Page 51 of Wicked Believer
She’s been a real dream. The perfect me. On time and eager to follow directions on every occasion we’ve needed her. Honestly, sometimes it feels like she’s better at being me than I am.
Not a hard job these days.
I push the thought aside, ignoring the feeling of unease I get as I glance at Olivia’s bag in my hand. I’m sure she just forgot it. She was probably eager to get home for the evening.
Completely unbothered, Xzander leads me toward the elevator with an old-school metal grate. “I think you’re going to love what I have in store for you, diva,” he says when we reach the second floor, spreadinghis arms in the shape of an invisible rainbow as he reopens it. “Picture this. Dark brocade. All handmade. And—”
And that’s when I see myself lying there.
On the second-floor tile. In a puddle of blood.
Or whatlookslike me, anyway.
Xzander freezes. “Ah, hell naw,” he swears quietly, his voice way more Harlem than usual. “This isnotthe kind of rich-white-people bullshit I signed up for.”
I step off the elevator, feeling like I’m looking down at myself from above, though I’m suddenly trembling from head to toe. I stare down at the body of the woman who wassupposedto be me. At the blood that formed around her hair like a macabre halo. Hair that was dyed and styled to look exactly like mine.
“Olivia?” I whisper.
I don’t know why I say her name. She can’t hear me. From the looks of it, she’s been dead for ... several hours? Longer maybe?
Long enough not to return Xzander’s key.
Bile burns at the back of my throat as I slowly approach and crouch beside her, desperately trying to make sense of all this, but I ... feel nothing.
I’m more numb than I’ve ever been.
“What ... what do we do?” I reach out a hand to brush her eyes closed, put her at peace.
“Charlotte,” Xzander says, his voice several octaves lower as he grips me by the shoulders, bringing me back to myself before I can touch her. Gently, he urges me back. “Charlotte, you’ve got to get outta herenow,diva.” He swallows, his features turning ashy as he nods toward the window.
Several nondescript cars pull to a stop outside the studio.
My legs go weak.
The paparazzi.
They found me, of course.
With Olivia dead, there’s no one left to deter them.
And with last night’s hit on the Righteous in today’s papers ...
A sour taste coats my mouth as I back toward the exit.
“What about you?” I ask, my eyes darting toward Xzander.
“Don’t worry about me. I can handle myself. Now, go. Round the back,” Xzander mutters, more grave and focused than I’ve ever seen him. He grabs a nearby hat and several scarves off a mannequin, shoving them toward me like they’re supposed to be some makeshift disguise as he ushers me inside the elevator.
“Xzander, what if they—”
“Go, Charlotte,” he snaps, causing me to jump.
Adrenaline kicks in suddenly, the awful numbness inside me melting and paving the way for something far more debilitating. Everything I’ve been holding back. All my fears, my anxieties, all of it unravels inside me. I jam my finger into the elevator button, struggling to control my breath. There’s not enough oxygen in the room, and I’m more than grateful for the security standing guard outside the front door.
I make my way to the first floor, several members of my security detail running up the stairs, having just heard Xzander’s calls for help. They don’t even notice me.
Slowly, I back against a nearby wall, dropping all the items Xzander shoved into my arms ...
