9. Locksmith

Chapter 9

Locksmith

O h God...

A dull ache pulses in my temples as my eyes flicker open. I wince, streaks of soft yellow light burning my irises as I roll over on my bed. Fuck me .

Disorientated, I look around my room, my vision slowly focusing. How much did I drink last night? I try to prop myself upright against the headboard, but I'm stopped by the sharp pain in my right hand. I glance down, frowning at the bloodstained gauze wrapped around my knuckle.

What the f?—

I stare at the patch job, the fog gradually lifting as fragments of last night slowly weave together.

The meeting. Malik. Gunshots.

Shit.

The memories grow stronger as I drop my head into my hands, kicking myself for acting like a fucking idiot.

It all comes back to me slowly .

"She's in here," a voice says over Pinto's barking.

Who is that? I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to make out the blurry face.

"Christ's sake."

It's him. Hayden? Oh my God.

"Go find a first aid kit."

"Right away," another voice says.

Norman? The doorman?

"Camilla?" The doc hovers over me, his arms looping around my waist as he lifts me onto the bed. "Shit." He glances at the bottle on the floor, shaking his head. "Stupid girl." He stares at me. I can see slight anger in his expression. "Can you hear me?" He pauses as I mumble something. What did I say? "Words, Camilla." More mumbling. His eyes narrow. "If you don't form a coherent sentence, I am taking you to the hospital. Speak. Now."

"I'm fine," I manage, waving my hand. "Go away."

"Here." Norman comes into my room, handing Hayden a red kit. "There's some gauze in there, that oughta help." Norman looks down at me. "Should we call an ambulance?"

"No, no ambulance," I slur, eyelids flickering. "I'm fine...fine."

"Stay still," Hayden commands, taking my hand. Pain sears my skin as he applies disinfectant. "Stay still!"

I whimper, my brain shutting down, his silhouette fading.

And then nothing.

My eyes spring open as dread washes over me.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Is he still here? Why did he come? Did I call him? I look around my room and land on a business card on the floor. Oh God. I did, didn't I? Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

I take a small breath, my mouth dry. I glance over to my nightstand, surprised to see a glass of water sitting next to three Advils. I groan, reaching for the pain meds. Under the tablets is a piece of paper. I pop the pills into my mouth, chugging back the water as I read the note.

My office. Noon. Don't be late.

- H.M.

As if.

I scoff, rolling my eyes as Pinto enters the bedroom. He struggles to leap up on the mattress.

"Worst guard dog ever," I mumble, scratching between his ears. "You're kinda useless, aren't you, little baby? Aren't you?" Pinto wags his tail. "Thank God you're cute."

My head throbs as my phone chirps. No. Not today. I can't do it. The phone keeps ringing and ringing and ringing until I muster up the strength to hop out of bed and look for the fucking thing. I follow the ringtone, finding my cell tucked away in the corner of the floor.

3 missed calls from Zoey.

3 text messages.

1 missed call from Leo.

I wince.

1 missed call from my dad...

And a voice message.

I flick my nails, bracing myself as I call my voicemail and enter my PIN .

"Camilla," my father's voice is soaked in deepened disappointment. "I've been told there was an incident with Alba." He pauses, chills pricking my skin. "You... I cannot believe that you did that. You..." A deep breath. "This is unacceptable, kid!" His voice rises like a lion’s roar. "I raised you better than this! You shot the man? That is not how we do business! Ever." Another breath. "You must fix this, bambina. I did not leave our legacy in your hands for you to destroy it! Fix it, understand? I will call again later."

I stare at the phone screen, my reflection shining in the black mirror. I have my father's eyes. An earthy brown. Like bark on a yew tree. Those trees live to be thousands of years old. They weather storms, disasters. Always adapting. Changing. They're resilient. Strong . My eyes look like his, but they're not identical. They should be the same. I'm his daughter. His blood. But they're not.

My eyes lack his power.

His ability to control.

To lead.

My jaw tightens as my phone rings again, an unfamiliar number popping up on the screen. It's local. I hesitate before ending the call. But it rings again. I end it. And again. Who the fuck is this? A text pops up.

Unknown Number

Answer the phone Miss Bianco, or I will come get you.

Seriously? A little pushy for a shrink. I add him to my contacts.

I blink as the phone rings again. Something tells me he won't stop until I answer. Clearing my throat, I bring the phone to my ear.

"Hello?"

"It's almost noon," Hayden states. "I take it you haven't left yet."

