Chapter 20
Edie
“Edie, take a look at this,” Henrietta exclaims, rushing into my empty classroom as she slams the local newspaper on my desk. Outside in the playground, the sound of children’s laughter filters in through the window, a direct contrast to the look of sheer panic on Henrietta’s face.
“What on earth has got you so riled up?” I ask as she paces up and down in front of me, wringing her hands.
“Would you just look at the damn newspaper?” she demands, shoving it across the desk towards me. “It’s them.”
“Who?” I throw back, finally reading the headline.
The bodies of two local men found in Strathmore Park, I read, my gaze caught by the photograph of two familiar faces situated directly beneath the headline.
“Is that…?” I gasp, my voice trailing off as Henrietta nods her head frantically.
“Those arseholes from the pub. Yes, it’s them. They’re dead, Edie,” she screeches, all colour draining from her face.
“I.. Shit…”
“According to the article, both men had a history of sexual violence,” Henrietta continues, her voice trembling.
“Mark was sent to prison for five years in 2021 after raping and beating his ex-wife, and John was on the sex offenders register for owning indecent images of children. He was a known paedophile with a long list of offences against both women and children, and was already in Lothborough prison when Mark was sent there. They were both released a couple of weeks before we met them.”
Bile rises up my throat, my hands shaking as I scan the article.
“It says that their hands were removed from their bodies.”
“This is… This is a lot to take in,” I say, forcing myself to remain calm, even though my thoughts immediately go back to that night at the pub, and Dorian’s warning.
Henrietta slumps into the chair beside my desk, her face pale. “Do you think that this has anything to do with Dorian and Logan?” she asks, coming to the same conclusion as me.
I want to say no, but after everything that’s happened, I’m not sure I’d believe it. “I don’t know,” I say carefully.
“But what if it was… What if Logan did something to my ex too? You read the note,” Henrietta whispers.
“You don’t believe what he told you that night at dinner?”
“The whole night is a bit of a blur, to be honest. I mean, I recall what he’d said, and I believed him. And yet, everything else is a little… murky. I think, perhaps, I had too much wine.”
“Do you still have Gareth’s number?” I ask, keeping my voice steady and resisting the urge to comment on the fact that I’m almost certain Henrietta only had two glasses of wine.
Despite her petite size, she’s drunk far more on nights out and has never forgotten a thing.
Which makes her behaviour that night more than a little concerning.
“I don’t. I deleted it as soon as I broke up with him. But I do have his sister’s number. She was actually really nice, and nothing like her shitty brother. Should I call her?”
“If you don’t, neither of us are going to be able to get through the rest of the day.”
Henrietta nods and pulls her phone from her pocket. After a moment she presses dial, chewing on her lip as she waits for an answer.
“Is this Francesca?” Henrietta asks, the phone gripped tightly in her hand. “This is Henrietta. I know this call is out of the blue, but I was just wondering if, erm…” Her eyes widen at me as she tries to think of a reasonable explanation for calling. “I was just wondering if Gareth was okay.”
“Bloody hell,” I mutter as she winces.
I wait as Francesca responds, trying to read Henrietta’s expression and steeling myself for the worst.
“He’s moved to France?” She looks up at me, blowing out a silent breath. “And you spoke to him recently, did you?”
Henrietta’s shoulders drop, the tension easing from her body as relief sweeps across her face.
“This morning. That’s great. Thank goodness…
” She pulls a face, giving me a helpless look.
“Oh no. Nothing’s wrong. I just… Erm, I bumped into a mutual friend over the weekend and he mentioned Gareth…
Sorry. I, erm, you must think I’m acting terribly strange,” she quickly adds.
“No, no, don’t tell him I called. He’s started a new job, and I’m sure he doesn’t need a reminder of how we broke up. ”
“How you broke his nose, you mean,” I mutter, holding in an inappropriate laugh.
“Yes, okay. Well, take care. I should go, the bell’s about to ring for the end of break-time,” Henrietta quickly adds, before cutting the call. “He’s not dead, thank goodness.”
“So I gathered.”
“Apparently, he was offered a new role in Paris. Left last week,” Henrietta explains, tucking her phone back into her pocket.
