Page 31 of Corrupted Queen

“All the more reason to come with me.” With Alexis’ help, I lift her to her feet. “The police will be here soon. We need to go.”

Clara takes a shaky step forward and nearly collapses. She is moving too slow.

I sigh and lean down, bundling Clara in my arms and striding out of the apartment with Alexis following on my heel. She weighs nothing, as though her bones are hollow like a bird’s. I should have never let her get this bad. She isn’t my responsibility, but she’s Alexis’ best friend and if I’d acted sooner, I could have avoided this whole mess.

I throw Dom the keys to the Porsche and get into the town car with Alexis and Clara. David takes off toward the mansion as sirens ring through the air from a distance.

I pull Alexis across my lap, cradling her to my chest like I used to when we were lovers. Before all the ugliness. I am surprised to find that not only does she let me hold her, but she cuddles in against my chest and buries her face in my shirt. I rest my lips against the crown of her head and breathe in her flowery scent.

12

Alexis

It has been two days since the attack at Clara’s apartment, and I’m still on edge. You would think after being held hostage and threatened by Andrew Walsh for days on end I’d be more used to people trying to kill me, but as it turns out, the experience still sucks.

I see Killian’s bloodshot eyes and dilated pupils in my dreams. I remember the bloodcurdling fear I felt as he broke down the bathroom door, and my last panicked run to try and escape. He grabbed me by the leg and I hit the ground hard, and it was at that point I knew it was all over. I was going to die in that apartment, just another rotting plant.

And then the unbelievable happened. Clara pushed him, hard enough that he went tumbling toward the window. It smashed, the sound ripping through my eardrums. And then it was quiet.

It all happened so fast. My encounter with Andrew Walsh was a slow-burn by design. He tortured me with the passage of time and the knowledge that any given second could be my last. Killian had no such theatricality. He just wanted my death, swift and sure. I still don’t know why, and Clara hasn’t been any help in that regard. She has been drying out in one of the spare bedrooms, and for the most part all she has done is cry and scream. I can’t ask her the questions I need to ask because it only sets her off. I guess I will have to wait to find out why her boyfriend was so determined to kill me.

My only solace has been Gabriel. Since the attack, he has been coming to my room late each night, like he used to in the days before I betrayed him. Before he locked me up. The first night he just held me. A foolish part of me wondered whether that was more for my benefit or for his.

The second night was far less gentle but somehow more comforting. He forbade me to make a sound while he fucked me, swatting my ass and breasts for every moan and whimper. Something about that harsh lesson in self-restraint and the explosive orgasm that followed eased my pain, as though the familiar structure of his domination released me from my trauma.

There is a knock on my bedroom door. I look up from where I’m sitting on the bed, staring into space.

“Yeah?”

The door cracks open and Angelo sticks his head through the gap. “Gabriel would like to see you in his office.”

I heft a sigh and nod, lifting myself from the mattress. “Thanks, Angelo.”

He nods and closes the door while I go to check on Harry, who is happily enjoying his after- lunch nap. I grab the baby monitor and head to Gabriel’s office. I knock on the heavy oak door.

“Come in.”

I enter, and Gabriel is seated behind his desk with his laptop open. He closes it and gestures for me to take a seat in front of him. It’s all very formal. Even his expression smacks of serious business, all hard lines and flat edges.

I sit. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to inform you that I have made arrangements for Clara to receive treatment in one of Belluci Inc’s rehabilitation centers.”

“You mean one of the ones that’s left?” I remark, unable to help myself.

Gabriel’s mouth presses together sternly and I categorize the next question I was going to ask, about whether she’ll be pushed to the streets like the rest of the addicts once he decides to close her center, into thewrong time, wrong placefolder. He’s helping. I should be grateful.

Gabriel clears his throat and continues. The formality of it all stings a little for reasons I don’t understand. “Clara’s treatment will include therapy for post-traumatic stress disorder due to the murder she committed in self-defense. The doctors have advised that you keep your distance for a little while, to give her time to acclimatize to the new environment and work through some of her issues.”

“Thank you,” I say.

He nods. “I should have gotten involved sooner. The doctor who examined her after the attack noted that there were clear signs of abuse.” Gabriel glances down at his desk, then back up at me. “I’m sorry, Alexis.”

An apology from Gabriel Belluci is as valuable as a solid gold basketball and just as heavy. He drops it in my lap and it knocks the air right out of my lungs.

“Thank you,” I say.

Silence stretches like a bungee cord between us, words unspoken waiting to snap into focus at any second. I study his face. His dark eyes are tired, stressed. His jaw is tense. He somehow looks even more handsome like this, with tension framing his muscles.

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