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CHAPTER8
Ava
I couldn’t stop thinking about Cyrus. I didn’t know if I could trust him. I’d seen the look in his eyes. The hardness in his gaze had spoken to his restraint, that somewhere deep inside he was hiding a monster.
He was a criminal. I didn’t know the nitty gritty details, but I didn’t need to.
He’d killed before. Without a doubt, I knew he wouldn’t hesitate to do it again and he wouldn’t blink twice as he did it.
I wanted to believe he was a good man, that the gentle caresses and tender kisses were what made him so special, but I feared there was so much more to him than that. I knew now that he had a history, and I wasn’t certain if I could live with that.
Life with him would always be dangerous. I’d have to look over my shoulders constantly, fearing death at every turn. He would have enemies that would use me against him and as uneasy as I was right now, I didn’t want anything to happen to him. He’d already lost his home and his restaurant. I didn’t want him to lose his life too.
He’d been kind to me at least. He didn’t deserve my troubles. This was something I was going to deal with myself.
I knew going to the cops was a risk but the whole situation had gotten well out of hand. I wanted to trust someone. Maybe the police could place me in a safehouse or move me somewhere where Anthony wouldn’t ever find me. Maybe I’d get lucky, and no one here would know who he was or that the mafia was actually a thing, and they would protect me.
A girl could hope, right?
I pulled into a parking spot and hopped out of the car, hustling up the stairs two at a time. I hurried through the double glass doors, wanting to get inside as quickly as possible just in case anyone was casing out the place. It was late and there weren’t many people in the waiting area, so I approached the front desk right away.
“Please. I need help,” I began.
The woman manning the front desk glanced up at me with an ambivalent expression. Her hair was styled in a loose bleach-blonde perm straight out of the eighties. She looked me up and down slowly with increasing judgment. Her eyelids were covered in bright blue eye shadow, and she had on what looked like neon purple mascara. Her blush was rose pink and very clearly administered with a heavy hand. She blinked at me, and I could feel her disdain at my presence.
“You seem like you’re fine,” she drawled, and I shook my head, leaning over the front desk and she leaned back like I was contagious or something.
“There’s some dangerous guys out there that want me dead,” I replied hastily. I moved away from the counter and that seemed to put her more at ease.
“Would you like to file a restraining order?” she asked. She sounded bored already.
“No. That’s not enough. I need some sort of protection like a safehouse or something. Listen, I need to talk to someone. Please,” I insisted, and she reached for a nail file on her desk. I tried to swallow my annoyance as she filed away at her thumbnail. I smiled impatiently, waiting for her to do something, anything really. She just kept actively ignoring me like I was no better than the scum under her shoe.
When she finally realized I wasn’t leaving, she sighed heavily and cocked her head toward the waiting area.
“Sit down over there and I’ll send someone to talk to you,” she mumbled as she tossed the file aside and started typing something on her keyboard.
I turned my head to the waiting area. There was only one other person there who seemed harmless enough. A man in a massively oversized sweatshirt had passed out leaning against one of the walls. He was snoring but didn’t seem to be much of a threat otherwise. Wanting to be on the safe side, I sat as far away from him as I could and waited.
And waited.
And waited some more.
Eventually, an older man came out from the back. He was overweight with a potbelly that hung well over the top of his pants. His gray beard had crumbs all over it and he had a big black coffee cup in his hand. He took a noisy slurp before he cleared his throat.
Maybe this wasn’t the best idea I’d ever had…
“You have some concern you needed to talk about?” he called out toward me. He glanced at the man in the corner who grumbled something in his sleep. The older man didn’t even seem surprised.
What kind of people came in here at this time of night?
“Yes. Please,” I replied. I jumped up to my feet and held out my hand.
“Right this way,” he said. He sounded just as bored as the front desk lady had. He seemed a little nicer about it though.
“I’m Ava Richardson,” I offered.
“Deputy Lawson,” he replied. He didn’t offer anything else as he walked down the hall. We passed several empty wooden desks. Most of them weren’t occupied, but a few frazzled cops manned some of them. The scent of cheap stale coffee meandered through the air, and I scrunched my nose.
