as I grabbed my phone, ready to dial 911 if I needed to.
But what would I tell them? That I was hiding from a man who might want to kill me because I witnessed a murder I couldn’t prove happened?
Because by now I was sure Cyrus was gone, buried in whatever way men like Lesley buried problems. Dead, and not coming back.
I opened the door with the chain still attached, trying to see what was on the tray. The server looked young, maybe college-aged, definitely not the type of person Lesley Grimson would send to handle his problems.
“What is it?” I asked.
He lifted the silver dome, revealing a single white envelope on fine stationery, along with a bottle of expensive champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries.
“There’s a card,” he said, holding up the envelope.
Against my better judgment, I unlocked the chain and opened the door fully, taking the envelope with trembling fingers. The hotel employee waited while I tore it open.
Colecion,
Hiding from me in a downtown hotel isn’t necessary. If I wanted you touched, you’d already be touched. We need to talk. Meet me at Sasha Roe tonight at 8 PM. Come alone. Don’t make me come get you.
-L
I stared at the note, reading it three times before the words really sank in.
He knew where I was and probably knew this whole time.
The second piece of paper was a receipt and check, comping my room.
I was stunned and appreciative. I wasn't broke by any means, but the gesture said more than the money — he’d thought about me beyond the threat.
“Ma’am?” The server was looking at me with concern. “You okay? You need me to call someone?”
“No,” I said quickly, folding the note and shoving it into my pocket. “No, I’m fine. Thank you.”
I tipped him and closed the door, sliding the chain lock back into place like that would somehow keep the most dangerous man in Coupeville from getting to me if he wanted to.
I looked at the champagne and strawberries and almost laughed. What kind of man sent romantic gifts along with what was essentially a summons? The same kind of man who called you ‘pretty baby’ after killing a man.
Damn, what had I gotten myself into?
I’d spent the last week replaying that night over and over in my head. The way he’d moved down those basement stairs. The casual way he’d removed his expensive suit jacket before... before doing what he did to that man. Cyrus. That was the name he’d used.
But I also couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d looked at me all evening during dinner.
The way his eyes had followed me around the room, like he was studying me, learning me.
The way he’d said my name made it sound like he was tasting it, testing it to see how it rolled.
In fact, I’d always hated my name; I preferred Coco.
No one had ever made my name feel so sensual.
And the way my body reacted when he pressed me against that wall, even though I was terrified. Being that close to him had my pulse racing in ways fear couldn't explain.
I had to be losing my mind. Normal people who saw murders ran to the cops; they didn’t replay the killer’s cologne or the sound of his voice in their heads. But I wasn’t normal, I’d always been clear on that.
Fear said run. Curiosity said stay. I’d always had terrible taste in which one I listened to.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. A text.
Unknown: Wear red.
He was absolutely insane. I walked to the window and looked down at the street below, scanning for anyone who might be watching, but all I saw were normal people going about their normal lives.
People who probably didn’t know what it was like to be caught between a rock and a hard place with no good options.
Another text came through:
Unknown: 8 PM, Colecion. Don’t be late.
I stared at the message for a long time, weighing my options.
I could not show up. I could pack my things and leave Coupeville tonight, drive until I ran out of gas, and start over somewhere new with what little money I had saved.
Then I thought about reality. He’d found me here, in a hotel I’d checked into under a fake name.
Geography wasn’t going to stop him from finding me.
I needed to do this. At least if I met him in a public restaurant, there would be witnesses. He couldn’t just make me disappear in front of a room full of diners.
Could he?
He could, but I was done going round and round about it. I flopped down on the small couch and enjoyed the delicious strawberries. I’d save the Champagne for later on, as a pregame beverage. I’d need something to help me shake the nerves.
I’d left the hotel behind and gone home.
If this was my last night, I wasn’t stepping into it basic.
I was stepping into it fine as hell. And that meant pulling from my own closet at the house I paid for, laughed in, cried in.
The one I thought would be mine forever, before life reminded me nothing lasts.
I stared at the dark circles, flat hair, and stress written all over me in the bathroom mirror, which pissed me off.
I was innocent in all of this. But it looked like I was the one paying for this.
He was probably sleeping just fine. Unbothered.
Meanwhile, I was standing in my bathroom looking like I’d lost a fight I never asked to be in.
I ran the bath, knowing that soon I’d either get answers from Lesley Grimson or vanish for good.
Either way, I was about to learn what it meant to catch the attention of a man who could kill me with his hands and still send champagne and strawberries.
God help me, but I almost wanted to see what happened next.
I hadn't had this much excitement in a long time.
Something was wrong with me, and I knew it.
Seven o’clock hit, and my nerves were tap dancing. Causing me to coach myself to relax. It wasn’t working, so I popped the champagne and drank it from the bottle. I continued to sip on it until I was dressed and heading out the door with fifteen minutes to spare.
I climbed in my Camaro, Cammy. My favorite car and the one I trusted if I needed to move fast. I shook the nerves off my shoulders and turned on my playlist. Any Man of Mine by Shania Twain was playing. I sang loudly, hoping like hell my night went well.