Chapter three

ELENA's POV

As I exit the elevator, I unlock the door of apartment four-twelve, which is characterized by its floral wallpaper and old lady furniture. The apartment is also characterized by doilies that are hung over the backs of each chair, and it exudes the aroma of potpourri, which is a mixture of items that have been forgotten over time.

Immediately after I have secured the deadbolt, I place my purse on the floral sofa and proceed to the toilet in order to consume a half gallon of water in a single sitting.

After sating my thirst, I switch on the water and then pull off my clothes.

I feel a wave of regret sweep over me as I move out of my underwear and into my pants.

Maybe the night before wasn't as crazy as I had imagined it to be.

I would have had sexual relations with him if I had been able to let rip. With a willing heart. With elation.

However, that had not taken place. There are no indications that a beast-man has been ravaging every inch of my flesh.

Memories would have been by a man like him. No matter how much I drank, there is no way that I would ever forget that I ever rode him to the moon and back. He would have left me sore on the inside and out. Nothing could have changed that.

To add insult to injury, I would not have gotten up and put my bra and panties back on after having sexual relations. It's not me at all. I am not even under the influence of alcohol.

The fact that I was able to escape from a total stranger without any injuries is something that I ought to be relieved about, but for some reason, it feels like a missed chance.

He had the potential to shake up my world. There is nothing quite like Ramsey, who could only pull it together for Friday nights if he wasn't "too tired and stressed out from work."

What the hell is going on here?

As I get into the shower, I utter the words, "You did." "For the next four years," she said.

As I prepare to wash away those memories and cleanse my thoughts, I place my head under the steaming water and take a deep breath.

It's really outrageous. It is impossible for me to forget anything about Ramsey. His arrogant and imperious regulations, as well as his big-shot business mindset. The certain order that he had in the bedroom, the way that everything had to take place just as it should have. It is more of a chore than anything that even somewhat resembles passion.

It's completely insane. The only thing that comes to mind is a man who came dangerously close to dragging me to the altar. In addition, I have nothing but pleasant and terrifying recollections of the beast that I awoke next to this morning.

The more I remembered, the better. My wish is that I could have one more look at those eyes, which were a brilliant ocean blue and shone so brightly that I could nearly see my own reflection.

In the end, we get to the illogical portion. When I was with him, I had been so enamored with his savage beautiful looks that I had forgotten to question myself why I was with him in the first place.

Why had I spent the entire night sleeping close to a man who had not done anything to me? I was only partly clad all the time. We had just passed out before anything could take place, had we already?

There is something that faintly touches my cheek as I am wiping the water off of my face.

I am unable to move. My eyes get the sensation that they are about to pop out of their sockets.

My ring for the engagement. I was so excited to get into the shower that I forgot to remove it first. I can't help but smile, knowing that Ramsey would be so angry. Regarding the warranty and insurance, he never quit talking about them.

It dawns on me, and my smile begins to go away.

My spine becomes rigid for a second time, which causes me to remain in position. I continue to tremble for a few more seconds, and I am unable to open my eyes because I am too terrified.

The issue is that I do not possess an engagement ring at this time.

I have a clear recollection of leaving Phoenix the previous week, despite the fact that my memories of last night are a complete mess. The evening that I finally made the decision to remove the ostentatious ring that had always felt more like a prison rock from my finger and place it on the table for the final time.

I had just returned home from the airport when I decided to end my relationship with Ramsey. It was the same evening.

I am still not opening my eyes, and I am using the index finger of my right hand to hold the finger on my left hand. I am thumbing the strange new ring that shouldn't be there.

But I'm not imagining it. That’s for damn sure.

It's simple beauty. Gold band. A few delicate gems lined up in the center.

Am I dreaming?

Am I still engaged to Ramsey Pratt and fantasizing about what'll happen when I finally get the courage to break it off?

No. No daydream would leave me feeling this crappy, this confused.

I’m not in my bathroom back in Phoenix . I’m in San Luis. Showering in Veronica Smith's apartment while she’s in Chicago helping her granddaughter, who just had a baby.

You're hallucinating, I tell myself.

It's probably the dehydration or the waning headache or the adrenaline hangover I've had since getting home. I lick my lips, count to three, and open my eyes.

What the what?! It’s not just one ring. It’s two!

An engagement ring with a very large emerald surrounded by several small diamonds. Nothing at all like the glittery designer name I’ve worn for the past year. The etched wedding band has emeralds and diamonds on it, too.

