As he continues to move in and out of me, I moan and dig my nails into his back. I feel something hard underneath me and start to reach for it, but he kisses me harder and makes me forget.
“Fuck, Meredith…” He thrusts into me one last time—his stroke hitting my spot at just the right moment. He grips my hands as he stiffens, and I call out his name as we reach our climax at the same time.
Still inside of me, he bends down and kisses my forehead. Then he kisses every inch of my neck—still saying sorry for moments earlier.
We remain entwined for what feels like forever, until he slowly rolls off me.
“Water?” he asks.
I nod and he leaves the room. I wait until I hear his feet against the steps. Then I reach under me to see what was rubbing up against me during sex.
It’s a cell phone. Swallowing, I stare at it for several seconds, unsure of what to do. I roll over and grab my slip from the floor, pulling it back over my body. I tuck the phone into my bra and sit up, hoping like hell that he won’t notice.
He steps into the room mid-thought, two glasses of water in hand. Holding one out for me, he waits on me to take a few sips before sitting next to me.
“You should get some rest,” he says. “I still need you to give me a hundred laps in the pool later this morning.”
“Are you ever going to tell me why you’re making me do that?”
He lets out a sigh. “I will at the end.”
“By ‘the end’ do you mean, the end of my life?”
“Only figuratively.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“You’re pretty well-read,” he says, downing the rest of his water, as I stand up from the mattress. “I’m sure I don’t have to define what a simple word like that means.”
“Are you implying murder?”
“It’s a little too late to kill you, Meredith,” he says. “If that was the plan, I would’ve done it weeks ago.” He shakes his head. “Do you have any other questions?”
“Several.”
“Well, that’s quite unfortunate,” he says. “I’m all out of answers.”
I turn away and walk toward the door.
“Wait,” he says, triggering my heart to race overtime. “One second.”
“Yeah?” I turn around.
“Your ring fell off.” He holds it out to me, then slips it onto my finger. He looks as if he wants to say something more, but he simply sighs and returns to his room, shutting the door behind him.
I rush to my room and immediately pull the phone from my bra. No service bars, just roaming. I debate risking a 9-1-1 call, if that would even work, but I know I need to think this all the way through.
Instead, I open the recent calls list and my stomach falls to the floor. I know the number of the last few calls by heart.
101-088-8076…
I know it all too well, and I know now, more than ever, that this man has something extremely dark and ugly up his sleeve for me in the future…
Meredith
Before
“Where to Miss?” The driver smiled at me as I slipped into his cab.
“120 Park Avenue.”
He nodded and pulled onto the street as I buckled my seatbelt. Pulling my phone out of my purse, I turned on the selfie camera and took one final look at my makeup.
With my eyelids coated in shimmering pink and my lips coated in a red that stood out against my freckle-concealing foundation, I almost looked like one of the girls in the magazines. At least, I was trying to convince myself that this was the case.
As I was adding a tad bit more highlighter to my cheeks, the phone buzzed against my fingertips with an incoming call.
101-088-8076…. Bzzzz! 101-088-8076…
Ugh.
It was the same number that called me morning, noon, and night for no reason at all. For several months in a row. I’d blocked it numerous times, but somehow, someway, it still managed to get through.
Blocking it again, I checked my email to make sure my boss hadn’t sent me any last-minute requests. Not that I’d be able to do anything about them for the next two hours, though.
Tonight was my night to dance on the premiere stage at Club Swan, and I couldn’t afford to miss it. Literally couldn’t afford to.
No matter how badly I tried to convince myself that I only danced for myself—to deal with the pain, I knew that was a lie. I was dancing for far more than that these days.
My future was on the line, and I was willing to do whatever it took to make sure I’d have enough to set it up exactly how I wanted.
However, I’d fallen for the worst part of the game somewhere between my mother’s death and my job at Vogue. I’d started using my photographic memory to my advantage and adopted the unfortunate habit of stealing from some of the wealthiest clients, whenever they handed over their credit cards.