Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Feenix Blaylock

I t hadn’t been long after Charlie walked out the door that I ended the conversation with Andre, left him in the living room, and strode out the door of the condo. Her cab had just pulled off the street, and I made quick work of getting into my car to follow it.

That’s what I’m doing now, discreetly staying back far enough that I’m not suspicious. I’m sure if she had a trained eye, or even a suspicion that I was looking deeper into her, she would pay more attention, but as far as I can tell, the cab is taking the same direction I had driven her the other night.

I can’t help but wonder what she’s doing in that cab now. Is she talking to the driver? Sometimes people do that – tell the driver more than they need to hear. The thought rattles me. This is why I like to house our employees – so that we can control who they talk to and what they do. But she’s a wild card in more ways than one .

She needs money, but she doesn’t do drugs. She doesn’t have a family; otherwise, she wouldn’t be out this late at night. Does she have a day job? Does she have friends? Did she just move here? How’d she find my employee in the first place? The drug addict who brought her to the condo? She seems too innocent to have friends in low places, but then again, I know nothing about her. Maybe she’s a good Samaritan and feeds them at the shelter. She seems the type.

I grip my steering wheel a little tighter, finding myself torn for the first time since entering this business. She’s a bright light in this world, and I’m smothering it with the darkness that surrounds me.

The curse under my breath lingers in the space of my car. She truly will be the death of my peace of mind. I had everything set in stone for me, knew my life and the path I was on and where it’d lead. But here she is, stepping into my path, and I find myself subconsciously making a choice. Either I corrupt her, or I save her.

I crack my stiff neck. I can’t bring myself to save her because then I’d never see her again, and I can’t bring myself to corrupt her because then she won’t be her anymore. So where does that leave me?

Slumping in my seat, I growl, “Fuck,” as I slam my palm against the steering wheel.

The cab takes that familiar last corner from where I had dropped her off. However, I scowl as the cab keeps driving and takes the next right. She’s already in a bad part of the city, but farther down is even worse. It’s where the poorest of the poor live. I don’t know what I expected, but I hadn’t expected this.

The cab pulls in front of a large, run-down apartment building, and I stop a few hundred feet back, taking my time getting to the curb. I watch as she climbs out in the skimpy little dress I loved tonight, checks her surroundings, and heads inside. There isn’t a hunch to her shoulders. No, they’re pulled back like she has no fear of the world. Fearless. Little Mama is fearless. It only serves to turn me on because maybe . . . just maybe, she can handle the darkness in the end. And maybe, she can handle me. The parts I give her anyway.

The cab is long since gone, and I breathe out through my nose as I look up and wait for a light to switch on in one of the many windows. I’m a little miffed that she lied to me about where she lives. That her background check is incorrect. It could be an old address, however. But why lie? Why have me drop her off at an old address? Does she not want me to know where she really lives?

Chances are that’s exactly what it is, and it makes my nostrils flare in anger. I’ve done nothing to earn a distrust. I’ve never once lied. Held things back, yes, but I’ve never lied.

My jaw flexes because I’ve also done nothing to earn her trust. She’s smart and full of questions. She knows I’m keeping things from her, and in doing so, I’ve created a distrust between us. Perhaps that’s the way it should stay. Go far enough ‘in’ to get what I want, but never too deep that I can’t pull out. Give her what I’m willing, take what I want, and screw the rest.

But I draw the line at lying.

The light flicks on in an apartment, breaking me from my rigid posture. Grabbing my phone from where I had flung it on the passenger seat, I pull up our IT contact, the woman who gave me her background check. I don’t know her name – I’ve never asked – but I know it’ll cost me a pretty penny. However, I have to know the truth.

The phone rings twice before she answers. She doesn’t even get to spout a greeting before I say, “I need to pull information, and I need you to keep it between us.”

There’s a slight pause before she answers, “What do I get out of it, Nixie?”

I give her a dollar amount that seems to satisfy her and then ask, “I need to know who has been staying in the Grant Valley Apartments. A new tenant.”

I hear the pop of gum before she says, “Give me a second.”

Watching the apartment window, I wait impatiently for my answer. No one ever moves as fast as I want them to, and it only serves to piss me off. Time is usually money, but this time, time is my sanity because I have a nagging feeling that I’m not going to like what I find.

“Bill Yarros is the last one to move in. Two days ago.”

“What about before that?”

She makes a humming noise and then says, “Charlotte Mitchell,” in a distracted sort of way.

I have no idea what she says after that because I hang up as soon as my heart drops to my ass. My mouth instantly feels like sandpaper.

Throwing my phone, I hear it crack against the dashboard as I scream, “Shit!” and slam my palm again on the steering wheel.

I know that name. I more than know it. I studied that last name for a few days, and it’s practically burned into my mind. When I’d gotten the news about Nathan Mitchell’s disappearance from the business, I had looked into it and his life. I’d met that mousy man twice, and when I found out he was dead, I knew that it wasn’t a freak accident like Andre gossiped. No, he was murdered, and once I knew for sure, I let it lie because it was of no consequence of mine.

Until now .

There’s no way Charlie isn’t short for Charlotte. There’s no way that Charlie, Charlotte Mitchell, is different than the wife who was married to Nathan Mitchell. That same Charlotte who’s a cop. That same Charlie who is now so broke she has to do porn.

Fuck. Fuck! She could blow this whole thing wide open.

I look up to the lit apartment and glare. She may be the death of my peace of mind, but she could very well be the death of both of us.