They're both gorgeous. Flipping gorgeous.

Another image flashes in my head, so ridiculous it sends me jumping out of the shower.

I think...oh, God...it's Elvis, isn't it?

Yup. Elvis. Alive and well.

The King himself. Dressed as a preacher.

Or maybe a preacher dressed as Elvis?

Naked and wet, I run to the living room, grabbing my purse. Zipping it open, I dump the contents on the sofa and start pawing through the pile.

My cell phone, hair brush, and trinkets fall onto the cushion, along with a shower of cash, and then, a single folded sheet of paper flutters out. It'd been jammed into the very bottom.

Somehow, just looking at it, I know. And I'm already hyperventilating a little before it's readable.

My hands shake as I pick it up. Open it. Look.

State of Arizona Certificate of Marriage, it reads.

Elena Aria Steven to Justine Hardley Scot.

“It can't be!” I whisper, on the verge of passing out. “I’m...I'm married?”

JUSTINE

My head appears to be much larger on the inside than it is on the outside.

I'm sorry, but it hurts.

Trauma to the head is nothing new of mine. Even though I have had blows that have jolted my head and damaged all of my senses, I have never felt pain quite like this before.

How I was able to stumble to my feet and hobble across the room is something that I have not yet been able to figure out.

My eyes are forced to follow the woman in the skimpy blue dress as she races across the driveway of the condo complex and into the brush. I move closer to the window, push my forehead against the cool, soothing glass, and force my eyes to follow her.

I don't know who she is, and I don't understand why she climbed out of my bed.In the first place, how did she manage to obtain access to my bedroom?

To begin, she is quite attractive.

No, she is more like eye-poppingly beautiful. While she is running, her long, dark brown hair falls behind her like a scarf in the wind. Also, that sweet ass. In a perfect roundness and ripeness, it begs to be placed in my hand.

I would have spoken something instead of just staring at her as she crawled across the carpet, her tight pink underwear gripping those gorgeous ass-cheeks the entire way. If I hadn't felt like I'd just taken a piano to my skull, I would have said something.

The most alluring young burglar a man could ever want to meet.

On the other hand, I checked, and there is nothing missing.

Quite the contrary, in point of fact. There was a pair of white sandals that she left behind. By the door to the bedroom is one. It is located in the restroom, the other one.

She had been heard to sneak out. I don't understand why I didn't hear her sneaking in.

I am not like that. My name is not this. Focus is a headline that appears on every résumé in my area of work, and it is typically tied to the lives of the people to whom they are attached.

The situation is really precarious.

It must be this fucking hangover that's causing it. The option that is completely illogical.

I hadn't consumed that much alcohol. In no way do I. I am unable to.

It would be irresponsible of me to remain cloudy at all times because there is so much at stake.

Now, what if I had brought her back here after she had had one too many cocktails? Did you invite her, right? Allow my d*ck to get me into trouble, will I?

And she is still present. Within the forest. This person believes that no one can notice how she is staring at the front door with her large eyes locked on it. It is true that she would not be visible down there, but from this vantage point, I can see her as plain as the day the sun rises.

There is a certain resemblance between her and me, but I am unable to spot it.

I mean, f*ck. I am no longer unable to comprehend it.

The night before, she was present at the blackjack table. And she had completely triumphed.

I had informed her that Good Fortune was on her side. There was a possibility that she was the Lady herself, incarnate.

I just adored the way that made her eyes sparkle. They had a green color. This color is emerald green. While I was watching her spend a significant amount of time winning, I referred to her as Lucky and referred to her as the color of money instead.

As well as consuming her sweet little ass on the spot.

She had purchased beverages for each and every person seated at the table. As well as me. I drank it of course. It is they. A minimum of three or four rounds required. The same thing happened with another couple a few times.

As a matter of course, f*ck!

A mickey was slipped to me by someone. That would be Lucky herself.

"F?ck up!" Another growl comes from me as I softly pound my fist against the glass. My head is pounding, and the blood is raging in my temples with such ferocity that I am on the verge of collapsing. This is a horrible confirmation from my own body that I have been drugged.

I give the glass a light slap for the second time. I snarl to myself, "You are a fool." "I don't know what the hell you were thinking."

She does something, and she leaps out in front of a car. My heart stops beating for a fraction of a second. Despite the fact that there is no reason on earth for me to care about a woman who has just drugged me getting hit, I am not thinking clearly.

