Stolen Lust (Beauty in the Stolen 1)

After repeating the number in my head and making associations with memorable dates for easier recalling, like 1920 as the year my grandfather was born, I go back to the bathroom and flush the paper down the toilet. When I lift my gaze, I catch my reflection in the mirror. My skin is pale, but my cheeks are flushed, telltale signs of stress. The dark circles under my eyes are evidence of the two sleepless nights I’ve spent. Ian and I didn’t get much sleep the night before. My skin is still chafed from his stubble, and the marks on my neck look suspiciously like hickeys. He didn’t mean to give them to me, but I bruise easily.

I have the foreign notion of staring at a stranger. My life has been turned upside down in the short span of a week. I bite my lip. I’m not sure it will ever be the same. Will I have to look over my shoulder for the rest of my life? I can’t bear the uncertainty. I can’t live with the constant fear. I have to know.

There’s only one way to find out.

My steps are heavy when I go back to the bedroom. The sun peels through the slivers of the blinds. When I open them, light pours into the room. I open a window. It’s already hot outside. Staring at the garden below, I make up my mind. I’m going to find out just how serious Ian had been about stalking me. After dressing in a sundress, I have a blueberry muffin and a cup of coffee, and then I set off to execute my test.

On the walk to town, the number I memorized floats in and out of my mind. There’s no way I’m touching that money. First of all, it’s stolen. Secondly, it will feel as if I’m accepting a bribe. Nope. The five million can rot in the Cayman Islands. Eventually, Ian will get the message. He can close the account or let it run interest for life. I’m not dirtying my hands more than I already have. It’s bad enough that I’m hiding information from the police, information that could lead to Ian’s arrest. I don’t know his last name, but I know what his face looks like. How hard can it be to trace him? Yet when I think about him behind bars, my stomach clenches and my heart squeezes in an unbearable way.

What a grand mess. I feel like I’m tumbling in the murky waves of good and bad, swallowing the dirty water. I’m stretched between opposite sides, torn between right and wrong.

When I reach the main street, I go down the side alley toward the cinema and stop to look at the shop sign above me. Harry’s Tattoo Parlor. Sawing my lip between my teeth, I glance left and right, but both ends of the alley are deserted. The sun spills through the buildings, illuminating the corner of the pavement. At the crossing, cars pass on the main street. There are no men in Phantom masks. No one lurks in the shadow of the pharmacy alcove.

Sagging a little, I utter a small laugh. How stupid I’ve been. Idiotic, really. How was Ian going to watch me? By putting a drone on my tail? Relief crashes over me, leaving me boneless. I haven’t realized how tense I’ve been until my muscles finally relaxed.

I look through the window. A thin man sits on a stool behind a counter, making a drawing. I don’t really know what I want. It wasn’t my plan to actually walk through the door, but now that I’m here, I may as well go inside.

Gripping the handle, I push it down. A fist closes around my wrist. I jerk, my heart slamming into my ribs. The air whooshes out of my lungs. Almost too afraid to look, I lift my gaze to the owner of the hand.

A tall, broad man with a bald head stares down at me. I can’t see his eyes, because he’s wearing sunglasses. He’s dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, and his thick arms are covered in ink.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he says in a raspy voice. “I really don’t want to shoot that poor sucker inside.”

Ripping my arm from his grasp, I back up a few steps. He doesn’t follow. My breaths come in spurts. Shock hits me from all sides. Where did he come from? He’d been close all along, just around the corner. It jars me in a way that shakes me to my foundations.

I don’t look behind me as I backtrack to the main street. I keep my eyes on the danger in front of me as I feel my way with one hand on the wall. We’re watching each other, him taking a wide stance while I’m fleeing one footstep at a time.