Empire of Sin(Empire #2)(58)

It’s funny that I left my family to avoid being hurt and used, but it feels as if I’ve landed in something much deeper and more painful.

And I need to distance myself from it.

From him.

The source of the shattering pain in my chest.





23





KNOX





Something’s changed.

I can’t quite pinpoint it, but it’s there in Anastasia’s stiff movements and silence.

Last night, when I fucked her against the kitchen counter, she was oddly quiet, then she curled up on the sofa and fell asleep

Usually, we have dinner together and talk about the case, or anything, actually. She talks nerdy to me about some new software or coding, her eyes brightening the more I listen. I’m not really interested in all that stuff, but the fact that she talks to me with that hyper tone of hers is an accomplishment. It’s the only time she leaves the prim and proper side of herself in the background.

In return, I find myself telling her about the friends and family I left in London or my antics with Dad, Ronan, and everyone else.

It’s so easy to talk to her, so easy to spend hours in her company without having to do anything.

It’s even better when she’s the one who talks about herself. Sometimes, she slips and mentions her cousin, her father, and her family. It’s in passing, though, and whenever she mentions them, her shoulders hunch and she changes the subject.

She talks more about Gwen, Chris, and Sandra than her actual past, and sometimes, it feels like she’s stuck in the middle.

Not fully Jane and not fully Anastasia either.

I’m along for the ride, enjoying every bit of her contradictions and letting it seep beneath my skin.

Not last night or this morning, though.

It’s like a barrier has materialized between us. The fact that I have no clue where it came from has been driving me bloody insane.

She’s also been busy today and can’t go to the supply room. I call bullshit on that, because she’s the most efficient member of the IT department and often finishes her tasks in the first half of the workday.

Stepping out of my car, I stare at the text message she sent me a few hours ago when I asked her what she wanted for dinner.

Anastasia: I’m going out with Gwen and Chris, so I won’t be home for dinner.

If there’s anything I’ve learned about her, it’s that she dislikes being in public, so going out is not the norm for her.

Either Gwen is corrupting her—and I wouldn’t be surprised if that were to be the case—or more logically, she’s avoiding me.

Which I will not have.

So I called Chris and made him tell me where they are.

“We’re at a club!” he shouted over the music, then texted me the address.

That’s where I am right now. At the fucking club.

Loud music nearly punctures my eardrums as I make my way through the crowd of writhing bodies. Blue light flashes in sync with trendy music and people go crazy when the beat drops.

Usually, this is my scene.

I live for the rush of adrenaline, alcohol, and sex. It’s what distracts me from my head and keeps my shadows at bay.

But that stopped being the norm ever since I met her. Ever since I owned her and inserted myself in her life as deeply as she invaded mine.

It’s been several weeks since the last time I was in a place like this, despite Dan’s constant bitching and the group chat’s eternal teasing.

The club feels a bit foreign now.

Maybe because my idea of fun has strangely switched from a loud nightclub to a small, quiet flat.

At first, I spot Gwen and Chris because they’re loud as fuck. Both of them are chugging drinks while dancing sporadically. Another guy, about their age, moves with them, and the three laugh in unison.

Gwen is barely staying on her feet, but that’s not my job to worry about.

I scan their surroundings, knowing Anastasia can’t be far if she came with them. Sure enough, I find her sitting alone at a secluded booth.

In my head, I’m forging ahead and grabbing her by the throat, but my feet don’t move. I’m stunned and rooted in place by her appearance.

Anastasia owns three types of clothes—baggy trousers, oversized shirts, and hoodies. Oh, and sexy-as-fuck lace panties.

Those are the only things in her closet.

So where the fuck did she get that dress from?

A tight black one that reveals her curves in silhouette form. Its straps might as well be nonexistent; not only are they thin and barely cover anything, but one of them also falls down her shoulder constantly. Although the dress isn’t too short, it reveals her pale legs and fuck-me heels. She’s also released her black hair, letting it fall in waves to her shoulders.

She seems to be wearing some makeup, too, even though she still has those thick glasses on.

My dick instantly twitches to life and I have to adjust the sorry fuck with teenage fantasies.

Or maybe they’re not teenage-level, after all, because the only thought running through my head is to rip that dress off her and fuck her on its shreds. With those heels on.

I don’t really care what she looks like, but this appearance is eerily similar to the first time I saw her in that bar.

Though she’s not a blonde and she doesn’t have those enchanting blue eyes, the aura is similar.