Page 11 of Be Mine

“A courier service dropped it off.”

The only people who know I’m staying at a motel are the police, and I never specified which one. I never told Martha where I was staying and no one at work knows what’s going on.

“Are you sure it’s for me?”

“Yes, ma’am. Frankie Clarke. Room 116.”

Fuck.

How is it possible that they found me at some run down, shit motel? I tell her I’ll be down soon to retrieve it before hanging up.

I take the long way around to the lobby to avoid the impromptu party happening the other way. Each step feels like it’s bringing me closer to my ruin. The panic returns violently, my sanity threatening to take me under. I can’t. I can’t deal with one more thing today.

Grabbing the item from front desk, it bears all the same similarities to the heart and the flowers I received today. Black box embellished with a red bow. It’s small, like a jewelry box, that fits in the palm of my hand. The clerk has hearts in her eyes as she hands it over, swooning over the romantic gesture.

If she only fucking knew.

Without opening it, I chuck the gift into the nearest garbage can. I’m done playing this game. Whoever the fuck you are, you aren’t screwing with me anymore.

Chapter Ten

Frankie

“Hey, baby,” Taylor greets me at the door, already dressed for the night in a cropped tee and shredded jeans with fishnets underneath. The outfit accentuates all of her curves and the top makes her tits look fantastic. Her dark hair is down in loose curls, those baby blues pop with her smoky eyeshadow, and her lips a bold crimson. If she didn’t love being a baker so much, she could be a makeup artist or stylist. Her looks are always flawless.

“Hey, are you ok?” she asks as she grabs my bag for me, letting me in out of the cold. I’m sure I look like hell. Smeared makeup. My hair haphazardly thrown into a messy bun. And still in my uniform.

“Yeah, I’m good.” I nod as I shed my coat, hang it on the coat rack, then rid myself of my shoes. “You look hot as fuck, by the way.”

“Thanks, doll. I’m hoping to get me some tonight. It’s been so long since I’ve been dicked down, I think my hymen grew back.” She smiles wickedly.

“Oh my fucking God.” I laugh. But I’m in the same boat. It’s been ages since I’ve been with something that isn’t battery operated.

She puts my bag on the bench in the entryway and guides me towards the kitchen.

Taylor lives in a townhouse across town from me. It’s a nice, quaint, two-bedroom with a small patio out back. Thanks to an inheritance from her grandmother, she was able to purchase it herself. She’s decorated it beautifully with modern furniture and appliances. Her home is spotless and pristine, a stark contrast to the chaotic nature of my apartment.

She has a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses on the counter waiting for us, obviously eager to get this party started.

“What a fucking day, right?” she says as she pulls a lemon from the fridge and a saltshaker from the cupboard.

Oh has it ever.

“It’s been wild. I can’t even wrap my head around it.” I slide onto the bar stool opposite her.

“Right? How the fuck do you get stuck in the baler? Do you think it was accidental?” she asks as she cuts the lemon into wedges.

I’ve been wrestling with this since our shift ended. I can’t see how he just ‘slipped’ in there. “Honestly, no. There’s no way he could have managed to fall in there while it was on. And he couldn’t have started it while inside.”

“I thought that, too. There is no way he did this to himself. You think another employee had it out for him?”

I blow out a breath. “I mean, who knows with Luke? But most of us are used to his antics by now. I can’t think of anyone who would want to deliberately harm him.”

“Unless he was hooking up with someone then did them dirty. He’s a total player.”

“You think a woman did this?”

“Hey, women can be strong, too. You know what they say, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” She winks at me while filling the shot glasses to the brim with the amber liquid. We both simultaneously lick our hands before she sprinkles some salt on them.

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