Sell My Soul (Sixty Days 1)

“Everything to your satisfaction?” she asked, her tone considerably snippier than it’d been when directed at him earlier.

I managed a nod with my aching neck. “Yes, all good, thank you.”

She approached the counter before I could make an exit, digging out a form and handing it over.

“If you could just sign for checkout.”

And that’s when it occurred to me. One little stab at a chance of finding out his identity.

“Didn’t we check out already?” I asked her, and she pitted her brows.

“No,” she said, and ruffled through paperwork afresh. “Your husband left without a signature, I’m certain.”

“He’s not my husband,” I told her, and her smile grew a little brighter.

“My apologies,” she said. “Either way, please may I have a signature?”

I took my chance, focusing my efforts on maintaining confidence in the face of a gut full of anxiety.

“What name did we check in under?” I asked her. “I want to be sure the signatures add up...”

She pulled a face but I kept my eyes on hers.

“His,” she told me, and I could have whooped aloud when she lifted up the checking in form.

I had to fight the urge to snatch it from her fingers with every cell in my body.

The urge to laugh aloud bubbled up a whole second later.

His signature was little more than a squiggle, but I made out the intended letters easily enough.

P. Emmerson.

“It appears we are in fact married. Who’d have thought it?” I said to her and signed my own signature on the checking out form.

“Congratulations on your impromptu wedding,” she said, sarcasm dripping. “I hope you found your somewhat brief stay enjoyable, Mrs Emmerson.”

I didn’t hang around any longer, my smile genuine enough in my humour as I stepped on out of there and into the cold night air.

I didn’t mind the chill. My steps were slow and steady as I headed back past the pier, savouring the memory of following him so urgently all those hours before.

The night sky was twinkling and so was I, so insanely caught up in the man who’d made me hurt for him that I would have danced on the spot if my shoes were fastened properly.

He was my vicious saviour. My pitch black knight in the darkness of my crazy world.

Soon enough he’d be my sister’s saviour too.

My heart lurched, and not in a good way.

Phoebe.

I’d barely had a thought for her since he’d brought her up at the cocktail bar.

The guilt burned worse than the welts under my dress as I fished in my bag for my mobile.

My ringtone was likely still muted from earlier. Barely audible on those settings at my side in college, let alone wedged in my handbag on a bedside table while I was busy taking a beating.

Fuck, how my stomach churned as the missed call icon flashed on screen.

I fumbled with the keys until her number showed up bold. Three missed calls, one from a little less than an hour earlier.

I was already pressing to call her back when his warning zinged its way through my brain.

Every move you make I’ll be in the shadows. Every word you speak will be in my ear before you can fucking blink.

He’d read my text messages about my pier meet up with Rebecca Lane. I mean, he had to have.

If he could do that…

But I didn’t have a choice. I had to call my sister.

I counted the beeps of the tone as my phone tried to connect with hers.

One, two, three and I was praying aloud.

Please answer. Please, please answer.

My heart jumped when the tone cut out in favour of street noises on the other end.

I heard breathing. The muffled footsteps of someone walking.

“Phoebe?” I asked. “Thank hell you’re there. I was praying you’d pick up.”

But when her voice called hello from the other end my prayers felt anything but fulfilled.

She was crying, barely even able to get the word out.

My sister sounded barely like my sister. “Talk to me!” I told her. “What’s going on?”

Her voice was slurred when she cobbled her words together. I could barely understand her over the sobs once she seemed to ascertain it was really me.

I need you. Please. Paige. Coming for me. They’re coming. I can’t talk. Low battery. Please!

“Where are you?” I asked, and she wailed out loud. I struggled for composure of my own, skirting my eyes around me for signs of being followed by any of my shadowy stranger’s shadowy contacts, but the street seemed dead.

There was only me, the crash of the waves on the beach below and the sobs of my sister on the line.

“A taxi,” I told her. “Wherever you are get a taxi! I can pay when you get here! I’ll meet you at the south entrance of the college. We’ll talk at mine.”

The connection was terrible. I cursed under my breath as she faded in and out.