Page 49 of Let Me
“It’s Caden that told you, not Benji. About the—”
“About you having a threesome in the middle of a fuck load of strangers?” I roll my eyes. “Does it really matter who told me?”
“You know he’s fucking some chick that works for him, don’t you?”
That surprises me. Not that Caden is sleeping with someone—probably the woman I saw last night—but that Adam would know. I always thought Caden would be good at keeping secrets. Unless it’s not just a random fuck.
“I always knew you wanted to sleep with him,” Adam continues. I don’t bother denying it. What’s the point? “Mr. Virani told me” —my breath catches—“that you’ve always had a crush on him. That’s fucked up, Riley, you know that don’t you? After Jack…I can’t believe—”
“Stop talking,” I snap, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. “It’s eight in the morning, and this is how you’re spending your time? Sleazing around behind my back and talking to Roll—Mr. Virani? What the fuck are you doing that for?”
Adam laughs into the phone and I marvel at the fact I ever thought he was hot. His laugh is sleazy, just like Rolland, his apparent co-conspirator. “Mr. Virani came to me. He said he was worried about you.” He takes a deep breath, sounding annoyed. “Christ, Riley. You really get to people, don’t you?”He has no idea.“One of the most powerful men in the city still bothers to give a shit about you after his son offs himself, probably because you fucked with him, too—”
I end the call, throw the phone against the wall opposite the bed, where it falls to the marble armoire with a clatter. It’s probably broken, but in the moment, I don’t give a damn.
Adam knows nothing.
The only reason I fell for him, I think, is because I wanted a link to the city. I wanted a reason to fend off Rolland. I was under no illusion Adam would be faithful. Hell, I was under no illusionIwould be faithful. And yeah, watching your boyfriend screw two chicks in a crowded sex club isn’t all fun and games, but it’s really not the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.
The worst thing is Jack’s death.
For Adam to use it like that, against me, it’s fucked up. Adam went to high school with us. He knew Jack. They weren’t friends, but they weren’t enemies either. For him to dare say something so vile…
I blow out a breath and put the pillow to my face, suppressing a scream. I’m mad at Adam for stupid words. It wasmethat let Jack get fucked over.
I tighten my grip on the pillow.
I can’t go down this hole again. It leads to an abyss I almost didn’t escape the first time. But that abyss led me to that fucking party, which led me to Caden. Can I hate it that much?
My phone vibrates against the armoire—clearly, it’s still working, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not—but I ignore it. If I’m stuck here in Haven in a 5-star hotel, the least I can do is take a shower in the glass monstrosity that spans nearly the entire bathroom.
Without glancing at my missed calls, I open up my phone and play Rise Against through the wireless speakers in the enormous bathroom, and wash and condition my hair, put on a complimentary face mask tucked behind the porcelain sink, and dress in skinny jeans and a black tank top. I throw my mass of wavy hair in a wet bun on top of my head. I like to let it dry that way to get some more curl out of it.
I pull out a notebook from my bag, get back in bed, and start writing.
I want to be an English professor, but I also want to be a writer. My mind is a strange place, and only empty sheets of paper don’t judge you for that. I don’t write about real life, even though mine is strange enough in itself to make an interesting novel. No, I write worse things. Murders. Crimes. Houses in the woods full of mutilated body parts.
I’ve always had that darkness.
Rolland made it worse.
I think Caden had it, too. With a sick fuck for a father, how could he not?
Maybe it’s what drew us to one another. Thinking that we weren’t alone in that strange place our minds dwelled.
I write for what feels like hours—whatishours, according to the clock on the nightstand—when there’s a knock on the door.
Thinking it’s likely housekeeping, I keep scribbling, pages and pages filled now, and then call out, “No, thank you.”
The knock persists. Louder and heavier this time.
Hell, maybe Morgan is ready to kick me out. Maybe this place has suddenly become host to a few busloads of traveling elderly.
I hop off the bed, throw down my notepad and pen, and pad barefoot over the thick carpet to the door. I yank the chain and undo the lock without peering through the peephole.
I still when I see Benji in the doorway.
He has his arms crossed, he’s leaning against the wall, and there’s a smirk on his lips. He’s wearing a dark blue dress shirt, taunt over his muscled shoulders, and dark jeans.
