Chapter Four
“Well, look who’s here. How’s the coffee, Mail Girl?”
Cora gave a mental sigh. Now it starts. Ranelle was the leader of the little band of merry bitches, always waiting for a chance to strike. She laid the mail down on the desk and tried to move on, but Ranelle had other ideas.
“Is your shirt really that color or did you have to dye it to match the coffee stains?”
Cora didn’t look down because that would give power to Ranelle’s jabs.
“Hey,” she said, snapping her fingers. “I’m talking to you.”
She looked up, and suddenly, all the fear and apprehension from Saturday night, boiled over. The nightmares, looking over her shoulder—it all came rushing out of her mouth.
“What is wrong with you?” she demanded. “You’re a grown ass woman acting like a spoiled brat. You know, you might be pretty on the outside, but you’re rotten on the inside.”
Ranelle crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes, and Cora got a bad feeling.
She quickly maneuvered the cart around the other woman and continued delivering the mail but felt her burning glare scorching her back.
Cora hurried as fast as she could to get off the floor and get out of sight.
When she finally got into the elevator, she sighed in relief.
Throughout the day, small things happened.
Water accidentally spilled across her notebook, ruining pages and pages of notes.
During lunch, as she sat down at a table, something squished under her butt.
She jumped up with a yelp and saw it had been a Twinkie.
Several snickers erupted as she hurried away to clean up in the bathroom.
Only when she went to leave, the door wouldn’t budge.
It took twenty minutes of screaming at the top of her lungs, as well as banging on the door, before her friend, Betsy, let her out.
“Thank you,” she said, emotions clogging her throat.
“What the hell is going on?” Betsy asked.
“Ranelle,” Cora muttered. “She’s always been bad, but today is something else.”
“What a fucking bitch.”
“Hopefully, this was a one-day thing,” Cora said with a sigh, “and tomorrow everyone will have gotten their senses back and leave me alone.”
“I’m sure by then you’ll be yesterday’s news,” Betsy said with a wave of her hand. “I swear, more gossiping goes on around here than a high school.”
“I think this place is worse,” Cora grumbled. “At least if it were high school, I could skip a day. Can’t really do that now.”
“Hang in there,” Betsy encouraged. “By the way, did you hear about Erin Morris?”
Cora frowned. “The admin for Mr. Green?”
“Yeah. She got drunk and fell in the parking structure.”
Everything in Cora went stone cold. “What?”
“Tragic accident,” Betsy went on, oblivious to Cora’s mental freak-out. “Broke her neck.”
No way were there two dead women in that garage, but the fact her death had been ruled accidental brought forth the guilt once more. Still, Cora didn’t say anything. How could she explain why she kept quiet?
She went into the women’s bathroom, locked herself in a stall, and cried.
Once that was over, she headed back down to the mail room, which was located in the basement.
There were several things she tried not to think about.
Ranelle. The murder. Her guilt. She worked on autopilot, keeping to herself.
When her fifteen-minute break came around, she headed for the employee lounge and tripped over something.
She went flying. The breath was knocked out of her and she struggled with trying to take a deep breath.
Laughter erupted as Ranelle stepped over her, not bothering to help.
“First day with your new feet?” she taunted.
Cora pushed herself up.
“Cora!” Betsy called out. A moment later, her friend crouched down to look at her. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” she muttered, rising to her feet. “That was loads of fun. I recommend falling on your face every day.”
“Come on,”
After walking past people still snickering at her, they found a table in the back and sat down. Their stares trickled down her spine like a thousand sharp needles piercing her skin.
“Maybe you shouldn’t sit with me,” she said quietly.
“Don’t let them get to you,” Betsy replied, turning to flip the bird at a nearby table who gave them pointed looks. “Haters gonna hate. Clearly, the women have small brains and the guys have smaller dicks.”
The last two words were said louder to make sure it reached their ears. Cora couldn’t help but feel a small sense of gratitude for Betsy, her one and only friend.
Someone walked by the table, and either stumbled or pretended to stumble, sending their soda soaring in her direction.
The cold beverage landed on her shirt, and the people around her erupted into laughter, led by Ranelle, of course.
People pointed and jeered, causing her throat to clog with emotion.
Her emotions had been lurking too close to the surface and she felt them slipping.
Jumping up, she ran out of the break room, leaving her food behind.
Tears filled her eyes as she burst into the women’s room again in an effort to save her shirt.
She slipped it off and ran it under water.
“Quit and all this goes away,” Ranelle said as she walked into the bathroom behind her. “You can go back to being a cat mom, or whatever the fuck you are.”
She didn’t even flinch at wearing just her bra. Wasn’t like she had anything to cover up in. “Go away.”
“Aw. Is someone a widdle sad?” she mocked in a little-girl tone.
Cora ignored her.
“I’ll let you get back to your little cleaning party.”
“What a bitch,” she muttered under her breath.
“What did you call me?” Renelle seethed, but before she could stomp back, the door opened and Betsy came in.
“What are doing, Renelle?” Betsy demanded. “Get your skanky ass out of here, before I report you to your boss.”
Ranelle glared, but stomped out.
“Thanks,” Cora said. “I’m going to have to hit the thrift store this weekend.”
“That woman is a bitch with a capital itch.”
For the rest of the day, Cora stayed as busy as possible, even volunteering to stay late and clean up the clutter that had accumulated.
Wasn’t like she had anything else to look forward to.
The day was beyond mentally exhausting and all she wanted to do was go home and flop on her bed.
When she was done, she went to her employee locker and twirled the dial until the door popped open.
She reached for her purse when suddenly, a fist came from nowhere to slam it shut.
Startled, she spun around, coming face to face with a male she’d seen around the office but never interacted with.
Standing next to him was Ranelle. She slowly looked from one to the other and the fury on the other woman’s face had her taking a step backward.
