Page 3 of Duchess

In the end, I blamed myself for believing in his narcissistic ass and for allowing myself to fall into this dark world he created. Now he was dead and I was left with the mess, a mess I had no idea how to escape.

Alan was the Turks' most trusted middleman. He was considered a mover, he brought in the kind of goods that didn’t come with barcodes or receipts. Guns. Women. Stolen art. Blood diamonds. High-risk, high-dollar shit. He was the one who made it disappear and reappear wherever the highest bidder wanted it. His job? Transport the product, clean the paper trail, and make sure nothing ever pointed back to the bosses.

He never got caught, never got traced. A ghost with a slick smile and a passport for every continent. All I knew was that he was fucking good at it.

I kept retracing his steps and his movements the last few weeks, but I just couldn’t see where things went wrong.Something had shifted. He'd been nervous the past few weeks, staying out late, taking calls in other rooms, watching the door like the devil himself might be standing on the other side.

The only one who reached out to me after his death was Caleb Killic.

Caleb. The Turk with too much money and too many secrets.

Alan’s best friend, if men like him even had friends. More like a handler, a shadow always lingering at the edge of every deal. He said he wanted to know details. How Alan died, what the cops knew, what I knew. But I saw it in his eyes. He wasn’t asking. He washunting. And his eyes were already locked on a new target…me.

I avoided him for as long as I could, ghosting his calls, skipping every place I used to haunt. I even switched grocery stores, just to avoid catching his eyes in the cereal aisle. But deep down, I knew it was only a matter of time before he came for me, and when he did, he wouldn’t knock before ripping my world apart. As much as I wanted to disappear, I was never the type to blend into the background, especially not when I stood beside these plastic-perfect blondes who were tossing themselves over his casket as if they had some tragic love story.

Their bodies were all silicone and high-gloss lips.Me?I had hips that tested the seams of my jeans, thick thighs that didn't need filters, and curves that came with history and heat. I was messy, emotional, and unapologetically loud in a world that told girls like me to shrink. I was real. And real doesn’t come with extensions and a receipt.

I stared at the shallow grave, wondering how love could go from sweetness to bitterness in the span of a moment. My mind drifted back to those nights when Alan would wrap himself around me, whispering promises that he never intended to keep.I remembered the weight of his arm draped across my waist, how he always said I made him feel real, feel seen, as if my body and soul had been his sanctuary. And I hated myself for missing him even now, for wanting to believe some part of what he gave me had been real.

I barely heard the heavy footsteps before I was yanked out of that memory and thrown into the cold harshness that was my reality. My boots scraped across the wet grass as I was dragged backward, away from the small crowd of people. I could have screamed, but I knew who had come for me before I even laid eyes on him.

He slammed me back into the thick trunk of a gnarled oak tree, the bark biting through my clothes and into my spine. I hissed and tried to shove him off me but Caleb’s hand crashed into my chest, firm and holding me captive against that tree. The breath left my lungs in one sharp exhale, but it wasn’t pain that held me upright, it was rage. A blistering type of rage that was ready to detonate at any second.

"Get the fuck off me!" I snapped, my voice sharp enough to draw blood.

"Did you think I wouldn’t find you?" he growled at me, his voice low and brutal.

I arched a brow, the smirk on my lips letting him know I didn’t scare so easily. "Honestly? I figured you'd send one of your Barbie dolls after me."

He stepped closer, not amused. "This isn't a joke, Stephanie."

"No," I said, my voice low. "It’s not a joke, Caleb. It never was. You come here acting like you’re owed answers, like you’ve got some moral high ground. But here’s the truth you hate more than anything that you’re not in control of this, and that terrifies you. Doesn’t it? You only show up when your empire starts to crack, and I’m the one thing you can’t fix with a threat or a bribe."

His hand twitched at his side, holding himself back, but I held my ground. "Careful now, Caleb. You might break a nail."

His jaw ticked. "You always had a smart mouth."

"Better than a fake smile and a hollow conscience. Now either say what you want to say, or get the hell out of my face."

He took a step closer, wrapping his hand around my throat, tightening it just enough so I understood who held the power between us. “Do. Not. Push me.”

It pissed me off that my body reacted like it did to his threat. A dark shiver ran down my spine as heat pooled in places that had no goddamn business heating up under his touch. Dangerous was not the word I’d use for Caleb Killic. A massochistic, threatening, murderous bastard, would be just a few select of the terms I’d use.

I truly hated Caleb Killic.

Maybe it was just that he was too damn pretty. He was the kind of man who made women stupid. Six-foot-two of chaos wrapped in black designer suits. Midnight blue eyes so intense they could pierce steel. A beard trimmed to perfection, sculpted jawline, and jet-black waves, cut short, with every strand perfectly placed on his stupid, handsome head. He smelled like oak, sage, and power. And worst of all, he knew exactly what he looked like.

Yeah, he was pretty, but pretty didn’t mean shit.

All I knew of the man was that he was the no bullshit type who mostly kept to himself. I knew he was well off. You could pretty much smell the money coming off his expensive Prada suits and sleek gold watches. He was the type of man to always have a pretty new toy hanging off his arm. Tall blondes with big boobs and blue eyes were his type. Some were so skinny I tended to offer them food whenever they were around. California bombshells who were only after one thing, fame and money. As soon as they opened their mouth, you’d flinch and beg them tonever talk again, afraid you’d get dumber just from hearing them speak. I never did understand why a man as intelligent as Caleb couldn’t find a woman to match his brains.

But one didn’t underestimate a man like Caleb Killic. He was rich enough to buy entire neighborhoods, and cold enough to burn them down when he got bored. He was always watching, always calculating. He didn’t trust me. Never had. And I sure as hell didn’t trust him.

"Stephanie. We both know you know things. So I’m going to need you to start talking.”

“I know lots of things, Caleb. I especially know how much you get paid each month and I have the number to your account memorized.”

“Bitch,do not fuck with me. What do you know?" His hand slid up, fingers curling lightly around my throat. I knew he could feel my pulse against his skin, steady and full of restraint.

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