by Morgan James
For the first several weeks after I’d first arrived, alone in my small, dark duplex where no one could see, I cried myself to sleep each night. Even though Fox had betrayed me, even after everything, I still missed him. What we’d shared had felt real. Despite the fact that he had initially taken me captive, in the end it had seemed like a real relationship, a connection borne of mutual attraction and desire. There’d been plenty of those—but no trust to speak of. Against all odds I’d gambled and put my faith in him—and lost. I still felt the sting of hurt down into the marrow of my bones.
I wasn’t sure I could ever get over the fact that he lied to me. He had every opportunity to tell me that he knew who my parents were, but he’d chosen to keep that from me. I wasn’t sure whose betrayal hurt worse—Fox’s or my father’s.
My father, who I assumed would have been beside himself with grief and worry, had apparently known where I was all along. He’d willingly handed me over to Fox and cut all ties with his only remaining daughter. Part of me wanted to ask him why he’d done it; the other part of me wanted to cut him as ruthlessly from my life as he’d done to me.
I felt alone and adrift in the world with no one to turn to. I missed Fox, missed the way he made me feel. I had even debated several times reaching out to him or going back, but I could never quite bring myself to do it. Outwardly I was moving on. Inside, I still felt stuck in the past. Fox had attempted no communication, and I wasn’t sure if that dismayed me or not. He had connections all over the US; I was fairly certain that he would have found me and dragged me back to Chicago if he’d wanted to. I could only surmise that he’d decided he had better things to do than track down the errant woman who’d run from him. I’d escaped my captor; it was exactly what I’d wanted. But then why did I feel so empty?
I finished drying the glasses, then wiped my hands on my apron before untying it and setting it aside to toss in the laundry later. Making my way through the bar and kitchen areas, I collected the bags of trash, then glanced at the clock. Bryce had yelled for last call fifteen minutes ago, and now only two men lingered at the bar. As I twisted up the bags, they down their drinks then pushed the empty glasses toward Bryce, who collected them and dumped them into the soapy water.
An older man who went by the name Tyrone lifted a hand my way. “Have yourself a good night.”
My mouth automatically formed a smile, though I didn’t feel a flicker of happiness. “See you tomorrow.”
With a nod, he turned and loped out the door. He was a perpetual fixture in Bryce’s bar, and he sat in the same seat every day from seven o’clock in the evening until we closed at two in the morning. I felt bad for him, having learned a few weeks ago that, after forty-two years of marriage, he’d lost his wife to pneumonia two winters ago. He had no one to go home to, no one to take care of him. I often slid him extra food, and I comped it by covering the cost of the meal with my own tips. I had a feeling Bryce knew, because occasionally my paycheck would be a little higher to compensate for the difference.
Once I had gathered all the trash bags together, I pushed out the back door into the alley. A security light to my left illuminated the dumpster, and I used a brick to prop the door open before carrying the bags over and tossing them in, one by one. The lid shut with a bang, and I dusted my hands on my jeans before drawing in a deep breath of the muggy early summer air.
A soft scuffle behind me had the hairs on the back of my neck lifting, and I whirled around, immediately on edge. My eyes scanned the dark alley but found nothing. I replayed the sound in my mind over and over, trying to place exactly what it sounded like, where it’d come from. It had sounded almost like a… footstep. I slowly began to edge my way toward the door, scanning in all directions. Suddenly, a clatter rose from a steel trashcan of the travel agency next door, and a scream caught in my throat. I slapped one hand over my heart as a mangy black cat hopped down and strode forward, a scrap of food clenched between its teeth.
Breathing heavily, I collapsed against the jagged brick wall and blinked back the tears that had sprung to my eyes. God, I needed to get a grip. Because on the heels of the initial fear I’d felt had been hope. Hope that he’d found me. Hope that he’d cared enough to come for me. But he wasn’t here. He wasn’t coming.
Shaking off my wayward thoughts, I strode back into the bar, then closed up behind me, making sure that the door was securely locked. By the time I made it back to the bar, Bryce had already washed the remaining dishes and set them aside to dry. He threw a look my way. “Ready to head out?”
“Yep.” I grabbed my purse from under the bar. “Trash is taken care of.”
“Awesome, thanks.” Bryce reached over and flipped a switch that turned off the various neon lights in the windows displaying the names of various brands of beer, then grabbed up the deposit envelope to drop off at the bank on his way in tomorrow.
“Come on.” He dug his keys from his pocket as he rounded the bar. “I’ll drive you home.”
