Page 92 of Shattered
My shoulders and neck stiffened. “I’m telling you this honestly, Melissa.” I leaned forward and grabbed her face this time, forcing her gaze into mine. “I will never be able to give you a perfect life. I will never be able to give you the love you deserve. It’s not in me.” I let go of my grip and leaned on the door, looking away from her. In a quieter voice, I added, “But if loving you means seeing you for who you are, and doing what I can to make your life better, then fine. I love you.” I closed my eyes. “But that doesn’t mean we can be together.”
She reached for my hand once again, this time interlocking our fingers. Her small hand in mine. Always fearless. Even when facing me, a person without a conscience. The worst kind of monster.
“Why not?”
Her discerning eyes were fixed on me, not letting anything past her. Did she truly not understand?
“I will always be on the run,” I said. “It’ll never stop.”
“You stayed here.”
She was right, but I was on my way out. That’s what this was: a final goodbye. I couldn’t stay here, waiting to be identified.
“Let me go with you,” she said. My chest tightened, though I didn’t let her see my hesitation. “I’d rather be honest every day of my life with you, than here, trying to figure out what authenticity means to everyone else.”
“We’ll be on the run. That is until I’m caught,” I said quickly. “And by then, you’ll be an accessory to murder. My accomplice.”
She shrugged. “I already am, aren’t I?”
I studied her; those same dark brown eyes, as dark as mine, her unwavering gaze. She knew what the journey entailed. She was unafraid.
“You’re not scared, are you?” I adjusted my hand, holding my grip tight around hers.
“No,” she said.
“You trust me, then.”
“I have for a long time.”
I shook my head and leaned back into the seat. I let out the rare smile. “You are a strange one, Melissa.”
She tilted her head. “As are you. You want to help me pack?”
As if we were getting ready for a vacation, and not a life as outlaws. She pranced up to the house, practically shaking her hips, pretending like she wasn’t in baggy jeans and a stained shirt, but the lingerie she wore at the Dahlia District. Melissa was a strange mix of allure and honesty, and I didn’t know what our future held.
But as long as she understood the uncertainty before us, I was ready for it.
***
In the early evening, before any of the servers had arrived in the Greenhouse, Melissa arranged a meeting with Dahlia in her office, which was in a small building to the side of the main club. While Melissa talked with Dahlia, I disabled the security cameras, then put on my mask and gloves and knocked on the door. We had unfinished business to attend to before we left.
Dahlia opened the door. Her eyes bulged from her sockets seeing my masked face. I pushed her inside and locked the door behind me, then swung her into a bear hug, pulling her over to a chair in the next room.
“Mel!” she breathed. “Dial the Adlers! Get my phone!
“Melissa won’t be doing anything for you,” I said, my words a mechanical charge.
Melissa handed me a pair of hand and ankle cuffs from Dahlia’s dresser, and I bound Dahlia to the office chair.
It was more of a luxury apartment than an office. Two bedrooms: the one we were in was office-like, and the other was a bedroom fit for a king. A golden ornate headboard, an oversized bed, and enough room for a sectional. I glanced in the connected bathroom: a clawed tub and a glorious vanity mirror accessorized with plenty of high-end beauty products.
This woman preyed on the servers to fill her lifestyle. How she could call herself an entrepreneur, I didn’t know. She was a damn predator.
“Mel, help me,” Dahlia begged, her voice shaking. “Please. Dosomething.”
Melissa crossed her arms and leaned on the door frame, watching me at work.
I removed a thin white cord from my pocket, pulling it tight between my hands. “You’re not my usual target.”
