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6
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Imust be out of my mind, refusing an offer like that. But I wasn’t kidding when I said I’ll take her when the time is right. Plus, I need to think, and being in the shower with a very wet, very willing Emma wouldn’t lend itself to much high-frequency examination of exactly what the fuck we’re supposed to do next.
We can’t stay here forever; that much is for sure. For all I know, Marco could be at my house at this very minute. While I keep it locked up and have an alarm system, something tells me none of that matters to somebody like him.
Eventually, I’m going to have to go home. We’re in the middle of break, but that will end, and life will have to go on.
He won’t stop until he gets what he wants or destroys it. Either way, he doesn’t like anybody playing with his things, and that’s exactly what Emma is to him. I know the lengths he’ll go to get me out of his way. Killing isn’t beneath Marco. It’s not exactly the happiest thought, but I don’t have time for happy thoughts right now. I need to be realistic. Wishful thinking will only get me killed faster.
At least the water pressure is good, though even the hottest spray isn’t enough to ease the tension in my shoulders and back. My neck is knotted up tight, too. I turn my back on the showerhead and let the water run over my neck and shoulders, breathing deep, willing myself to pull it together for her sake.
Trying like hell not to think too hard about what might have happened if I hadn’t been there last night.
How much do I know about him? I close my eyes and search my memory. Most of it was learned in passing, from conversations I accidentally overheard. There was talk of his father sending him away somewhere the last time he fucked up royally. I wish he had. From what I remember, his father is none too fond of his antics—he likes to keep things as quiet as possible, of course, to avoid attention in the media. Marco might as well carry a neon sign around at all times, pointing straight to himself.
How do I use this to my advantage? Can I? I’d have to go to my boss and make him aware of what’s going on. It could cause a war between the two families, and who am I? I’m just the lowly bookkeeper for the Hale family, the guy nobody really pays attention to unless he fucks up, and I haven’t fucked up.
That’s not what I do. To the boss, I’m a figure without a name or face. Just a brain, somebody who knows how to manipulate numbers to make things look legitimate.
Sure, that might give me leverage, but how many bookkeepers are there in the world? He could grab another one in no time. In his world, everybody is expendable.
By the time I’m finished showering, I’m no closer to an answer than I was before. Not that I expected miracles. But I need one, or something close to it. I dry off with one of the rough but clean towels stacked on a shelf over the toilet, then wrap the towel around my waist before opening the bathroom door.
She’s curled up on the bed, fast asleep. It occurs to me now that she might not have gotten any more sleep than I did last night. I can’t imagine this situation is any easier for an innocent young woman, even without the threat of Marco Sanders hanging over her head. She might have spent the night wondering what would happen come morning or if I might decide to go back on my word and take her brutally in the middle of the night. I know I would wonder that if I were in her place.
I’m halfway across the room, heading for one of the bags of clothes, when my phone lights up on the dresser. It’s a text from an unknown number. Along with the text is a photo of my spare room, the St. Andrew’s cross in the center of the frame.
It sparks an inferno in my chest. I reply almost instantly.
Unknown: The nerdy bookkeeper has a kinky side, huh?
Me: Get out of my house before I send this message to the cops.
Unknown:You wouldn’t risk word getting back to the college, though.
Motherfucker. If it wasn’t for the girl sleeping peacefully in bed behind me, I’d throw the phone across the room. He’s right, and he knows it. I could end up facing all kinds of scrutiny if word of my personal tastes were to get out. I have no doubt this vile piece of shit would find a way to implicate me in other ways, convincing the Hales that I’ve done something wrong. I’d lose my job in the blink of an eye.
I start to type out my response, my fingers flying over the keys.
Me: The transaction is complete. There’s no reason to go through any of this. Plenty of girls go through the auction house every week. You could have any of them. I won her fair and square.
Unknown: Fuck fair and square. I want her, and I would’ve had her if it wasn’t for you getting in the way. She belongs to me. She was meant to be mine.
His logic is so twisted that it’s almost frightening. When I think of somebody like him making his way through the world like a shark, swimming around looking for prey, it makes my blood run cold.
Me: Leave us alone. Let the girl live her life. Let me live mine.
Unknown: Or what?What are you going to do to stop me?
I don’t have an answer for that, so I don’t bother. He’s only screwing with me, anyway. I might as well be talking to myself for all the good it will do.
When I lower the phone, I find Emma sleeping peacefully as she was before. Unaware of the heightened danger. The son of a bitch broke into my house. He could still fuck my entire career and throw my life into turmoil. I wouldn’t be able to get another job, no way. Not the guy with a penchant for kink and a history of mafia ties.
Yet when I watch her sleeping, there’s not a question in my mind about whether this is the right decision. Sometimes, it doesn’t matter what the consequences will be. The right thing is the right thing, and saving her from him will never be wrong. No matter what happens as a result.
Suddenly, I find myself tired. I’m starting to think Emma has the right idea with taking a nap. I lower myself into the bed as gently as I can to avoid disturbing her, still wearing nothing but a towel. A quick nap will only do me good. I need a clear head if we’re going to get out of this.