“Well, at least we know Logan didn’t kill the arsehole.”
Henrietta nods. “But what about those men? Maybe you should call Dorian and ask him outright if he was involved.”
“Absolutely not,” I reply, shaking my head. “Besides, do you honestly think he’d tell me the truth if he was involved? Not to mention the fact I’ve broken things off between us. ”
“What? When? Why?” she asks.
“Why did I call things off, or why didn’t I tell you?” I throw back, trying to buy some time.
“Both.” She huffs out a breath, folding her arms across her chest.
“For various reasons,” I mumble.
She narrows her eyes at me. “You’re scared.”
“If he had anything to do with these murders, I have every reason to be,” I retort.
“I didn’t mean that, and you know it. You’re scared of your feelings for him. You’re running from them, Edie.”
“I’m not the one running from anything, or at least I wasn’t until he invited me to his club, brought me to orgasm multiple times, and the second things got intense between us he pulled away from me.”
Henrietta gasps, her eyes widening. “Wait a minute, when did you go to his club?”
“A while ago,” I reply. I hadn’t told her about what happened at the Unlit Lounge either. Bringing it up now would only raise more questions.
“Why didn’t you tell me about any of this?”
“What’s there to say other than the fact he warned me he’s a dangerous man, and now I find out this, which likely proves that he very much is.”
Henrietta puffs out her cheeks. “Edie, that’s—”
“Not the worst of it,” I continue, explaining everything that happened at the club with Robert.
“Wait, do you think Dorian could’ve hurt Robert?” Henrietta asks, chewing on her lip. “I mean, he’s an absolute bastard, and deserves to be taken down a peg or two, but what if—”
I shake my head. “No. I called Lucette yesterday. Told her everything. I could hear Robert in the room with her, so I told her to put me on loudspeaker. He tried to wheedle his way out of it, of course. He begged for her forgiveness, promising her the world. I hope Lucette has the strength to walk away from him. But I know Robert. I know he can be incredibly persuasive.” I sigh, hating that he’s hurt another woman.
How many more times will he ruin someone’s life?
Henrietta leans forward, grasping my hand. “I don’t like what Robert has done to you or to Lucette, but she knew you were married to him, Edie. She doesn’t deserve your sympathy.”
“Perhaps you’re right, but she has it anyway.”
The bell rings, and moments later, the sound of children entering the building filters into the room, cutting our conversation short. Henrietta pushes to her feet, then hesitates, turning her attention back to me.
“I’m sorry things haven’t worked out with Dorian, but do you know what?”
“What?”
“Regardless of whether he was involved with these murders or not, I’m not sorry those men are dead. They deserved it.”
By the time I sit down at my kitchen table, it’s almost ten o’clock.
I’ve spent all evening oscillating between putting my house up for sale and moving as far away from Dorian as possible, and calling him to ask if he was involved with the murders.
After reading about Mark and John’s past, the world is clearly much better off without them. Those men were pure evil.
Like Henrietta, I’m not sorry they’re dead.
Deciding that I won’t get any sleep tonight, and needing to know the truth, I make the decision to contact Dorian.
Rather than calling him on my phone, I start up my laptop, open the website for Avant Garde, and type in the code.
I need to be able to scrutinise every expression on his face, and the smaller screen of my phone just won’t do.
This time the logo whirls for far longer than it did the last time I contacted him this way, and just as I’m about to give up and cut the connection, Dorian appears on screen, his expression a mixture of relief and surprise.
“Edie,” he breathes, scraping a hand through his dark brown strands.
The first thing I notice is how handsome he looks with his hair falling loose and not slicked back like I’m used to, but then I see the exhaustion etched into his features, and the dark circles shadowing his eyes.
An unexpected wave of tenderness crashes over me, and I have the sudden overwhelming urge to go to him, to offer him comfort.
“Dorian,” I begin, keeping my voice neutral as I push those thoughts aside, “I need to speak with you about something.”
