I opened my laptop and was about to start working, when a new e-mail notification distracted me. Maybe it was another job. I could use more money. I was excited when I clicked on my inbox, and then I frowned when it said ‘Anonymous,’ but whatever. Money was money. Finally, it opened, but the words I read left me frozen and terrified.
It couldn't be.
Why would I get this e-mail?
I had watched the news like every other person and knew about his victims, or rather whatever was left of them. They just disappeared, and a few weeks later, their remains were found in the weirdest places.
Sociopath.
He was a sociopath, and he always e-mailed his victims that they were about to be taken. Sick, cold bastard who loved it when people suffered.
But why does he want me? The only time I ever did something wrong was a year ago, and I paid for it dearly.
Panic hit me, and the mug slipped out of my hand to the floor and shattered into tiny little pieces, the sound deafening me for a second.
What was I supposed to do? Ask for help?
Police? I didn't trust them, not after what happened last year. Then a memory flashed in my mind, taking me back to that fateful night when everything went wrong in my life.
My coat was soaked from all the rain as I was sitting on the bench, and my body was so cold. My boots had water inside them. Probably all this would lead to pneumonia.
None of those things registered in my mind though; numbness consumed me. Besides the clothes I was wearing and a half-broken phone in my pocket, I had nothing.
No family.
No home.
Not even clothes.
Nothing.
In that moment, a weak part of me wished I had never found those papers on my father’s desk and read all the bad things he had done. I wished I’d never gone to the one person who worked for Dad and sold me out. I could have lived in oblivion not knowing where everything came from, what kind of person gave life to me.
The other part, the one that was brave, preferred to die on the fucking street than live off the money that came from my family.
My hand went inside my pocket and took out the card with a name and number on it. Mary gave it to me before I left the house for good. She instructed me to use it if I felt I was in danger. The person whose name was on the card would help deal with whatever problem I had.
My situation sucked, but it was better than the near-fatal problem it could have been.
I put the card back inside, took a deep breath, stood up, and, as I was walking in the direction of Sophie’s house, I prayed I’d never have to use this number.
I quickly went to my room where I dug into the pocket of my worn-out coat. The card was still there. It was wrinkled from the rain and the number was washed out. My stomach sank, but then I noticed there was still an address attached, along with the name.
Without another thought, I changed my clothes, grabbed some money and my cell, and left the house. The broken mug would have to wait.
I left my laptop on with the e-mail displayed that said only one word, but had a lethal meaning to my life.
Sociopath
Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door firmly and took a step back. I got here as fast as possible, but now I was getting nervous.
It was a luxurious building in the Upper East Side; in fact, my parents lived only a few blocks away. I used to love the architecture and the extravagance of it, but right now, it all felt out of place here. In fact, the name on the card finally settled in my mind.
Dominic Scott.
If my family was considered rich, they were nothing close to the Scott Empire. I’d never met them. My dad dreamed of doing business with them, but they always said no. I hoped it wouldn't factor in with him helping me, but I came too far to walk away without trying to convince him that my life was worth something. Mary never would have given me his number if he weren’t a man who kept his promises. At least, that was what I kept saying to myself all the way here.
No one answered the door after my first try, but as I raised my hand to knock again, the door swiftly opened, and everything inside me froze.
The man was shirtless, which showed off his perfect abs. He only wore a pair of jeans that were still unbuttoned and his feet were bare. His long hair was loose, and his amber eyes were sleepy and tired. All I wanted to do at that point was run into his arms and let him save me.
He was the last man I would have expected to see behind the door.
“Hey.” My voice cracked and I cleared my throat. “I’m looking for Dominic Scott?” I licked my lips, and it didn't escape my notice that he followed the movements of my tongue with his eyes. Then he raised them back up and fury filled them. I took a step back.
“He’s asleep.” His voice was low and husky. “What do you want?” He didn't even try to hide his annoyance with me, as if the moment we shared last year didn't happen. I was hurt, and how freaking ridiculous was that?