Chapter 8: Chapter 8

There’s a moment of complete confusion when I wake up in darkness to the beeping of an alarm clock. But then everything rushes back.

It’s like waking up under ice.

I sit bolt upright. Instantly I wince as the movement triggers insanely bright white lights to stream down on me. My eyes squeeze shut, wincing as the blinding light stabs through my eyelids and the alarm continues to blare into my ear.

Good fucking morning to you, too.

Bleary-eyed, I roll off the little folding cot and slam my hand down on my backup phone, silencing the alarm. My hands run over my face and up into my hair, pushing it back from my face as I take a breath and exhale slowly. Suddenly, the events that led me to waking up in the locked confidential documents vault at the office come screaming back in violent flashes through my head.

I remember kneeing him in the balls and kicking him in the shin before fleeing. I remember bolting down the alley, naked and wrapped in a throw blanket, and then diving behind a dumpster, shrinking against the brick wall behind me.

Waiting to see if the monster would chase me.

When the minutes ticked by and he didn’t, I cautiously stepped from my hiding place to find the alleyway empty. After that, I sprinted to my car parked in the garage under the Soho Grand, pulled on the extra office outfit I keep in the trunk, and drove directly to work.

This is the only place I could think of where I’d be totally safe from him: locked in the keypad-entry-only documents locker.

My primary phone is still back at the hotel room in my bag. So it’s not like he could track me via the app or anything else on my phone.

I shiver in the chilly air-conditioning.

Except he also saw my face. And he did come to my hotel room, which means he can easily get my name.

I tremble again as my arms tighten around me.

Annika.

“Come play, Annika! Come throw the ball!”

“Stop. Fucking. Talking, Annika.”

My throat works, swallowing back the lump in the back of it. My eyes close, and suddenly, I get another flash of the same scene: the warm sun and the smell of cut grass. The laughing, handsome man. The beautiful, smiling woman with the red hair.

“Come play, Annika…”

I flinch as I snap out of it. My eyes drift to my backup phone, and I frown at the time.

Amelia will be in soon. Probably best not to be sitting on a cot in a locked windowless room in my underwear.

I change back into the emergency outfit from my car and slide into my backup Louboutins. Peeking out of the documents locker, I see the office is still completely empty. I fold up my cot, tidy up the area, and head to my office to stow away the evidence of my workplace sleepover.

In my ensuite executive bathroom, I wash my face, do my makeup, comb my hair, brush my teeth, and generally try to make it look like I didn’t just spend the night in a glorified closet. Then I’m at my desk, some Van Morrison—which I love—playing on the desktop speaker, trying to focus on the legal papers in front of me.

“Oh!”

I smile and look up as Amelia stops short in the doorway, looking surprised. I mean, I’m usually here early. But I’m not sure there’s ever been a day where I’ve beaten her in.

“I’m so sorry, Ms. Crown,” she frowns. “Is my clock off⁠—”

“Nope, not at all, Amelia,” I smile. “Just here extra early to get cracking on some of this.”

“Ah, perfect!” Amelia beams. “Can I get you a coffee?”

“That’d be great, thank you, Amelia.”

She grins and scurries off. The second she’s out of sight, my smile drops. I exhale, shuddering a little as I reach for my landline and buzz the front desk. I ask George, the head morning security officer, to be sure to screen any unscheduled guests for the firm, and to be on the lookout for any especially tall and built dark-haired men who may have European or maybe even Eastern European accents.

“Someone in particular you’re worried about, Ms. Crown?” George asks in a voice laden with concern.

“No, no,” I try and laugh it off. “It’s…”

George clears his throat. “I don’t mean to pry, Ms. Crown. But is this, uh, maybe a date who isn’t getting a second chance and might be upset about it?”

That times one million, yes.

I could lie, but why not just bend the truth a little instead?

I’m a lawyer, after all.

“Actually… Yeah,” I sigh. “That’s basically it.”

George clears his throat again, sounding extra official. “Anything we should call the authorities about, Ms. Crown?”

“No, nothing like that, George. I sincerely doubt he’d come here anyway. I just…you know.”

“Better safe than sorry, that’s what I always tell my daughters, Ms. Crown,” George says fiercely. “How big we talkin’?”

I shiver as I remember last night. I’m fairly tall for a woman, at five foot ten. But he still towered over me by…nearly a foot, it felt like.

“Maybe six-seven or eight?”

George whistles. “He play for the Knicks or somethin’?”

I grin. “Unfortunately, no. And again, I don’t think he’s dangerous or anything, and I doubt he’ll⁠—”

“We’ll keep an eye out, Ms. Crown. Don’t worry.”

“Thanks, George,” I say quietly. “I appreciate it.”

After Amelia brings coffee, she shuts the door and leaves me to it. But instead of diving into the frankly insane amount of work I need to get through with Gabriel leaving, I can’t focus on any of it.

There’s something else on my mind.

Someone else.

