Page 53 of Forgive Me For I Have Sinned

She snickers. "The boys. Why…you goin' kick all their asses? I see the way you look at her. You're Claire Riodrick's boy." I'm not surprised she recognizes me. "A Riordan because of your father." She leans her hip on the table and lowers her voice, making it sound raspier. "I know who you are, and I can guess why you're here, but I do know that girl isn't for the likes of you. She's kind. Whatever business you have with her, leave it at Kenyan or at work where it belongs. This is the only place I have seen that poor girl smile and be herself. So don't you come in here messing with her head," she warns.

"I think you got it all wrong. It's not like that."

She scoffs. "Oh, you goin' to marry her?"

My eyes widen in horror at the sound of the word marriage. I don't believe in it.

Is she insane?

"That's what I thought. I know about your little deal with the big dogs. I got ears. I've heard plenty about you, Alaric. I know she is interning at your company because she told me but refused to give up her shift here at the restaurant. She likes working here. She works hard and I'm tired of her getting treated like a piece of meat all the damn time. I'm sure you have plenty of women that would love to play games with you, so you can toss them aside when you're finished, but Veronica isn't one of them," she says morosely. She's about to leave but pauses. "Say hi to your mom for me. She's a real nice lady." And then walks away to take other orders, leaving me stunned by how she defended Veronica.

I cast my gaze toward the kitchen, where a hand can be seen banging a silver bell, and watch Veronica prepare her orders. She said she would be right back but sent Dorothy because she's afraid. I know I get under her skin and don't care if I look like an idiot staring at her. She's a mystery I want to unravel. She's too smart to be working in a restaurant, and most people from Kenyan wouldn't be caught dead working here. It's obvious she's different and has learned to play both sides, but this is the side she prefers because it’s where she feels important, valued and loved by the people working around her. I don't want to take that away from her. It's humbling, but I'm determined to get my date with her, and I won't take no for an answer.

CHAPTER 21

Veronica

After my shift wraps up, I find myself walking the familiar path toward the bus stop. An unsettling sensation of being watched clings to me like a shadow, causing my nerves to prick. I can't shake it off, even though every time I glance around, the empty streets at four in the morning reveal no one lurking in the shadows. I could've stayed at the diner until five, but I'm tired, and the thought of a hot shower followed by a brief nap is all that fuels me, especially when I'm done at his office at nine-thirty. I didn't expect him to see me at the restaurant after I told him not to go there when I was working or that he would ask me out. He, of all people, dared to ask me out on a date. I can't deny a small blossom of hope unfurled within me. The way he looked at me when he posed the question was a puzzle—a mixture of sincerity and confusion.

Alaric Riordan is a man who doesn't bend, who doesn't apologize or acknowledge regret for any of his actions. And certainly not for the torment he subjected me to. If there's anyone on this earth for whom he'd reserve even a whisper of remorse, it's not me.

I hear a purring of an engine, and from the corner of my eye, I spot his Ferrari, but I ignore it and keep walking to the bus stop.

"So, what time do I pick you up on Friday?"

I stop and turn to face him. "You don't take no for an answer, do you?"

"No. When I want something, I get it."

"Of course, money is no object to someone like you, and because you have so much of it, you get what you want. It doesn't matter what anyone thinks. Money…power and all that."

"This has nothing to do with money or power. Just a man asking a woman out on a date."

"What for? You've already had me; the last time I checked, I didn't meet your standards. If you want a date so badly, ask Sasha or Tara. Last time I checked, you were fucking her and did your cousin a favor. Go ask them; I'm sure they will oblige. Maybe both of them at the same time. It all depends on your kink."

"I don't want them."

"I don't think you have trouble finding a woman, Alaric. After all, you have me for your little sick game for a while. The only reason I talk to you is because you have the decency to give me a choice and don't have to fake it."

"Did you the first time?"

I pinch my brows together, rub my arms, and stop walking to face him. He applies the break, and I ask, "First time?"

"The night at the party. I'm not talking about sex. Did you fake it?"

My instinct is to tell him yes, but the truth is, it would be a lie because everything I felt that night was real. It was the last time I felt like myself. It doesn't matter if I tell him the truth because it's too late. "No," I say and keep walking on the sidewalk.

"Get in, Veronica," I hear him call out. "You're not going back there. You're staying with me."

I pause a step. "But–"

"Don't piss me off," he warns. "Get in the car."

He jumps out and walks around, opening the passenger door, and waits for me to enter. I could run, but what would be the point. He will find me; the last thing I need is a pissed-off Alaric. In my mind, I want him to get annoyed with me and end this little game. I would go back, and the real nightmare would begin, but deep down, I want him to keep me like this, belonging to no one. Dorian can only interfere if I'm playing a game with Alaric, but how long? A cynical voice in my head drowns out the faint hope. This is how to get back at you—a strategic move to infiltrate my thoughts and emotions. If he had truly cared, truly understood the depth of that night, he would've seen through the lies they said about me. He would've sought me out and attempted to hear my side of the story. But he didn't. His inaction spoke louder than words ever could.

The drive to his house is silent. We don't say a word to each other the whole way.

As we pull up, he graciously opens the door for me, and I step into his home, mirroring the scenario from the first time. The opulence of the surroundings is as overwhelming as before, everything unchanged except for one conspicuous detail: the bathroom. Its centerpiece—the bathtub—is now conspicuously absent.

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