“You have a timeframe with me, do you?”
“Yes, I do.”
I raise a brow. “And what is that? Care to fill me in?”
He simply smiles in return.
“Cora, we should leave,” Cressida says from behind me. I turn around to face her, and over her shoulder, I see Soren still by the bar, watching her. His gaze hardens as it moves from her to me to Arlo.
“Yes, since it’s wives only, I suppose we don’t belong here,” I reply.
I make to follow her to the exit, but Arlo grips my hip, stopping me. “I’ll see you later,” he says, tone low and sensuous.
“Better not. I have plans now.” I shoot him an evil grin. “To go and fuck someone who isn’t you.” I leave without him getting the last word in.
And he doesn’t follow.
THIRTY-TWO
ARLO
Soren grips my arm, stopping me from going after her.
“Your place is here,” he says as the two women walk out the door. “And why was she with Cressida?”
“The woman she came with?” I ask him, confused.
“You know her?” His eyes narrow at me.
“In a way.” I pause before I say, “Is she a concern for the Forsaken?”
“Something like that. But I’ll handle her.” His hand drops from me as if he knows what he has planned and won’t share it.
“I have no idea, but I plan to find out.” I go to walk past him, but he stops me again.
“I’ve seen that look before. It’s the same look Reon had early on with Lilith. You like her.”
I don’t deny it. I do like her. She is the only woman in a long time who has held my interest. And I’m not sick of her yet. Instead, I seem to keep thinking about the next time I can see her, when I’ll get her back into my bed, and how I can keep her there.
“Be careful, Arlo. You know the rules better than anyone.”
I acknowledge his warning, then head out front, only to find her already gone.
Pulling out my phone, I launch the tracking app and find her location. I’d dropped a tracking device in her bag that night she stayed at my place.
“You know he’ll try to kill her, right?” Reon says, referring to Soren, as I go to leave. “Just like he tried to kill my wife.” He sets a hand on my shoulder, concern lacing his tone as he adds, “Be careful, Arlo. You like death, but could you deal with her death on your hands?”
I walk off without uttering a word.
Getting in my car, I check the tracker to see she’s now at her house. I slide the beads out of my pocket and wrap them around my hand. I’m immediately soothed by the feeling of comfort and control they provide me. But I’m noticing the more time I spend with Cora, the less I feel the need to have them, which feels odd. Years ago, my therapist told me to take the instrument of my pain and weaponize it, using it as a means to control situations.
My foster mother used to beat me to within an inch of my life with her belts, and then she would grab her rosary beads and choke me with them until I blacked out. I would always wake up with the beads lying directly in my line of sight. It became a constant. Whenever I was expecting a beating, I knew I would always wake up seeing those damn beads.
When my therapist told me that, I don’t think she expected me to go to my foster mother’s house—a place I hadn’t set foot in for over five years—and walk in while she was sitting on the couch with a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other. I strangled her to death with the very same beads she used to strangle me with.
It’s fucked up, but not surprising that the therapist who gave me that advice also went to prison for misconduct.
I learned a lot about myself after killing my foster mother, and I joined the Forsaken not long afterward. There is only one other person who knows that story.