However, the wall of lockers prevented her from retreating further.
She focused on Ranelle. “What do you want?”
“You fucking talked back,” she explained coldly.
Cora blinked. “What?”
“You’re going to get down on your knees and apologize. Then, you’re going to give Steven here a blow job for helping me discipline you, and I’m going to film it.”
She shook her head. “You’re crazy.”
Ranelle leaned closer. “And you’re not going to be working here after today.”
Fear sluiced down her spine, but she refused to cower in front of these two. What had she ever done to them? She needed this job. It wasn’t fair.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked. It was impossible to keep her emotions inside, and tears welled up in her eyes.
“Aw, are you going to sob? Just look at you, all pathetic, crying like a baby.”
“What have I ever done to you?”
“You exist.”
Cora would never understand mean girls. The perceived threat on their territories making them lash out like children wanting dibs on a toy.
She reached behind her and grabbed the broom leaning against the wall, then turned and jabbed the end into Steven’s gut.
He doubled over with an oof and Cora raised it above her head, coming down so hard it split the wooden handle.
He fell flat. She grabbed the broken ends and held them like shields.
“Walk away, Ranelle,” she warned. “You’re on the security feed, so if you walk away now, I won’t point this out to anyone. But if you bother me again, I will tell upper management what you were threatening me with.”
Ranelle glanced up at the ceiling and Cora waited for her to spot the small camera in the corner. Giving an irritated growl, she hauled Steven up.
“You’re gonna regret this,” she snarled
Together, they left. Only then did Cora relax, the adrenaline leaving her shaking. Her shoulders slumped because in a matter of days she’d had a one-two punch to the gut.
“Yeah, probably,” she mumbled to herself.
Slipping on her coat and hat, she picked up her purse, locked her locker, and headed out.
The only person at the front was the night security sitting at his desk.
She waved at him and scanned her badge to leave the building.
The chilly night air wrapped around her, and her coat clearly wasn’t able to block out the cold.
She shivered a little and realized she missed her bus.
She would have to walk two blocks to catch the next one.
Burying down into her coat, trying to find any bit of warmth she could, her mind wandered to Ranelle.
She was going to have to report her and Steven, despite her promise not to, because if she didn’t, she knew they would strike first by saying she antagonized them, instead of the other way around.
“Miss Charles,” a voice called out.
So deep in thought, she startled and spun, losing her balance.
Arms encircled her, preventing her from having a nasty fall, and she stared into dark, fathomless eyes.
The eyes of a stranger. It was too soon since watching a woman fall to her death and she struggled to free herself.
Once he made sure she was steady, he let her go.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, holding up his hands. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“That’s what all the serial killers say.”
That seemed to catch him off guard and one corner of his mouth turned upward. By the stilted gesture, Cora got the impression he didn’t smile often. “What if I promise I’m not a serial killer?”
“Pretty sure they would say that, too.”
“Very well, what can I do to convince you I’m a nice guy?”
Suddenly, all the levity in her face fell, replaced with absolute terror. Her breathing grew shallow, near to the point of hyperventilating.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Please, d-don’t hurt me. I promise I-I didn’t see anything. I just want to go home.”
All the levity disappeared, and he looked very confused. She glanced from him to the man behind him, seemingly standing guard, and back. He looked familiar. “Who are you?”
“My name is Hades Sinclair.”
The rumors she’d heard at breakfast swirled through her head. When a quick inspection of his hands revealed no tattoo, it calmed her a little. This man wasn’t the one who had killed the woman, but she cautiously steeled herself. “How can I help you, Mr. Sinclair?”
“I’m here to talk about what happened the other night in the parking garage.”
With those words, her carefully dammed thoughts broke free, and she couldn’t stop the tremors taking over. “I-I... What?”
“Jesus,” he muttered and pulled her into his arms. She was so scared she couldn’t even talk. “I’m sorry you saw what happened, and I hate to bring that up again, but I’m trying to find the person who killed that woman.”
“He was assaulting her,” Cora whispered. Her hand rested on his heartbeat. “She kept saying no and slapped him. He pushed her and she fell over the divide.”
“Her neck broke.”
“I didn’t see him, though. He never turned around.”
“In the footage I have, he kept his face hidden in his hoodie.”
She pulled back and looked up at him. “That’s all I know. I’m sorry I’m not more help.”
He pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. “I don’t want you to be scared. I’m going to find him and make him pay for what he did, but you can’t go to the police.”
Hades Sinclair was a dangerous man. Violence lingered in the black depths of his eyes.
This was a man that promised death should anyone cross him, and although she should be peeing her pants in terror, she knew that retribution wasn’t aimed at her.
Quite the opposite. Within his arms, she felt . .. safe.
“Okay,” she whispered.
“I’ll handle this. No cops?”
“No cops,” she agreed. What would be the point? He wasn’t confined by the badge to follow the rules, and neither was the killer.
“Good girl,” he whispered then kissed her forehead. “Let me take you home.”
She nodded and he placed his hand on her lower back to lead her to his car, a sleek, black sedan that had tinted windows and, apparently, a driver. Hades told him her address, and she didn’t even question how he knew.
The drive was quiet and uneventful. When the car came to a stop in front of the tenant house, she went to open the door, but he placed a hand on her arm. He held up a business card.
“If you need me, call me,” he said.
She took it, doubtful she’d ever use it. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure, Miss Charles.”
The door opened and the driver waited patiently, holding his hand out to help her. Once she was out, she looked back at him. “Good-bye, Mr. Sinclair.”
Then she hurried up the stairs and into the house. As soon as the door closed behind her, she leaned against it and wondered what the hell just happened. Hades Sinclair was a force of a man that made her heart rate speed up in the best, and most dangerous, way.