It was a nightly routine for us, and though I’d told him a hundred times he didn’t have to do it, Bryce insisted on making sure I got home safely every night. I didn’t bother to argue with him, just fell into step as we locked up and headed to his car. The duplex I currently rented was only a couple of blocks away, and five minutes later, I climbed out of Bryce’s car, gave him a little wave, then headed inside.
Once I was inside, I watched through the window as he pulled away from the curb and headed home to get some sleep before he had to be back at the bar by noon tomorrow. As soon as his taillights disappeared down the street, I went about my nightly routine. A small table stood against the wall just inside the entryway, and I pulled it in front of the door, effectively blocking the entrance. A vase took up residence in the middle of the table, and I slid it forward, balancing it precariously close to the edge. The table itself wouldn’t stop someone from getting in, but if the door was opened, it would hit the table and send the vase crashing to the floor. Since there was no security system, the noise would at least give me some warning if someone decided to break in.
Once I had everything in place, I made my way to the bathroom, stripping my clothes off as I went. My shirt reeked of beer, and the perpetual scent of greasy fried food clung to my hair. I flicked the handle of the shower faucet over to its hottest setting and waited for a moment as the old pipes warmed up. Soon steam rose into the air, and I gratefully climbed beneath the spray.
Tipping my head back, I allowed the hot water to wash over me, and I reveled in the feeling. I scrubbed at my skin, washing away the grime of the day and leaving the fresh scent of eucalyptus in its place. I poured shampoo into my palm, then lathered and rinsed my hair. A subtle shift in the air had the hairs along the back of my neck standing up, and I froze. The apprehension I’d felt in the alley came back full force, sweeping over me like a tidal wave and rooting my feet to the floor of the tub. Slowly turning my head, I glanced through the translucent clear curtain. The room beyond was hazy, but I saw nothing out of the ordinary. I leaned forward slightly and peered around the edge of the shower curtain, my eyes scanning every inch of the tiny room. The door stood open exactly as I’d left it, but I heard no movement from the hallway.
I let out the breath I’d been holding and tried to steady my nerves. What was wrong with me? Tonight especially I’d felt particularly on edge, but I couldn’t pinpoint the reason why. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened. No one had come on to me, no one had even looked at me sideways. So I couldn’t quite tell why I felt like there were eyes on me at all times. Maybe it was a manifestation of my own feelings presenting themselves.
Part of me was still conflicted about the situation with Fox, but I knew I’d done the right thing. Had I never spoken with Daddy, Fox probably would never have told me the truth. I’d still be there, playing house with a man who’d withheld the truth—that he’d practically stolen me from my father.
That knowledge had plagued me every day for nearly the past two months. Part of me wan
ted to demand the whole truth. But the other, far more rational part of me told me it was better this way. My father and Fox were men cut from the same cloth. They were both manipulators who did what was best for them, to hell with whoever or whatever got in their way. The two men I’d cared for most had both betrayed me in some fashion—and I would never let it happen again.
* * *
Don’t miss the stunning conclusion to Fox and Eva’s story in Sinful Sacrament!
Also by Morgan James
Quentin Security Series
The Devil You Know – Blake and Victoria
Devil in the Details – Xander and Lydia
Devil in Disguise – Gavin and Kate
Heart of a Devil – Vince and Jana
*Each book is a standalone within the series
Frozen in Time Trilogy
Unrequited Love – Jack and Mia, Book One
Undeniable Love – Jack and Mia, Book Two
Unbreakable Love – Jack and Mia, Book Three
Frozen in Time: The Complete Trilogy
Deception Duet
Pretty Little Lies – Eric and Jules, Book One
Beautiful Deception – Eric and Jules, Book Two
*Each book can be read as a standalone, but are best read in order
Sinful Duet
Sinful Illusions – Fox and Eva, Book One
Sinful Sacrament (July 2021) – Fox and Eva, Book Two
*Books should be read in order
Bad Billionaires
(Erotic Romance Novella Series)
Depraved – Dante and Alessandra
Ravished – Calder and Jenna
Consumed – Cael and Ariella
*Each book is a standalone within the series
Standalones
Death Do Us Part
Escape
About the Author
Morgan James is the bestselling author of contemporary and romantic suspense novels. She spent most of her childhood with her nose buried in a book, and she loves all things romantic, dark, and dirty.
She met her own husband when he crashed a friend’s wedding (Just kidding. Kind of…) and they’ve been together ever since. They currently live in Ohio with their two kids and an adopted mutt that sheds like crazy.
Here are a few fun facts: She can swear like a sailor. She loves to bake but hates to cook. She loves a man in uniform. She pulls inspiration for her stories from real life. Her husband is the absolute best, supplying her with infinite one-liners. Like her characters’ dialogue? There’s a good chance that those conversations have really happened!