My face burns with heat. A dirty, deviant sensation slithers through my psyche, electrifying my skin. A needy pulse tugs at my core as my thighs clench.

All further proof that I’m insane, as if I needed more convincing.

Last night, a monster broke into my hotel room. A monster who pinned me to the wall, cut away my clothes, and ran a fucking knife over my body.

…A monster who almost made me come with that very knife rubbing my clit.

I’m not insane. I’m deranged.

Broken. Unhinged. Unwell.

Because even after everything that happened later, just thinking about that first part of the night has my pulse quickening and my nipples tightening.

My panties growing damp.

I didn’t just let him do those things.

I liked it.

Or at least, I did until it all went wrong. Until something shifted behind his eyes, and his look turned from malevolent to downright malicious. From dangerous to furious.

Until he called me Annika, called me his fucking wife, and tried to abduct me.

My skin prickles.

The one saving grace in all this Venom shit has been me telling myself that none of it is “real”. I’ve convinced myself of the “fantasy” aspect in all of this: that these men I could theoretically connect with on the app aren’t actual psychopaths who want to hurt me or murder me. They’re rich, powerful, vetted men who happen to have the same slightly south of the border kinks that I do.

Except as I replay last night, especially the later parts, I’m suddenly not so sure.

That wasn’t a game to him. He looked at me like I was his worst enemy. For real.

A knock on my office door startles me from my haunting thoughts. I yank my eyes up, spotting Alistair through the glass walls just before he lets himself in.

“Heard you were here bright and early,” he grunts, bearing a coffee mug that says Captain Sunshine! and is covered with grinning, cheerful anthropomorphic rainbows and suns.

“Yeah, I—” My brows knit. “What the fuck is with the mug?”

Alistair, who might be the least likely candidate for the title of “Captain Sunshine” in the history of the world, rolls his eyes. “Eloise got it for me.”

“I love that woman,” I sigh. “Maybe try to keep her this time around?”

“Har fucking har,” he mutters. He nods at the stack of legal documents on my desk. “Gabriel shit?”

“Gabriel shit,” I reply grimly.

Alistair sighs. “I can’t believe Elsa only said ‘maybe’. It would make all our lives way easier if she’d just take the damn job.” He makes a face. “Stupid baby.”

I snort. “What, you and Eloise not thinking about kids?”

He scowls. “I mean…not this second, no.” A smirk tugs at his lips. “You? Any baby thoughts?”

I bite back the heat that is threatening to spread up my neck into my face as I replay part of last night.

“I… I’m n-not on birth control…”

“You say that as if I give a fuck.”

I smile at Alistair through the throb deep in my core as I force a wry smile to my face.

“Yeah, still single as fuck, thanks.”

Alistair shrugs. “Hey, I could totally see you as one of those single fifty-year-old ladies with a surrogate…or doing some sort of superwoman in-vitro thing. Freezing your eggs is a thing, right?”

I glare at him. “Yeah, my big takeaway from that is how easily you imagined me as still single at fifty. Thanks, dickhead.”

He grins. “Hey, true love might be walking in your door any sec⁠—”

“Ms. Crown?” Amelia blurts as she all but falls into the office. Her face is stricken as she glances between Alistair and me. “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Black⁠—”

“It’s fine,” I cut her off with a frown when I see the seriously concerned look on her face. “What’s going on?”

“The, uh…the…”

“One word, three syllables,” Alistair says dryly. “First syllable sounds like⁠—”

“Ms. Crown, the police are on their way up. The front desk just rang me.”

The smirk drops from Alistair’s face, and we both leave my office and go out onto the wraparound walkway when we hear the commotion rumbling from down on the main floor. Two uniformed NYPD officers—a man and a woman—are completely ignoring the shocked looks on the Crown and Black employee faces as they thread their way through the main floor pit to the staircase up to the executive level that rings the lower offices.

Alistair, Amelia, and I watch in confusion as the two officers reach our floor, look at each other, then glance our way before walking over. The male officer clears his throat as they come to a stop in front of us.

“Ms. Crown?” he says with an official tone.

My brows furrow. “Yes?”

“Would you like to step into your office with us so that we can talk privately?”

“No, she wouldn’t,” Alistair growls, butting in. “I’m Alistair Black, and not only is this my firm, but Ms. Crown is my client. I’ll be present if you wish to speak with her.”

I roll my eyes slightly as I glance at him. “Thank you, Alistair,” I say quietly. “But I’m sure they’re not here to talk about me.” I glance back at the two officers and grin.

Neither of them grins back.

“Shall we?” The female officer, with a name tag that says “Officer Horton”, gestures past me to my office door.

“Uh…sure… Yeah, of course,” I frown, turning and glancing at Alistair before stepping inside. “Amelia, would you hold my calls, please?”

“Of course, Ms. Crown.”

Alistair and I step into my office, and I hold the door for Officer Horton and the guy, apparently “Officer Ramone”, as they follow us inside.