“Is this about what happened at the club?” he asks, leaning closer to the screen. A flicker of concern crosses his features, and beneath that something close to guilt. “I wanted to reach out to you, but I didn’t think—”
“Don’t,” I snap. “This isn’t about what happened at the club. I’m contacting you about something else.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Why don’t I believe you?” he throws back, tipping his head to the side as he studies my face.
“Probably because that was a lie,” I admit.
“Do you want to tell me the truth, then?”
“It’s not me who needs to tell the truth,” I say, my gaze flicking to the newspaper and the headline that has been seared into my memory.
“You know,” he says, and my attention snaps back to him as he locks eyes with mine.
“So you admit it then? It was you.”
“I couldn’t stop myself, Edie. I tried not to act, but the thought—”
“You warned me about who you are, what you’re capable of,” I find myself saying. “At least you were honest about that, even if it terrifies me.”
“I scare you?”
“Of course you scare me, Dorian. How could you not?”
I heave out a breath. He’s still a dangerous man, that much is evident, and yet it’s not his violence that scares me, it’s how much I want him anyway, despite everything. I drop my gaze to my hands, not willing at this moment to face the truth of it.
“I would never willingly hurt you. That was a momentary lapse in judgement. I hadn’t heard from you since the night at the club, and I thought… Fuck,” he exclaims.
My head snaps up as he shifts forward in his seat. “Wait, you thought those men tried to hurt me again?”
His brow furrows, and then his eyes widen. “Edie, what are you talking about?”
“What am I talking about? What are you talking about?” I counter.
He doesn’t respond immediately, and this weird feeling of déjà vu comes over me. Slowly, a memory forms, or perhaps it’s the recollection of a dream. I’m not entirely sure I trust myself to know the difference.
Wait.
A chill tracks over my body as I recall waking up a few mornings ago with his dildo pressed between my legs, my thighs sticky with cum, this lingering feeling that Dorian, somehow, had something to do with it.
“Did you…?”
“Edie, I—”
My skin erupts in goosebumps. “Please tell me you didn’t break into my home,” I whisper.
“Edie, it wasn’t what you think.”
“So not only are you a murderer, you’re also a fucking creep.”
He stills, and I can feel the tension rolling off him as though we’re in the same room and not separated by miles.
“We killed those men because—”
“We?” I ask, my mind reeling as I try to catch up.
“Logan and I,” he explains. “I know it’s hard to digest, but believe me, those men would’ve acted on their impulses and hurt more women and children. They deserved it, and I would do it again in a heartbeat.”
“And what about your impulses, huh? What about you creeping into my home without my consent?”
“It wasn’t like that,” he protests.
“You’ve betrayed my trust. How can I possibly know you won’t hurt me like those men tried to do?
“I’d never hurt you, Edie. I couldn’t.”
“But you already have,” I say before slamming the lid of my laptop shut.
I immediately pick up my phone and dial Henrietta’s number. She answers on the first ring.
“Edie?”
“I just spoke to Dorian, he—”
“He did it, didn’t he? He murdered those men.”
“Yes…” I whisper, my voice trailing off as everything I’ve learnt begins to truly sink in.
I should be disgusted. I should be calling the police.
Instead, I’m trying to wrap my head around the fact Dorian broke into my home whilst I was sleeping, and how that makes me feel.
Part of me is enraged. I feel betrayed, at the mercy of a man who has no regard for my boundaries, or my privacy.
Yet, there’s a frightening part of me that is thrilled by the fact he wanted to see me so badly he broke into my home in the middle of the night.
He was in my bedroom and he could’ve done anything to me.
Why is that a turn on? That isn’t who I am.
Is it? This man has already messed with my heart, and now he’s messing with my head.
Jesus Christ, I need to get a hold of myself.
“Fuck.” She exhales, and I can almost hear her thoughts churning as she formulates a response. “I stand by what I said,” she eventually says. “Those men deserved everything they got.”
“Henrietta…” I begin. “They murdered them—”
“Good.”
“Jesus.”
“I mean it, Edie,” she insists. “The things those bastards have done. The things they could have done to us, to other women and children. I’m glad they’re dead.”
I can’t bring myself to tell her what else Dorian admitted, so instead, I nod my head. “I am too.”