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No body. No trace of the man who was chasing me. Just blood.
Everywhere.
22
FUMI
I’m still shaking as I slam the front door of Gabriel’s townhouse shut behind me and lock it. I sink against the door, my heart racing as a clammy sensation trickles down my spine.
What the fuck just happened.
For the hundredth time, I glance at my phone and think about calling the police. I know I should. Except I also know the reason I’m not.
Calling the police means explaining why I was there in the first place. That means telling them I was following my husband, and there’s no way that doesn’t lead to the cops prying into the nature of our arrangement.
Yes, I’m worried about breaking the terms of my NDA and being forced to repay five million dollars I don’t have. But even more, I’m worried that the police looking into my arranged marriage to Gabriel, and the money, will lead them to finding out who my father used to be.
So…no cops.
I figure that any guy who lurches after me with a fucking knife probably isn’t someone whose life I should be too concerned about. Plus, I don’t even know that he’s dead after—what, some beef with another creep prowling the shadows? A gang thing?
Except… That was a lot of blood.
A lot of blood.
I shudder, pulling away from the door and shrugging my jacket off. I check the locks again before heading up to my bedroom and slipping out of the Versace. I groan when I peel off my new lingerie, looking down to find some light spotting on the lace.
Goddammit, period.
I change into regular underwear, sleep shorts and a tank top, put a pad in place, and head down to the kitchen to make some tea.
I hug myself as I wait for the water to boil, a teabag of something calming and un-caffeinated waiting in the mug.
What the fuck was that back there? I replay the awful gurgling sound and the ensuing silence. The blood?—
The lights go out.
I jolt, spasming violently, my lips instantly going dry and my pulse thudding in my ears.
The water in the kettle starts to bubble and boil.
“Gabriel?”
The steam begins to whistle quietly from the kettle on top of the stove. It grows louder and louder, until suddenly, I flinch out of my frozen state and realize it’s howling.
I crank the burner off quickly, and the whistling steam drops first to a whisper, then silence.
I exhale.
Then, suddenly, I hear a door shutting with a heavy click.
Holy fuck.
Naked fear and panic simmer under my skin as my eyes stab vainly into the darkness of the kitchen.
“Gabriel?”
No answer.
