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“Are you…are you going to hurt him?” she asks.
I don’t answer. What I need to do to Ben is separate of this. Separate of her. And if I wasn’t sure before, I am now.
“You’re free,” I say.
She looks at me, confused. “What?”
“I’m releasing you from your contract. You’re free.”
“I don’t—”
But I think of something. “With one condition.” She stands. I go to her. “You stay away from The Black Swan.”
I’m not breathing. Not blinking. I need to memorize her now because I have to let her go. I can’t ever see her again.
When the elevator doors open again, Hugo steps into my office.
I drag my eyes from Cilla. “Take her to her apartment. We’re done here.”
Before anyone can speak, before I can change my mind, I step onto the elevator and I don’t look back when the doors close. I don’t look back when I’m downstairs or when I walk through the main room. Not when I step out into the bitterly cold, clear night and get to my car. It’s once I’m there I stop. I take a deep breath in, have to force it because the weight pushing against my chest doesn’t leave room for air. I force myself to move, to get in the car. To start the engine. To drive. I’m on autopilot, I can’t think. I drive. I head back to Rockcliffe House without her.
Without her.
25
Cilla
All I can do is stare at Kill’s back as he steps onto the elevator.
He gave me what I wanted. Exactly what I asked for. So why do I feel like someone’s just knocked the wind out of me?
“Ready?” Hugo breaks the silence. How could I have forgotten a man his size was in the room?
“Y…yes.”
He punches in the code, which I know from when Kill used it earlier to come upstairs, and we step onto the elevator. He doesn’t touch me and I take one last look around the office, at the blood splattered on every surface. Think about how Ben raised the gun and aimed it at me. How Kill took the bullet instead and saved my life.
The doors slide closed. It’s an awkward ride down and, chilled, I hug my coat to myself. I don’t speak and barely breathe and Hugo escorts me outside and into a car—his, I presume—and we drive through the bitterly cold night to my apartment. He walks me upstairs. Unlocks my door. Enters it before me, walking through each of the rooms, turning on all of the lights, before setting my key on the counter and turning to leave. He doesn’t speak a word as he does all of this. He barely glances at me.
Once he’s gone, I snap out of my daze. I pick up the key, lock the door. Lean my back against it.
This place feels foreign. How can that be after only a few weeks? Even the smell is no longer familiar. I take off my coat and let it fall to the floor. My shoes come off next. Then the dress. The panties. I’m not wearing a bra. I leave it all as I go into my bedroom, switching off lights on my way.
I wonder what would have happened tonight if Jones hadn’t done what he’d done. I can’t bring myself to say the words.
When I get to the full-length mirror in my room, I stand before it. I’m naked but for the earrings. I wonder if he’ll want those back. I take each one off slowly, set them down on the nightstand. I’ll send them back to the club tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
But what if he changes his mind and comes for me?
He won’t. I know he won’t. And the strange thing is, that’s the part that terrifies me. I won’t ever see Killian Black again.
I follow the trail the tear that’s sliding down my face leaves. It’s a smear of pink where blood has dried on my cheek. His blood.
He took a bullet for me.
He called me his girl.
But I’m not that anymore. Was I ever?
I’m very tired suddenly. Like I can’t stay on my feet a moment longer. I draw the covers on my bed back. It should feel familiar, but it doesn’t. It’s like I’m lying in a stranger’s bed. What’s happened to me in the last two weeks?
So much.
So fucking much.
I close my eyes. I want to shut everything out just for a few hours. I want to forget just for a little while. I entertain the thought of amnesia again. The hope of it. It’s useless, I know. Fantasy.
When I wake up the next morning, I don’t feel any better. In fact, it’s like I didn’t sleep twelve hours straight. I’m so tired and heavy, I can barely drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom to shower. I stand under the water for a long time watching water pool at my feet. It’s pink at first. I didn’t realize how much blood was on me, in my hair. I should change the sheets. I should do a lot of things. But I can only manage to dress myself and sit on the couch with the phone in my hand.
