Page 33 of Sexting the Silverfox

“We are going to have this conversation again and again and again until you tell me the fucking truth,” he snaps. “I got shot at, Audrey. Two Russian mobsters tried to take you away by force, and I’m pretty sure they would’ve killed you and dumped your body across state lines had they succeeded. You’re not some stranger I picked up off the streets; you’re my woman. I think I deserve to know the whole story.”

“You know what?” I blurt out, my blood boiling with a mixture of anger and shame. “I think I’m going to spend the next couple of nights at a hotel. I think we need some time away from each other.”

As if suddenly possessed, Jason shoots up from his seat and crosses the room in a split second. Before I can register the movement, he’s got me pinned against the wall, his thigh wedged between my legs and pressing upward against my sensitive center. Almost instantly, I feel my breath leaving me as liquid heat drenches my panties, arousal flaring through my veins.

“What are you doing?” I manage, my voice barely a whisper.

“Reminding you who it is you’re talking to,” he shoots back and captures my mouth in a rapturous yet furious kiss. His lips press hard, his tongue clashing with mine. The effect that this man has over my senses is damn near devastating, and I quickly become putty in his hands. “When are you going to learn, Audrey, that you can’t lie to me and get away with it? I’ve been more than patient, but said patience is running thin. I can’t fucking protect you unless I know what’s going on. I can’t be with you unless you’re honest with me, and I hate to have to pull this card, this ultimatum. I hate it.”

“It’s just—”

He kisses me again, cutting me off. It’s as if his very soul is begging me for the truth, and I still can’t find the strength or courage to just lay it all out on the table. He deserves it. He needs it. But I need him. I’m in love with him. I’m afraid he won’t want anything to do with me if I tell him who I really am and where I come from.

At the same time, I’m painfully aware that I have to get away from him because I don’t want him or Lily or Rita, or anyone else, for that matter, getting hurt.

All I can do is make the most of every moment we have left together, and this constant drilling for the truth only causes deeper dents in an already strained relationship. Why can’t we just make the most of what we have before I muster the nerve to finally leave everything behind and start fresh somewhere else?

As far away from here as possible.

“The more you prolong this misery, the harder it’ll be for us,” Jason says, his breath ragged with arousal, his eyes clouded with dark desire. “I can’t hold on to you for much longer, not unless you come through on your end, Audrey.”

“I can’t …” Tears sting my eyes as I manage to pull away from his ironclad grip. “I can’t, Jason. I’m sorry.”

Upon reaching the elevator, I press the ground floor button and wait for the doors to slide closed. I see Jason coming out of his office and staring at me with a sullen look on his face. The remaining seconds seem to last forever before I lose sight of him, but as soon as the doors close, I burst into tears.

All the pain and anguish that I’ve been holding on to for quite some time now breaches the surface, and I start sobbing like a little girl. I hardly register the cab pulling up outside the office building. He was just rolling by, but I managed to hail him and get in the backseat. I barely remember where I asked him to take me.

It’s not until I see the hotel up ahead, about three blocks down from Jason’s office, that I regain some of my clarity.

Chicago is not my home anymore.

Chapter 15

Audrey

The Landon Hotel is a beautiful place, one of the better establishments on this side of Chicago. It’s on a busy street but with plenty of security cameras and a side door for guests who prefer more privacy. I will make good use of it whenever I go in and out of the building.

I check myself in under an assumed name. I’d secured a fake identity when I first moved to Chicago in case I might need it one day, and I intend to stay here until I sell my apartment. In the meantime, I’ll have to send for my clothes and belongings.

I know I need to tell Jason the truth. I keep coaxing myself into it, and just when I’m about to reach for the phone and call him, some part of me manages to pull away from doing it, keeping me anchored in fear and uncertainty instead.

Staying silent has become my comfort zone because telling the truth would bring too much discomfort. It’s messy enough as it is, and frankly, I lack the courage.

Sighing heavily, I look both ways as I cross the street and dip into the side alley. My heart starts racing as I constantly glance around, worried I might’ve caught a tail. I was careful, though. As soon as I left the school, I switched cabs twice and used another subway station aside from my usual one in order to get back to the hotel.

Nobody appears to be following me. Just the everyday stream of people making their way up and down the busy street, eager to shop and see the sights that Chicago has to offer. It’s a tourist-dense area, which serves me well, seeing as I currently require anonymity.

Once I’m inside, I pass by the ritzy reception desk to check if anyone has left a message for me. I’m not expecting anything, and I still have the same cell number. Jason knows where to reach me, as do my coworkers and Mrs. Ashel. The potential message I’m curious about is to make sure no one else has figured out that I’m here.

“Nothing for you today, Miss Delaware,” the receptionist says.

“Thank you, David.”

I smile at him and hit the elevator before other guests can beat me to it. I try to keep away from people, in general. While I’m not exactly an introvert, I have found peace in this strategy, especially while I’m trying to hide from Abramovic assassins.

A million thoughts bolt through my head as I listen to the smooth, jazzy elevator music, my mind wandering every which way. I keep going back to Jason, to his demand for the truth, and my inability to give that to him. It’s cowardice, that’s what it is, and it needs to stop.

By the time I reach my floor, I am practically berating myself, phone in hand. Maybe this time, I’ll hit the call button and just spill the beans, including the one about the baby.

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