Lilian sat alone at the end of the hospital bench, gazing at nothing before her. The rest of existence came in waves—faces indistinctly blurred by, voices wailing out, and buzzing fluorescent lights above—but none seeped through. Her throbbing, bruised lip thumped to the rhythm of the muffled pain on her temple. Her purple cheek ached with each time her skin closed up from the tightness of a healing wound.Three times. Three attempts.Three times when death should have embraced her into its arms, but for some mysterious reason, failed to.She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself, more habit than for warmth. Her body was still recovering from the bruises, but it was the psychic bruises that hurt more than the pain in her limbs. The fact that he held her immobilized. The sneering in his voice. The feel of his hand in her pajama pants—Her breath caught.Again, tears flowed, and after this morning's assurance that they would be the last, how many more times would tears have fallen
He was livid.No—furious didn't come near it. His anger increased. The whisky in the glass trembled in his hand before he swallowed it in one smooth motion. The golden liquid halted his movement for an instant. She had defied death once again. Lilian lived on when she was supposed to die. "How in the world is she still alive?" he retorted sharply, the cold poison charging his words.Oliver was a few feet away, bandaging the cut on his left eye, hunching his shoulders like a schoolboy expecting the cane “I swear, I almost had her. I was this close to ending it, but her bastard bodyguard showed up—”He didn’t let him finish.“Really? That’s your excuse?” The man rose from his chair in a storm of motion, eyes blazing. “Is that why you’re standing here bleeding like a butchered pig? Because you ‘almost’ did your job?”Oliver didn’t respond. He stared at the floor as if it might swallow him whole and save him from the humiliation. A smarter man would have realized silence would be his only
Don't worry, the paramedics will arrive any minute," Police Chief Carl said, diplomatically interrupting as Chris clenched his fists, staring at Lilian. She was as pale as the inflamed, swollen areas on her face. Her body trembled despite the heat within the room. The fury beneath Chris's skin made breathing hard."Meanwhile, don't mind me asking you a couple of questions?Lilian's head nodded, and the sudden movement drove a stabbing ache through her head. Chris's fists were balled at his sides. He was so angry, he wanted to shout, rip something, someone apart.Carl took a step or two closer, his voice firm. "Tell me about the man who hit you."She gasped for breath unevenly, her voice cracking. "He was wearing a mask, so I couldn't see his face. But... he had shaggy brown hair. He was tall—maybe six feet. And he was built like a tank.”“Anything else?”She blinked slowly. “No… That’s all.”“Did he say anything? Like, why was he after you?”Chris watched her hands tremble in her lap.
Bill Darcy has been the secret political boss of the present administration for the past five years.The City, pulsating and living, did not realize the man manipulating it like a puppeteer behind the scenes was one it did not know. He liked the fact that while Damian Rashford was under the limelight, Darcy's subtle manipulations were the ones that ruled supreme. He liked it that way: an unknown man whose untraceable hands were deep into power and secrets.His silence was interrupted by the ring of his telephone. Darcy frowned as he leaned back, answering curtly as always, "Yes?"The man on the line was tense. "Darcy, there's a problem.""Problem?" Darcy's eye rose, tone low and ominous. "I employed you to give me results, not issues."The other man hesitated, then cleared his throat. "It is regarding Rashford. He is asking questions.""What sort of questions?" Darcy's fingers drummed on the desk as he tensed, the jaw locking in preparation.“He’s beginning to suspect. Wants to know w
As Commissioner Jim Cruz sat at his mahogany desk, the half-smoked cigar's cigarette smoke drifted up toward the ceiling.He had invested so much in politics, building this empire stone by stone, and cognizant of the price to be paid of staying atop. With blind-buying and repaying favors, he had built a fortune in riches and power and could even gain a Senate seat.' He seethed with anger at his so-called friends.With a blank look, the man gazed back at Captain Joe Whitely, who sat by the window, his belly bulging against his uniform."So, tell me again, Whitely," Cruz began, his voice low and deadly, "why did news just blindside me that Evelyn Chase was murdered in a damn call house? In our town. You swore there wasn’t a single one left standing."Whitely raised his cigar to his lips, taking a long, languid drag. A smirk crept onto his tobacco-stained teeth. “Oh, there are always call houses, Commissioner. We close ‘em down, and they pop right back up.” He gestured dismissively. “Thi
“Boss?”The voice was shaking and low, unusually uncertain. Rex was never uncertain. But tonight, there was something different.Chris blinked at the screen before him, not quite seeing the soft light of the rom-com spilling out. Rita lay sprawled across his chest, her head under his chin, her hands drawing a soft, automatic path on his shirt. It had taken some time—God, it had taken longer than he'd known he had—to get her to forgive him.He’d messed things up, and tonight was supposed to be an opportunity to make things right. Quiet. Intimate. Just the two of them.Instead, unease began to stir like smoke rising from wet earth.He hadn’t moved, hadn’t even answered Rex. His mind was still heavy, fractured. Caught between the warmth of Rita’s body and the cold, bitter aftertaste of a kiss he had no business remembering. A kiss with Lilian. Unplanned, reckless. The memory haunted him like an open wound on his lips, days old but far from healed.He had decided that he was never going t