Relinquish(67)

“From the moment you ran into me in Vegas, I’ve been drawn to you,” he whispers against my lips.

“I hated you for taking me away from Jayden, but how can I now?” I brush my lips against his, my eyes staring at his with a raw emotion.

“You couldn’t stay mad at me,” he replies arrogantly as he presses his lips to mine, rolling me on top of him.

“What about us?” I mumble against his mouth, nipping his bottom lip

“I’ll figure it out.” He moans, grabbing my hips and pulling me on top of his length. My head falls back, and I groan with satisfaction as Landon takes me for another round.





TWENTY


CHARLIE


I wake to the sun shining brightly and my body sore. Sitting up, I look for Landon, and discover I’m back in my room, naked and in my bed. I smirk, thinking about last night. Happiness is gluing my cold heart into something warm and whole this morning. I crawl out of bed, the ache between my legs reminding me of him, the things he said to me, what he said to me. I want to believe that we can make us work, that there might be something there, but from what Landon says about his father, I’m not sure if that will happen.

My eyes widen when a thought hits me. The folder with Evans written on it. I forgot all about it. I run to the clothes thrown on the floor, shimmying on some short-shorts and a white shirt that hangs off the shoulder. I open the door, looking both ways before racing toward the pot in the hallway. My heart pounds in my ears that I may get caught. When I reach it, I look around, making sure nobody is near before I grab the folder. I hide it under my shirt and run back to my room quickly, my heart slamming so hard against my chest I can barely breathe. I shut my door slowly, making sure not to make any noise. Once closed, I slide against it, falling to the floor with the folder.

I bite my lip nervously, scared of what is in it. It could be nothing; it could be some other woman named Evans. I let out a nervous breath and open it, lifting it upside-down and letting the contents fall to the floor. There are a bunch of pictures and some papers. I pick up a piece of paper and see men’s names and figures. It’s a client list, and payments. I frown. It can’t be me; I haven’t had but one client so far. I toss it to the side and grab the picture. Surveying the photo, I see Miller, but he looks much younger, and a woman. A woman who looks just like me. I frown and flip the photo over, my heart a painful ache against my chest. ‘Gala of 2005, Miller and Maria Evans.’ My mother. I drop the photo, my breathing becoming chaotic. I grab another picture and see more of my mother and Miller. Tears drip from my eyes and fall along the photos.

I clutch the piece of paper that was in the folder and look it over, searching for her name somewhere. There it is, at the bottom. Maria Evans. My mother was an escort. My chest heaves. I’m sucking in large amounts of air, but I’m still not catching my breath. I grab another piece of paper on the floor and look it over.

It looks to be some kind of doctor form. My eyes trail along the information of white female, age, hair color, and cause of death is a gunshot wound to the head. My nose flares. It’s a coroner’s report. How did Miller get this? He’s powerful, and he has connections. Did he have something to do with my mother’s death? Why would he hide these in the back of his desk if he didn’t?

I let out a loud cry and kick the pictures and papers, trying to crawl up the door to get away from all the evidence linking my mother’s death to the estate.

I close my eyes and rock back and forth. How? Why? My mother is dead. My lips tremble with sorrow as the news of my mother permanently being gone hits my soul. I used to curse her for being absent when things were rough in foster care, but she didn’t leave me. She didn’t kill herself, and Miller knows something. The way my body reacts in fear when he’s around me, it’s alerting me of danger, even if I didn’t know it.

I stand on shaky legs and grab the photo of my mother. She was so beautiful. I look almost identical to her. It’s no wonder Miller looks at me the way he does.

My legs make their way down the stairs on their own accord, as if my journey to Landon’s office is on autopilot. Tears still stream down my face as I stare at the photo. I push Landon’s office door open and head toward his desk mindlessly. Laughter comes from a room adjoining his office and echoes. I pull open the drawer and my eyes land on the gun. I reach in with a trembling hand, gripping the heavy metal. The office door swings open, but I don’t look away from the weapon resting in my palm.

“Charlie.” I slowly take my gaze from my hand toward the voice, finding none other than Miller.

“Whoa, what are you doing with that?” he questions warily.

“Admit it,” I seethe, rounding the desk on shaky legs.

“I’m sorry?”

“Admit you killed her!” I scream, tossing the photo at him.

He leans down slowly and picks the photo up. Inhaling, his head tilted down, his eyes trail from the photo to me, looking vindictive.

“So, it was you who was in my desk,” he states, his tone of fear gone.

“Admit it,” I repeat.

“It’s a small world, isn’t it?” He chuckles. I lift my head with his comment. He admits he knows her, but did Miller kill her? The only thing I can remember from that day is that tattoo of wings. My eyes dart to Miller. He has a tattoo on his back; I remember seeing a piece of it.