‘Shh,’ he whispers into my ear between soft presses of hislips. I nuzzle further into his neck but my tears don’t stop. Everything pours out of me, every emotion I’ve felt since we met – love, desire, desperation, fear, pain, anger, relief – it all fuels my sobs.
The cold of the dark night bites the naked skin of my arms and chest and harsh reality courses through my bones. ‘I could’ve lost you,’ I chug through broken breaths.
He stops, holding us still, until I raise my head. When he can look into my eyes, he inhales deeply, his chest rising against me. ‘But you didn’t. You saved me, Scarlett. You saved my life.’
Then he kisses me, pressing his lips firmly against mine. My tears stop.
Kenneth climbs out of the Bentley and opens the rear door for Gregory. ‘Mr Ryans.’
Gregory doesn’t leave me to sit in the front like he might if Jackson was driving. He bends and places me on the back seat then moves around to the other door and joins me.
I look around the Bentley’s interior, taking it in, remembering the last time I was in here. Jackson was driving. We were headed into a dark abyss.
I killed a man. I shot him in cold blood. It wasn’t premeditated but I’d thought about it before it happened. I said it. I wanted revenge for my dad’s death and for the little boy from my dreams. I never really thought I’d do it but I’d wanted him dead.
What’s happened to me? Who is this person taking over my body? Where’s Scarlett Heath gone?I want her back. I want to go back and find her and tell her to stay. Vomit rises to my throat but just as I think I might be sick, an arm wraps around my cold shoulder and pulls me into warmth. I don’t want to think. I need to be numb. I need to clear my mind and not think about what I’ve become.
Gregory holds me tightly to him as we move through the empty streets of London, passing only cabs and an occasional off-balance group of drunkenly happy, oblivious people.
‘How’s Jackson?’ Gregory asks quietly, his hand hovering over my ear, shielding me like he thinks I could sleep.
I watch Kenneth through the rear-view mirror as he talks to his boss. ‘He’s all right. On crutches but discharged himself from hospital. He wants to talk to you.’ Kenneth adjusts his position until he can meet my eyes in the mirror. Then he and Gregory exchange unspoken words.
I turn my head into Gregory’s side and remember his wound when he winces. Another scar to add to the white gash that runs from his hip to the centre of his lower back and the cigarette burns on his wrist. We’ve known each other just over a month. Not long enough for him to tell me everything that haunts his sleep. Long enough for our relationship to witness two murders.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, raising my head to see his face.
He tries to smile but it’s a solemn turn of the lips. He kisses my brow and tugs me back into him.
‘How are you fixed for the next few weeks, Ken? I’m going to need a driver until Jackson gets back on his feet.’
‘Whatever you need, Mr Ryans.’
Gregory nods subtly. Kenneth is hired but this time, he won’t be extra security to protect against the imminent threat of death. I take a tiny comfort from the fact that the little boy I see in my dreams, young Gregory, no longer has to think about that heinous bastard.
We roll up to the basement entrance door and Kenneth slowly moves the Bentley into the underground car park, tracing the journey we made just hours ago. Before the world rocked on its axis and came to rest in a new position. I don’trealise I’ve stopped breathing until Gregory interlaces his fingers in mine and raises the back of my hand to his lips.
‘Okay?’
I nod and will myself to smile for him but it doesn’t come.
The Mercedes is gone, its usual bay empty. Gregory leaves me just a second whilst he gets out of the car. I need him back. I feel panic tightening my chest, making my heart pound until Kenneth opens my door and Gregory’s there again. He holds out a hand and I slip my palm into his firm grip as my unsteady legs step out of the car. Trembling, I stand to face him. He strokes a loose tendril behind my ear.
‘Let’s go home,’ he whispers.
He tugs me gently when I fall behind his stride, turning to watch the empty space the Mercedes has left behind. I close my eyes to see Jackson taking a gun from the glove compartment of the Bentley and Gregory leading me from the car, his body tense, his chiselled jaw set with anger. Now, as we follow Kenneth through the door to the lift vestibule, which still shows signs of tampering.
We ascend in silence. When the lift pings, Kenneth steps to one side to let Gregory lead me out but my legs won’t move, remembering what happened the last time we stepped out of the lift on the sixty-fourth floor. I shake my head as Gregory attempts to nudge me forward.
‘I can’t,’ I croak, suppressing the tears that are threatening again.
With two big strides, he moves in front of me, his tall frame sheltering me from the rest of the world. He lifts my chin until I can feel the caress of his breath on my lips. A silent tear slips from my eye when he presses his mouth to mine, trying to kiss away my fear. My arms rise to his shoulders; my fingers lockinto his hair. I kiss him back, my tongue slipping into his mouth, trying to think of nothing but thoughts of him. When he pulls away, he rubs away my rogue tear with his thumb and slips his hand back into mine. Armed with the strength he’s given me, I follow.
Kenneth holds open the door to the apartment. I want to close the door on reality and be immersed in nothing other than Gregory but we step inside to a lounge full of people, still dressed in their finery. Jackson stands, aided by a crutch under one arm and Sandy’s shoulder under the other. Lara and Lawrence stand one after the other. Then Amanda and Williams.
I watch their faces blankly, not knowing how to face them: my childhood nanny and stand-in mum, Gregory’s mum and stepdad, my best friend and Gregory’s right-hand man. I’m not the Scarlett Heath they know any more. Gregory squeezes my hand but even that won’t protect me from the harsh reality staring at me from six pairs of eyes. Lara raises a hand to her chest then, with a sob, makes her way to her son, engulfing him in her arms, weeping into his chest. Amanda raises the tips of her fingers to her lips, her glazed eyes watching me, waiting. I seek out Sandy but shame causes me to look away. As I do so, I findthatspot. It’s clean; the pool of Pearson’s blood has disappeared already. The presence of bleach in the air hits me.
‘What’re you doing here?’ Gregory asks Lara. He’s hugging her but his words are curt.
