Page 42 of Forgive Me For I Have Sinned

Every year, Charles made sure he took my mother away to another continent, so he wouldn't have to be reminded of me and what I stood for, infidelity. But in his mind, I would always be called Prey. I would see the sorrow in my mother's eyes, but ignored it because she could do nothing, and there was nothing I could do emotionally. Her fate was in my hands. But I had to admit, I loved Christmas because only those who cared about me the most, remembered that the real me existed.

The smell of morning dew is still in the air, and I knew it would disappear once the sun appeared on the horizon reminding me that day is just beginning. I tried to stay as long as possible at the restaurant because of what happened last time on the bus. I still can't remember exactly what occurred; I just remember waking up in my bed, and when I asked Marilyn, one of the housekeepers, she said she was fast asleep when I came home and didn't hear anything amiss.

I’m not sure if I took one of the pills or decided to stop taking them, even if it risked me getting nightmares. That reminds me...I skipped my visit with Dr. Wick last week and need to make sure I don't miss the next one, or Charles will be pissed he didn't get the scoop.

"Do you always tune out when sitting alone waiting for the bus in the early morning before the sun rises? Anyone can just walk up and mug you."

When I look up, Alaric is in his blacked-out Ferrari, idling at the curb like last time. “I've been watching you for about five minutes, and you didn't notice me."

I didn't notice him. I was stuck in my head like I usually am when I'm alone and have time to think. His last statement reminds me of the hooded figure with the plague mask. I know it's a signature mask from the Order's secret society. Jess described it in detail, and I know they exist because of Reid, but no one questions when and if they appear. But when they do, two things happen, you die, or they want you to know who they are. If they don't, you don't. I'm unsure if he's one of them or maybe he's too close to the top to bother with mundane dealings.

"I don't have much they can take," I say, looking down the dark road to see if the lights from the bus appear.

"Why don't you have a car?"

I glance at him, holding the medium-sized bag I purchased at Target on clearance tight against my stomach, surprised he even asked that question. "You're an intelligent guy. Why do you think?"

"Humor me," he shoots back.

I slide my dark hair over my shoulder and sigh, looking down the dark road again. "Why would I need a car if my chauffeur comes to pick me up? I know when he is always coming with enough room to take all of my friends along with me," I say flatly, turning my head to meet his stormy gray eyes that look almost black under the streetlights. "On gala days or special events, I get a limo that ensures I get home. You know, so I don't look bad, given my last name."

"Is that the truth?" he asks, surprising me again because he can't be so blind. "I want to know why Veronica doesn't have a car?"

"Why?"

"Because I want to know? Why don't you come with me and tell me? We have to be at the office in about four hours. Besides, your shift is over." He came to collect me since he owns my time technically and can decide what to do with it.

Rain begins to pour in sheets without warning, like the sky just opened up in anger.

I get up without having much of a choice. I'll get wet or worse, get sick, and then Marissa would have to stay longer because she refuses to leave me alone when I'm ill. The wind blows, and I gasp when the cold rain hits my uniform. I hear footsteps hit the pavement, and then I'm lifted off the ground bridal style, wrapping my arms around his neck. When he places me in the front passenger seat, I can smell his crisp cologne mixing with the rain and the hint of leather. He leans in, not caring that his back is getting wet, and turns to face me. "You'll catch a cold in the rain." The door slams shut.

He gets in the car, running his fingers through his damp hair and wiping his face. I see the lights from the bus finally pulling up when he drives off. I shiver from the air conditioner blowing over my wet arms. "Are you cold?"

"Yeah," I admit. He adjusts the temperature of the air conditioner so that it shoots warm.

"Thank you," I say softly.

"So tell me?"

I rub my lips together and begin. "I can't afford a car, and it would be pointless to save for one because I never learned how to drive. I only have an identification card. I'm not licensed to operate one."

I hated admitting that to him. I didn't learn to drive because there wasn't a car to practice on. It wasn't like I could ask Charles Devlin to let me borrow one of his, and I didn't ask Alicia because I was ashamed of my situation. When it was time at school to get a license, I opted for ID only and took my picture. No one questioned it.

"Oh…I guess that makes sense."

I glance out the window. "Yeah, you just missed my chauffeur," I deadpan.

He laughs. "I'm sorry. I'm not making fun of you, but I must admit, I thought it was real when you first said it. I fell for it, and then I realized you meant the bus and that you were waiting for one."

"Kind of surprising, isn't it? Everyone thinks I'm this privileged rich girl with all the money at her disposal. When in reality, I sleep in the hired helps wing like a servant waiting to be summoned."

He remains quiet after that statement. I can't blame him. It’s sad to be honest. At that moment, it wasn't fun thinking I was Cinderella like I did when I was younger, waiting for Prince Charming. I wasn't Cinderella and I didn't have a Prince Charming or fairy godmother. It's funny when you think you have a person all figured out, only to realize you know nothing about them.

The silence stretches in the cabin of the car. The first time I sat in it at the party, I didn't appreciate the red leather or the beautiful lines on the dash, or how the engine purrs. It must be nice to be entitled to a privileged life. When we approach the light after fifteen minutes, he takes a left turn instead of a right. I crane my neck to make sure I'm not missing something.

I hook my thumb behind me. "You missed the turn."

"No, I didn't."

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