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“Jasper bought her another ice cream cone.” I couldn’t help the small smile pulling at my lips. “A stranger’s kid, one who annoyed me with her discomfort. He gave it to her without looking for praise, without mentioning it or even accepting thanks from her mother.” I bathed in the silence of the room and that one memory of Jasper that didn’t scrape at my insides.
“He also introduced me to the man who would eventually order the attack that resulted in this scar, among other things,” I cleared my throat, rounding out the conversation.
I couldn’t talk about the source of the scar. Not yet. Context was needed first. My hesitation was for efficiency’s sake, not because I was too terrified to say the words, to open that mental drawer I’d kept locked for so long.
“I did work for them.” I rolled my neck, wishing I could relieve the tension there and in what felt like every joint in my body. “The mob.” I knew I didn’t need to clarify, but Elliot needed to understand that this wasn’t a story of a victim who needed to be pitied. I played plenty of villainous roles in this story too. “And before you try to convince me otherwise, I knew exactly who they were the second I started working for them. Made the conscious choice to do it when I might’ve gotten out unscathed by just saying no. Though few women have gotten out unscathed by just saying no,” I shrugged. “But I was smart enough to figure out a way had I wanted to. But I was alsogreedy. Cocky. I wanted to get involved. I thought I could handle it.”
I shook my head at how fucking stupid I’d been.
“First, it was financial stuff. That was my job. Made deals that were just a hair short of a felony and made a fuck of a lot of money for men.” I sucked in a breath. “And women. Bad motherfuckers, all of them.”
I was trying to make my story as truthful and repulsive as I could, and it sickened me to have to say it all plainly without the justifications I’d given myself.
“If it stayed like that, just on paper, I’d probably still be there,” I admitted. “In New York, doing it. Pretending to be a powerful woman.” I shook my head, brimming with shame. “I was willing to justify a lot, lie to myself. But it didn’t stay on paper.”
I squeezed my eyes open and shut, my mind hurtling back into the past.
I’d known that Gregory had calculated what happened the day everything changed. He had purposefully sat me there, pretending it was a routine meeting until he brought in the person I had discovered was embezzling and shot him in the head.
There was no pageantry, no fanfare. He just shot him in the head.
Right in front of me.
I hadn’t screamed. I was proud of myself for that. Hadn’t cried. I’d sat there, stock-still, sprayed with blood, instantly understanding what was happening. Gregory was ensuring I knew exactly who I was dealing with and just how trapped I was. He’d offered me his pocket square for the blood, promised a million to be deposited into my account the next day as a ‘bonus’ then ensured me I’d always be safe under his loyal employ.
I’d reminded him that I was a contractor, a consultant. He’d looked at the dead body and said, “Not anymore. You’re mine now.”
I didn’t take well to men calling me theirs, whether I was sleeping with them or not. Especially when the man in question had just murdered someone in front of me. But I’d perceived well enough that arguing that point at that juncture would’ve gotten me killed, so I’d stayed quiet, nodding once then let him dismiss me. I’d stood up with a straight spine, walked out with a steady gait then waited until I got safely in my apartment before I vomited.
I didn’t tell Elliot all of that. He didn’t need to know.
“I couldn’t do it, once I truly understood,” I explained. “Seeing what those people were. The true demons whose mortgages I was funding, as well as their suits, private jets, hush money.”
I squeezed my hands open and shut, my wrist throbbing at the reminder of Jasper’s ferocious grip.
“So I said no. No more.” I laughed without humor. Even though I’d been smart enough not to sayno thank youto the man who’d just murdered someone in front of me. I’d been cocky enough to make a lunch date with him to do it the next day.
He’d accepted my resignation with civility, though I spotted the prickle of irritation in his eyes. I’d just been satisfied that I’d gotten out unscathed.
I pushed up off the sofa, unable to sit in his comfortable embrace when I said what I had to say. I started to pace around the room.
“And I know I said at the bar that a woman needs to be smart enough to know that she has to be careful when saying no to a man. But I wasn’t smart. I thought I’d risen high enough, built enough safeguards that I was untouchable. No woman is.”
Seconds after I opened the door to my apartment, I tasted old pennies.
Blood pooled in my mouth.
That came first, before the pain—the taste. One that I’d taste on my tongue for months, no matter how many martinis I sucked, hoping to sterilize my mouth, to erase it.
It was the taste I still woke up with sometimes, just as visceral as it was that day. Most people likely wouldn’t believe it, given the situation. But it was the taste that came first. Then the crunch. Of a fist against my face.
For someone who thought she was always cognizant of her surroundings, someone constantly on guard, someone who would never become a victim, I sure became one quickly.
I didn’t have time to fight back, which I had been certain I would in a situation like that. And situations like that were something I’d considered as a real possibility. I lived in New York. I did business with powerful men who became bitter when defeated by me. I had a weapon, multiple weapons, throughout my apartment. I usually wore one strapped to my inner thigh in meetings with more unsavory clients. I’d trained with the top martial artists in the country.
Powerful… That’s how I’d been sure I would be. That if a situation arose where I’d have to physically defend myself, that it would be as easy as it was in the boardroom.
I was aware of the possibility and prepared to be assaulted. Or I had assumed that I was prepared. Arrogant. Terribly arrogant of me.