"I'm sorry, who is this?" I say, tilting my head. "Think you got the wrong number."

"I am not playing your games, Miss Bianco. You have thirty minutes to get to my office," he says, tone stern. "Understood?"

"I don't take orders, doc ," I scoff. "Find yourself another case study."

"You called me , Miss Bianco," he notes. "Somewhere in your subconscious, you know you need my help."

"I was drunk," I state. "I get bored when I drink."

"You're only lying to yourself," he chuckles. "It's quite the charade I must say." He pauses. "Why were you drunk, Miss Bianco? Hmm?"

I bite my lip. "None of your business."

"You've made it my business," he says. "I'm now...ethically responsible for you."

I snort. "Is that so?"

"Yes," he says. "I didn't call an ambulance per your plea, but perhaps I should have." He pauses. "I don't believe your intent was to inflict self-harm but..."

"Oh my God, stop!" I run a frustrated hand through my hair. "I'm not suicidal, okay? I was just...stressed."

"Either way, a follow-up is in order," he hums, taking a beat before adding, "Otherwise, I'll have to report this incident to the appropriate parties."

"What incident? Nothing even happened. "

"See you at noon, Miss Bianco."

He hangs up.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the closet mirrors. Smeared make-up. Bloodstained clothes. Unraveling gauze. And my father's eyes. They're staring at me. Screaming at me. Begging me to listen.

Our legacy. It's in my hands. I look down, rotating my hand. My hands are bruised and beaten and bleeding. But wounds heal.

It'll heal on its own.

You must fix this, bambina.

Fix it.

Fix.

Fix.

Maybe... Maybe it'll heal faster with some help.

God, I hate maybes so much.

I sigh, swallowing my pride as I glance at Pinto. I'll do this for us, okay? For him . My heart clenches. And for your daddy's sacrifice.

I pull up the text from the doc and reply.

Camilla

Fine. I'll see you soon.

He responds.

The Doc

Good.

Nothing about this feels good.

It's all very...bad.

But fortunately, I'm good at bad.

Bad is better .

Bad girls always win.

And good girls?

I walk to my bathroom, stripping out of my clothes before hopping in the shower.

Good girls finish last.

Here goes nothing.

"Miss Bianco!" Heather chirps as I burst into Dr. Malcolm's office, a venti Americano in my hand. Her cheery disposition causes my stomach to curl. "It's nice to see you again!" She reaches down to grab something before jerking upright. She shows me a chew toy. "Look! I did some more research and you were right about that other brand! Horrible! My pup is so much more energetic now! Thank you!"

"Mhmm," I hum lethargically, glancing down the hallway. "Is he ready for me, or do I have to wait?"

"You're right on time!" Heather exclaims with a wide smile, gesturing at the door. "He's all yours!"

A bizarre feeling of nervousness creeps into my stomach. I frown at the door at the end of the hallway. It's closed. Closed doors make me uneasy. Especially ones that are unfamiliar. You never know what kind of evil lurks behind them. But I know what's behind this door. A doctor. A man. Someone who thinks he can help me. I shouldn't feel tense. It's not a mystery.

It's not a door to the unknown.

A door to the forgotten.

I swallow, closing my eyes for a fraction of a second. Like a switch. That's all it takes to change faces. Mindsets. Some doors are meant to stay closed. I intend to keep mine bolted shut.

Hayden Malcolm might think he's a locksmith.

But I'm not here for a key.

I'm here for a temporary solution to a temporary problem.

I don't need to open the door.

I just need him to teach me how to forget the door exists.

I glide toward his office and twist the handle, opening the gateway to something I know I'll end up regretting.

"Aw," I pout, gaze traveling up and down the sculpted frame of the doctor as he stands by the window. He's wearing a navy suit, but there's no tie around his neck. The free-flowing fabric of his white dress shirt reveals the tiniest glimmer of his chiseled chest. Mmm. "No striptease this time? How disappointing."

"Take a seat, Miss Bianco," he says passively, turning around. He adjusts his glasses as he gives me a once-over, eyebrows perking when I don't comply. He gestures to the couch opposite an armchair. "Sit. Please."

I stride into the office and close the door behind me. "I prefer to stand."

"I never asked for your preference," he says, the top of his lip twitching. "Sit."

"Fine," I smirk, giving him a challenging look. I run my fingers along his desk and plop down on the edge, my skirt hiking up past mid-thigh. "I'm sitting. Happy?"

