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“Mr. Millington,” Detective Michales greets me. “I was hoping to get a few minutes of your time.”
Cora steps past the threshold and quickly garners his attention, "Ms. Durant, pleased to see you’re still alive.”
She turns toward him, exposing the cut on her face from the driveway. His hand slams against the door, and he begins to press himself inside, “Did he do that to you? Did he hit you?”
“I don’t recall inviting you inside,” I shove my body in front of him to prevent him from making it over the threshold. “And as I’ve said before, if you want to talk to me or Cora, it will be through my attorney.”
As though he didn’t hear a word I just said, he continues to push his way through the door as he asks Cora, “Do you need help?”
While it’s only a mere second, it feels like minutes of deafening silence when she hesitates to answer him. Minutes in which a life in prison flashes before my eyes.
“No.” She shakes her head. Lifting her hands to expose her well-scratched palms, she continues, “I fell in the driveway. Stupid cobblestones weren’t designed for stilettos.”
“Happy?” I snark while pushing the door shut, forcing him to take a step backward. “You know my attorney’s number; try using it.”
Closing the door, I immediately turn to face Cora. I stare at her for a moment, slightly surprised that after our interaction this morning, she didn’t take the out Michales offered her. Before I can say a word, she blurts out, “This doesn’t mean we’re okay.”
Maybe not.
But it means more than you realize.
We stand in the foyer in silence, minutes passing as both of us are at a loss for words.
The bell rings again, in quick succession from the finger laying on it from the other side of the door. Flinging open the door without diverting my attention from Cora, I shout, “For fuck’s sake. Do you not fucking understand what call my attorney means?”
“Sorry,” a deep voice bellows, and I turn to find a man I’ve never met standing on my front step. He’s a huge man—several inches taller than me and easily carrying fifty additional pounds of muscle—the kind of guy I didn’t exactly enjoy going head-to-head with on the field. If he weren’t intimidating, the fact that he has a blond clone standing behind him definitely would make up for it.
“We don’t exactly deal with lawyers,” the blond clone chuckles from the back.
Removing his sunglasses, the man on the threshold presses the door lightly while exposing the gun tucked into his waistband. “Are you going to invite us in?”
“Probably not.” I push against the door. “I don’t fucking know you.”
“No. You don’t.” He puts his full weight into the door and shoves his way inside forcefully. “But you know our boss, and you’ve kept something you shouldn’t have.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CORA
The front door flings open, and Samuel stumbles backward into the foyer. Two massive walls of men walk through the now-empty doorway.
“The boss has a few things to discuss with you, too, Cora.” A tall, dark-haired man comprised of nothing but muscles stalks toward me. “You don’t get to just walk away from the life she’s provided you with.”
His enormous paw wraps around my arm, and I wince in pain as squeezes me. He yanks me into his side, and I slam against him with a thud.
“Get your fucking hands off her.” Samuel shoves the man holding me, quickly pulling me into his arms when the huge paw releases its grip. “She’s not fucking going anywhere.”
“The boss wants her back,” the dark-haired man snarls.
Wrapping his arms tighter around me as though they are a shield, Samuel rebuts, “And I told your boss I’d pay. Whatever she fucking wants. Cora’s done with that life.”
I swallow hard at his words, having no idea the lengths that Samuel is willing to go to keep me.
“I work for her.” I vehemently shake my head, “She doesn’t fucking own me.”
Both the men laugh at my apparent naivety. I’ve told myself for years I could stop whenever I wanted, but anytime I tried, she always dangled one more job before me. One that was always too fucking good to walk away from.
One like Samuel’s.
