So, I do what any self-respecting girl would do. I find a coin and flip it.
I call tails is open, heads is walk away.
Tails wins. Of course, it does.
Placing my hand on the knob, I draw it down, and the door creaks open.
That seems like a good sign to me, as nobody I know leaves questionable doors unlocked. If this is hiding something big, then surely Cyrus would have it locked.
When it opens all the way, it’s hard to see anything.
A little of the overhead closet light filters in, but as far as I can see, there isn’t another switch to illuminate the small room.
I run downstairs to the kitchen where I know I’ll find a flashlight and hurry back up to the closet. Shining the small stream of light into the room, I’m surprised to find it empty save a small shoe-sized box in the middle of the floor.
Curious.
Popping the lid off, I find a few trinkets inside. Nothing of monetary value, though, as far as I can tell. There are a few pictures of a young Cyrus and a pretty girl, also one of another girl who looks vaguely familiar to me, but that makes no sense. With a shake of the head, I continue to look, and I find a few letters.
I open the first and realize it isn’t actually a letter, but a note or maybe a poem.
The handwriting is masculine and hard to read. The letters each appear to have been read hundreds of times. The paper worn, and the ink fading.
The next one I open has me furrowing my brow in confusion. It’s a list of names. Some are scratched out, others untouched. Attached to another letter are news clippings talking about area homicides and missing persons.
Oh, God. Was this a hit list?
I continue to sift through the paper-clipped obituaries—most of which belong to well-known mobsters. Their deaths are not tragic in my opinion. The world is better off with them dead. They are horrible men who did horrible things to others.
I sort through the contents and find myself confused as to what the notes and clips have to do with the girl in the photos. Had one of these men done something to her? Why else would these things be put together in this empty, hidden room?
Behind the newspaper clippings is one more list. This one is different, though. This one doesn’t have any scratched-out names. No, this one is worse because it only has names of females. All my prior suspicions are thrown out the window after looking at this list. Maybe the last one was a hit list, but this one might be a list of conquests. My stomach tightens at the thought. A wave of irrational jealousy working its way through me. This is obviously where he keeps things he doesn’t want me to find.
“Ivy?” Cyrus’s voice calls, and I nearly jump out of my skin. He’s back, and I’m snooping through his personal things.
I quickly shove the items back into the box, shut the door, and try desperately to replace everything back to where it was. My hands are shaking as I walk out of the closet. And I don’t have enough time to get out of the room before Cyrus finds me.
His brows knit in confusion when he finds me in his room.
“What are you doing in here?” he asks.
He doesn’t seem angry, just confused.
“I was bored,” I admit. It isn’t a lie.
“Are you snooping through my stuff?” He guesses accurately, standing in front of me. I have to crane my head to look at him.
I shrug at his question. I’m not sure what to say. There’s no sense in lying because I’m basically caught. What did he expect me to do in this house all alone? Plus, I’m also not sure how I feel about this list. Who are these women?
“You missed me.” His statement takes me off guard, and I realize I did.
The fear I had moments ago about being caught is replaced by something else. A warmth travels through my body at seeing him. My pulse picks up, and a smile spreads across my face. He winks at me, and I swear, it makes my knees weak and my brain mush.
“I did,” I confess.
His smile turns to something closer to a smolder, and he moves toward me. It’s like we’re magnets being drawn to each other. He moves toward me as I move toward him. There’s no control over it. My body demands I get closer.
When we are a foot apart, Cyrus reaches out and pulls me to him. I sigh as I breathe him in. Spice and mint mixed with sandalwood. All male and so damn intoxicating.
“Ivy, I—”
I cut off his words when I lean up on my toes and run my hand down the side of his face. That’s all it takes for him to close the distance between us. Our lips crash together, and we both groan in response.