Fuck.
Frozen, I simply stand there, expecting her to scream,run, or call the police, but she simply takes in the scene with a blank expression, surveying me as I stand barefoot in the doorway of her husband’s hotel room while he lies dead on the bed and covered in blood behind me.
Her expression remains stoic when she asks, “Is he dead?”
I nod. No point in lying, though I am prepared to run or fight if necessary. I don’t want to kill this woman, but I will if I need to.
As if reading my mind, she asks, “Are you going to kill me too?”
I shake my head. “Not unless I have to, and Ireallydon’t want to.” I did my research into her as well, and she wasn’t supposed to be here tonight, hence my killing him in his hotel room. But one thing I noticed was her total silence when it came to her husband’s policies, and I’m inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt, because I know what it’s like to be married to a powerful man who makes it impossible to leave or speak up.
She’s silent for a moment, nods, then says with resolve, “Okay. I only have a few minutes before I’d realistically need to call the police, so go now. I’ll call them in five minutes, so get somewhere safe.”
“You’re letting me leave?”
“Yes. I don’t know who you are or why you killed him, but he deserved it regardless. I just don’t want to be a suspect, so you need to go fast. Keep your head down and try to keep your face out of the cameras.”
“Cameras have been taken care of,” I say. Hopefully Ambrose was able to follow through on his portion of the job.
She nods. “Then go, and I’ll tell them it was a large man who was fleeing the room.”
“Thank you.” I collect my purse and heels, awkwardly slipping past the woman whose husband I just murdered. She has the same hollowness in her eyes that used to plague me. I can’t help but feel like I’ve done her a favor.
I make a beeline for the stairs, and as soon as I’m inside it, I race down the steps two at a time. When I reach the ground floor, I pause in the stairwell to slip my heels on, take a deep breath, channel the necklace’s powers, then casually stride into the lobby where Ambrose is waiting on a couch. Thank God my dress is black.
I acknowledge him with a subtle nod and a weighted glance, not pausing in my stride toward the automatic sliding doors at the entrance.
He follows, and we make our way stealthily into the night.
CHAPTER 33
"Do you believe in destiny? That even the powers of time can be altered for a single purpose? That the luckiest man who walks on this earth is the one who finds... true love?"
—Bram Stoker
The low drone of the radio over the humming of the car’s engine is the only sound filling the silence of the car. Ambrose and I haven’t spoken much since we left the city a few hours ago after I had filled him in on the details of killing Senator Abbott and getting caught by his wife. After leaving the murder scene, we had walked the few blocks to his car, where I had taken comfortable, clean clothes from my suitcase in the trunk and changed discreetly, not wanting to sit in a blood-spattered dress for a four-hour drive.
About halfway through our drive, I had started shaking. Ambrose had told me it was likely a drop from the adrenaline, so we stopped at a restaurant in a mid-sized city for me to eat something and drink some water. While we sat, Ambrose had used his phone to look up the news about Senator Abbott. Sure enough, they’re searching for a suspect that Senator Abbott’s wife had described as, “a tall man, maybe six feet, wearing a black sweater and jeans.” Some of the articles mention that this was likely a premeditated attack due to the hotel cameras being cut directly before the murder happened.
The news that she had kept her word was enough to calm me down a bit, and the food and water grounded me enough to get my body to a more neutral state.
Now, we’re cruising down the highway as the adrenaline has mostly subsided, though there’s still a low, constant energy buzzing beneath my skin.
The bright red letters on the stereo glow with the time: 3:15 a.m.
I glance over at Ambrose, whose face is illuminated only by the passing streetlights in steady flickers of warm yellow light before becoming shrouded in darkness again. His expression is calm, but his brow is furrowed slightly, as if he’s lost in thought. I want to ask him what he’s thinking about, but it’s rare to catch a glimpse of him with such an unguarded expression, so I say nothing.
The burst of warmth in my chest gives me pause, and I lay my head back against the cool leather of the passenger seat and allow my thoughts to wander after a day of using so much focus. My mind goes to the same place it often does—where will I go when I fulfill my end of our bargain? What will I do with my life when I have the freedom to do whatever I want? I’ve never had grandiose dreams of fame andfortune, but it’s been a long time since I’ve truly been able to think about what I want.
Many of my daydreams over the past few years have centered around the idea of living in a cabin in the woods, all alone, and being able to live life on my own terms. Tending to gardens, spending afternoons in the sunshine and winters curled up by a fire, working a job where I can help others but not centering my life around a career. A life of peace and quiet joy.
If I were here with Ambrose under different circumstances, this could almost be the life I dreamed of, with the cozy cabin on a large plot of land miles from the nearest town. Hell, if he had simply asked me to come here instead of tricking me into a bargain that involves murder, I would have come of my own free will.
But that’s not what happened, I remind myself. Regardless of what has transpired, he’s still manipulative and inhuman. Even in times like this, where he seems no different than me.
We exit the highway and snake through the twists and turns of the mountain roads until the familiar crunch of gravel beneath tires announces our arrival home.
The silence between us isn’t broken until we’re standing on the porch while Ambrose unlocks the front door.