"On the couch," he orders, the rough tone of his voice almost making me want to obey. Almost. I cross my legs. Like a magnet for poor male self-control, his gaze flicks down to my legs. His lip twitches again before he meets my defiant stare. "The couch, Miss Bianco."

I tilt my head. "Make me."

"Again with the games?" A dark cloud gleams in his irises. Stormy. Wild. Destructive. Like a hurricane about to touch down. But it doesn't. It fades as quickly as it comes. His posture relaxes as he continues, "The clock doesn't start until you are seated. I am a patient man with a rather empty schedule. The choice is yours."

"Really?" I let out a skeptical chuckle as I tap my nails on the underside of his desk. "Something tells me you're not a patient man at all."

Hayden hovers in front of the armchair, a glint of amusement tugging his upper lip. "Your intuition is off."

"It's rarely off."

"Really?" he asks, nodding to the couch. "Shall we test it out?"

"Test it out?" My interest piques. "And how do you suggest we do that?"

"Since you like games so much, why don't we play one," he says, circling the armchair. "I'll tell you three things about myself and you pick which one's the lie."

"Two truths and a lie? What are we? In college?"

"Could be fun," he hums. "I know how much you like your fun."

"Fine." I push myself off the desk and walk toward the couch. I sit down aggressively, letting out a dramatic sigh. "How do I know you'll be honest?"

"You don't know." Hayden sits down across from me and picks up a notebook off of the coffee table. He flips it open, grabbing a pen before looking up at me. "So, you'll simply have to trust me."

"Trust you?" I snort, setting my coffee on the table. "How can I trust someone I just met?"

"I can't help you, Miss Bianco, unless you trust me," he says, jotting down a note. "It's the foundation of therapy."

"I don't need therapy, Dr. Malcolm," I say. "I just need some tips."

"Tips are bandages," he notes, glancing at my fist. "How's your hand? Does it hurt?"

"No," I lie. "All healed."

He chuckles under his breath. "I see."

"I don't think you're supposed to laugh at your patients, Doctor," I say, crossing my arms. "Kind of rude, isn't it?"

He cocks his head. "So, you're a patient now?"

I roll my eyes. "I'm getting bored."

"Well, we wouldn't want that now, would we?" A cocky grin ghosts his face. "You don't seem to handle boredom well."

I sigh, closing my eyes. "I'm five seconds away from leaving."

He's quiet for a moment before I hear footsteps approaching me. "I have an idea. Stand up."

"What?" I open my eyes, looking at him as he towers over me. It takes a fuck-ton of self-control not to reach out and touch him. "You just told me to sit."

"And now I'm telling you to stand." He holds out his hand. "Let's go. "

"Go where?" I ask with wary excitement as I take his hand. My chest rises when our skin connects, like fresh air that has been blown into my lungs. His grip tightens slightly as he lifts me to my feet. He doesn't reply as he turns to grab something off the bookshelf. "Go where?"

"Outside." He turns around, a silk tie in his hands. "A little trust-building exercise."

I laugh. "What are you going to do? Blindfold me?"

He smirks, cocking his head. "That's exactly what I'm going to do."

I blink, taken aback. "A man usually buys me dinner before I let him blindfold me."

Hayden can't conceal his smile as he says, "It's unorthodox, yes, but I don't believe traditional methods will work with someone like you." He motions for me to come toward him. "Turn around, Miss Bianco."

Surprisingly, I comply. I close my eyes, flinching as he wraps the cold fabric around my face.

His voice is husky and low as he adds, "If we're going to dig deep, Miss Bianco. I need you to trust me."

"You want to go deep, Doctor?" I breathe, my pulse quickening as he tightens the tie. The force jerks me backward slightly. And I like it.

"It's not a matter of want , Miss Bianco," he whispers, hot breath blowing against my cheek. "It's a matter of need ." I'm unable to reply as my wants and needs spar for hierarchy in my mind. His large, warm hands curl around my shoulders as he leads me out the door. "Listen to my voice, Miss Bianco, and you'll be just fine."

"You can call me Camilla," I breathe, unable to see.

I think he laughs .

"Relax, Camilla ," he whispers. "And trust me."

I suck in a sharp breath. "I can't."

"You must," he says playfully. "There are stairs ahead."

I freeze. "If I fall, I'm going to?—"

"Kill me," he cuts in. "Yes, I know."

He seems to know a lot about me.

I can see it.

A key forming.