“I’ve been searching for you all morning,” he admonishes.
“I’m so sorry for being late. I called, but you didn’t answer, so I left a voice message.”
“I haven’t had time to check messages,” he says, flustered. “The office is in an uproar.”
“What happened?”
“Come with me.”
I notice the whispered conversations and flurry of activity that previously escaped my attention as we enter an empty conference room.
“Camden Bailey was found nearly beaten to death over the weekend. He’s in critical but stable condition at Brentwood Hospital.”
“Oh my God.” Bile churns in my stomach.
“Two detectives are here questioning his direct coworkers and anyone who knew him from Duncan University, so they need to talk to you.”
“He’s stable, so he’ll make a full recovery, right?”
“I’m not sure. The particulars of his injuries were not disclosed to me.”
If he dies, I’ll be an accomplice to murder.
“Did you know him well?”
“Just in passing.”
“The detectives should be ready for you this afternoon.”
“Okay,” I croak.
“Don’t worry. They’re going to catch the psychopaths responsible.” He squeezes my shoulders in reassurance before exiting the room.
God, please let him live.
My focus is on the chocolate goddess several floors below me, instead of the multimillion-dollar contract my lawyer sent for approval. A man of honor would’ve shown more care with an untried woman, but I fucked her ruthlessly. Pepper’s pleas for mercy were ignored. I couldn’t stop. The truth is, I didn’t want to. I reveled in causing her pain, and seeing her virgin blood was the catalyst that fueled my cruelty to irredeemable heights. There’s no remorse, not a pang of guilt. My only regret is not fucking her twice as hard.
Pepper marches into my office. She raises her chin in false bravado, which greatly amuses me. My predatory gaze roams over her body. Fuck, I love seeing her in pants. The fabric outlines her luscious curves splendidly. I adjust my hardening length.
“What am I going to say to the detectives?”
“You bled a lot.” I pointedly stare between her legs. “How are you feeling?”
“I-I’m f-fine,” she stutters.
“Good. Tell the detectives you were home Saturday night. All evidence linking you to Camden and Allison was destroyed. The security guard was paid off, and the list he had is gone. Surveillance cameras in the neighborhood, wiped clean. No rock was left unturned. You’re safe.”
“There are dozens of witnesses who saw me with them at the party.”
“Most of them were either drunk or high, probably both, and it was dark inside the house.”
“What if Camden and Allison talk?”
“He recorded every sexual assault they ever committed, and those videos are now in my possession. Trust me, they’ll keep quiet.”
“Is there one of me?”
“Not anymore.”