“Please,” I gesture at the two couches to one side of my office. “Why don’t you have a seat⁠—”

“Ms. Crown,” Officer Ramone says in a terse, official voice. “Can you tell us where you were last night?”

Something inside of me tenses. My lips pull tight as my eyes snap to his.

What the fuck.

As weird as it is for the police to just show up unannounced, I sort of was under the impression they wanted to ask me inappropriately leading questions about a client or a current case.

Not ask about me.

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t have to answer that,” Alistair mutters, glaring at them.

“Actually, Mr. Black,” Officer Horton says, her chin dipping, “she does.”

Alistair’s tone turns vicious. “How about you tell us why the fuck you’re here wasting our⁠—”

“Alistair.” I glance at him and raise my hand slightly. “It’s okay.” I clear my throat and turn to smile at the officers. “I was at the Soho Grand last night.”

I see Alistair frown out of the corner of my eye, probably curious why the hell I was at a fancy hotel and not my own apartment.

“I had a small roach problem at my apartment,” I say glibly. “So I’ve been spending a few nights at the Soho while the chemical spray stuff does its thing.” I smile affably, shrugging. “New York, am I right?”

It’s not the first time I’ve …fibbed…to the police. I’ve bent the truth or lied by omission here and there to help a client, or to push back on officers trying to push too hard past their own legal limits.

But I’m not entirely sure why I’m lying right now. I guess I don’t want to mention Club Venom, and I certainly don’t want to mention the fact that I asked a man from the club’s app to track me and hunt me, and to act out primal kinks with me.

Although after what happened last night, I really don’t understand why I’m not just telling them everything. Or at least the part where that lunatic called me someone else’s name, said I was his fucking wife, and then tried to abduct me.

Because you’re insane, that’s why.

I smile again at the officers when they don’t laugh at my weak joke. “So, yes, that’s where I was last night. I’m sure the hotel can give you a record of my stay. I haven’t checked out yet.”

The two of them glance at each other, then at Alistair.

“Ms. Crown,” Officer Horton murmurs. “Perhaps your partner would like to step outside with mine?”

I frown. “Excuse me?”

She lifts up a phone and clears her throat. “I have something to show you, and it’s a bit…sensitive.”

My brow furrows. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s fine if Mr. Black is here.”

“Also, Mr. Black insists on being here as constitutionally mandated legal representation,” Alistair spits with a glare.

“I’m sorry, but I have a seriously packed schedule today,” I mutter. “What exactly is all of this about?”

Officer Horton glances at her partner. He nods and drifts away to the door as she taps something on her phone.

“It’s about this, Ms. Crown.”

She turns the phone toward me.

Instantly, my blood turns to ice, and my stomach drops through the floor.

“Shit,” Alistair mumbles, turning away.

I’m willing to bet it’s not soon enough that he didn’t just see the same thing I just did: security video of a naked woman with wild red hair running through a parking garage with a throw blanket barely around her waist.

It’s footage of me last night, after I escaped from the lunatic.

“That’s enough,” Alistair snaps, still looking away. “Turn that shit off. Now.”

Officer Horton nods, looking uncomfortable herself as she swipes away from the video and tucks the phone into a pocket in her vest.

“Ms. Crown, you can deny who that is on the tape. But I think this will go easier⁠—”

“No, it’s me,” I sigh, my face crimson. I exhale slowly. “Look, I had a few too many drinks last night.” I shake my head. “And sometimes, I take a pill to help me sleep. Obviously, I had more to drink than I should have, which I’m not proud of, and it didn’t react well with the Ambien. I…” I wet my lips. “I sleepwalk sometimes.”

“Or sleep run,” Officer Horton quips without smiling.

I glare at her. “Yes. Or sleep run.”

Officer Ramone walks back over. “Your car is currently in the parking garage under this building, Ms. Crown. Did you drive last night?”

“Don’t answer that,” Alistair grunts.

Officer Horton sighs. “We can check the logs in the parking garage to see for ourselves.”

“You can if you have a fucking warrant on you,” Alistair fires back. “If not, if you go anywhere near that parking garage office, I’ll slap you both with the biggest abuse of power lawsuit you’ve ever seen.”

The two of them look amused, but they don’t take the bait.

“So, Ms. Crown,” Officer Horton ventures. “We’re clear that that’s you, running naked through a parking garage last night, yes?”

I level a cool glare at her.

“If you’re trying to push indecent exposure, the video only shows”…my face burns…“a brief flash of my breasts, not full nudity. Going topless is legal in New York. So, whatever this is, I think it’s time that you both were leaving⁠—”

“Ms. Crown,” Officer Horton says quietly, her tone shifting as she gives me an odd look. “We’re actually not here about you baring your breasts in a parking garage.”

Officer Ramone pulls out a pair of handcuffs.

“Exactly what the actual fuck do you think you’re doing,” Alistair snarls, stepping closer to the officer.

“We’re here, Ms. Crown,” Officer Horton says, “about the car you stole last night. We need you to come with us, please.”