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He laughs and slaps my ass and we dress together and gather up our dropped mugs. We talk about nothing consequential, the empty chatter of two happy and sexually exhausted and pleased people.
But once he starts heading back, and I trail after for a few moments, the sudden realization lodges in my chest and makes it hard to breathe.
If he ever finds out the truth about who I really am, he’s going to kill me.
Just like he killed Sonia.
There won’t be any mercy or forgiveness.
There won’t be any understanding.
Not after what happened to the last girl to cross him.
No, I’m a dead woman walking, and the truly wrong part is I still want to sleep with this man. I still want him, despite the danger.
Because Benedict is going to tell him if I don’t do something to stop it.
