Helen's POV
The smell of ozone, copper, and blood filled the car, tightening my throat.
"Pick up her feet," Derick whispered in a commanded tone
His voice was a cold blade, slicing through my paralysis. She looked smaller in death, a bundle of wool and wasted potential. My hands shook so violently I had to clench them into fists twice before I could reach down. The moment my fingers brushed the cold, damp fabric of her stockings, a jolt of electricity shot up my spine.
I killed her. I am a murderer.
"Now," Derick hissed.
Together, we hoisted her into the trunk of my Mercedes. The car, usually a symbol of my untouchable status, felt like a hearse. We drove in silence to a construction site by the river, a skeletal skyscraper rising from the mud.
Derick worked with a terrifying, practiced efficiency, using a shovel from the site to move earth already softened by the rain. I stood there, the CEO of Vance Global Group, dressed in a five-thousand-dollar wool coat, watching the dirt swallow the evidence of my sin.
When he finished, he stood over the fresh mound, the wind whipping his dark hair across his forehead. He looked at me, his eyes twin voids in the darkness. "The car stays with me," he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "There's blood in the wheel well and a hairline fracture in the grille. If a cop sees this, you're done. I'll clean it. I'll scrub every molecule of her off this machine and bring it back to you when it's sterile."
"And how am I supposed to get home?" I whispered, my voice lost in the howl of the wind.
"I'll take you. But from this moment, Helen, you are a ghost. Do you understand? Ghosts don't make mistakes."
The ride back to my penthouse was a blur of streetlights and shadows. By the time he pulled into the darkened alleyway behind my building, my heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I wanted to believe the message I'd received earlier the threat from the unknown was dream. I wanted to believe I was still the woman in control.
I stepped out of his car, my legs finally finding their strength. I turned to dismiss him, to reclaim my icy mask and banish this man to the shadows where he belonged. I wanted to see him blink, to see him realize that despite the dirt on my hands, I was still the sun he orbited.
Before I could draw breath, Derick was out of the car. He moved with a fluid, predatory grace, closing the distance in a single stride. His hand shot out, his fingers curling around my throat, not to choke, but to possess. He pinned me against the cold brick wall of the alley, the rough stone biting into my back through my coat.
"You think you're going in there and just forgetting this?" he rasped.
His face was inches from mine. The scent of rain, cold tobacco, and something dark, like woodsmoke, flooded my senses. My breath hitched, my chest rising and falling against the hard planes of his. His other hand dropped lower, his palm sliding over the curve of my hip and gripping my ass with a force that made me gasp. He pulled me flush against him, his body a wall of hard, unyielding muscle.
Then, he kissed me.
It wasn't a romantic gesture; it was a claim. It was hard, desperate, as if he were trying to pull the soul out of my body. His tongue invaded, sharp and demanding, while his hand moved lower, his fingers digging into the curve of my rear, molding me to the heat of his thighs.
My brain screamed no, but my body traumatized and seeking any spark of life amidst the death I'd just caused betrayed me. I leaned into him, my fingers tangling in the front of his tactical jacket. The friction of his body against mine was the only thing making me feel real.
He tore his mouth away, his breath hot against my ear. "Don't forget who owns your silence, Helen."
I found my voice, injecting every drop of Vance ice back into it. I pushed against his chest, smoothing my coat with trembling hands. I forced a smirk onto my lips, though my heart was still thudding in my throat like a trapped bird.
"You should know," I said, my voice steadying, "that this, whatever this was, means absolutely nothing to me. It never will. "You're a tool, Derick. Don't mistake my shock for interest
I turned and walked toward the private elevator entrance, my heels clicking a steady, defiant rhythm. I felt his eyes burning into my back like a brand. I didn't look back. I couldn't let him see the way my bottom lip was trembling or the way my body still hummed from his touch.
******
Outside in the dark, Derick watched the elevator light climb to the penthouse. He ran his tongue over his lower lip, tasting her….. tasting the copper and the expensive, salt-tinged lipstick. A slow, dark twitch pulled at the corner of his mouth. He'd felt her melt; he'd felt the way her body had hummed against his. She could play the queen all she wanted. But he knew the truth. Despite the ice, she was already beginning to thaw, and soon, she would bow.
*********
I didn't sleep. I sat in my darkened living room, the city of Chicago sprawled out below me like a map of my failures. I watched the door, waiting for Silas to walk through and claim his prize. But the penthouse remained silent, the air thick with the scent of lilies and dread. I paced the length of the marble floor, my mind replaying the thud of the car and the
By 7:00 AM, the sun was a weak, grey smudge over the skyline. I turned on the news, my hands wrapped around a cup of coffee I couldn't drink.
"...Breaking news this morning in the West Loop. Police are investigating a suspicious disappearance. Sources say 68-year-old Agatha Adler, a local retiree, was reported missing late last night. However, forensic teams have already discovered traces of a hit-and-run near 4th and Vine..."
My heart stopped. The coffee cup slipped from my hand, shattering on the marble floor. How? We had been so careful. We had moved her. We had been in the dark. How did they know her name so fast? How had the news circulated before the sun was even up? My mind raced through the possibilities. Had Derick set me up? Was he the one who called it in? No, that didn't make sense, he was just as deep in the mud as I was.
I felt the walls of the penthouse closing in. Someone was watching. Someone had been there. Then, my personal cell, the one only three people in the world had the number to began to vibrate on the glass table. I picked it up, my breath hitching as I saw the caller ID. The one person who was dismantling the empire I was struggling to save. I pressed the phone to my ear, my voice a ghost of a whisper.
"Hello?". "You always were a sloppy driver, Helen," the voice on the other end said, a voice that sounded like gravel and old nightmares.