Thankfully, the automobile comes to a stop as well. Then, with the same promptness and clumsiness, she climbs into the back seat of the vehicle.

putting an end to any aspirations I had of rushing downstairs to catch her and getting answers to my questions.

My brain is being torn apart by the anguish once more, and despite my frantic efforts to turn around, I am forced to grip the back of the couch.

Whatever it was that she had put in the beverages, or had placed in them, was so potent that it would take paint off.

I can hardly recall anything that occurred after the initial whiskey sour that I had in the bar.

A portion of the discomfort begins to lessen, and I find myself standing motionless, clinging to the back of the couch, while I make an effort to clear the fog that has settled into my head.

Think about it, you scumbag. I whisper to myself, "There must be more," and I mouth the words out loud into my mouth.

It was Arnold James. That is the person I was anticipating seeing at the casino the night before.

My information is without flaw. In town, James was present. He is unable to abstain from gambling for an extended period of time due to the intensity of his addiction. In addition, it had been such a long time since he had been to his preferred shrine dedicated to the Almighty Dollar.

Last night, he had been present there. Without a doubt, it was. The individual in question was my intended target, and if I hadn't been sidetracked by Lady Luck in blue, I would have had him restrained in my truck at this very moment.

Then, was she a member of the same group as James? Alternately, with Mr. Fuckface himself possibly.

I feel my hand tighten as a fleeting image of his smug and nasty visage appears in my head for a fraction of a second. I am experiencing a strong want to force my knuckles into the nearest hard surface, even if the pain is excruciating. And again and again. Until the entire arm begins to feel numb.

Nelson Jordan is not really deserving of the name "Fuckface."

This is the devil that I have to vanquish.

This is not the case; he believes that he has me in the position that he wants me to be in.

If nothing else, it was.

When I was going to settle a score with Jordan his boys, James was meant to be my ticket to doing so.

Did the jerk manage to stay one step ahead? In order to divert my attention while he made his way to James, he decided to hire this dark-haired beauty who has the angelic appearance.

I'm sick of saying it, but I'm used to the same kind of logic that is both awful and unpredictable. It is consistent with the message that Nelson sent me, which stated that I should hurry up and find James for him this weekend, or else we will have to renegotiate the terms. And if someone else is the one to perform the dirty work of finding down his man, then it will be on his terms.

"F*ck up!"

Despite the fact that my vision is turning red, at least I am not seeing stars like I did when I first forced my eyes open.

I make my way to the restroom and make sure to look through every drawer and shelf. Even a f*cking aspirin was not enough. Is typical.

I, on the other hand, never require them. I do not suffer from headaches. I don't suffer from hangovers. Due to the fact that I have spent the morning, noon, and night on ripping Jordan open and dragging out the facts that I require, I have not had even a single casual f*ck in the past few months.

In most cases, the only pain reliever I require is a soak in a warm shower. At this moment, I am hope that this remains the case.

While I am in the shower, I remove my boxers and walk into the shower. I then close the glass door and turn the water temperature up to the highest possible level. The container filled with tiles is filled with steam. As sweat begins to pour out of my pores, I take a deep breath. As I begin to sweat profusely, I soon become aware of the poison that is leaking out of me slowly.

I stand there, wishing that everything could be as simple as this, and I watch as the toxins and sweat that I have been sweating run down the drain with the scorching water.

Try not to think about Thessy. Not at this time.

Not the sweet and innocent child who used to follow me around and had two long braids and freckles on her face. Or the kind and powerful lady she had become as she had grown up. Although I said I would protect her, I was unable to do so. She was my sister in every sense of the word.

The individual that Fuckface Jordan damaged and then discarded as if it were trash from the previous day.

There is a fire in my eyes. Both the sweat that is flowing off my forehead and the wrath that is burning inside of me are to blame for this.

I have made this promise before, but I will make it once more: that mother-fucker will pay.

He will tell me the truth in its purest form. In the event that he does not provide the location of her departure, I will use his own bones to create holes in his beautiful suit.

Thessy is deserving of more than a cold and disconnected case file with the federal government for a missing person. Aunt Mary is deserving of a conclusion. I require both of these things, and a great deal more than that. I need to get rid of this trash that is behind me in the only way that I am aware of.

Someone who has ever committed any act of violence against my family is subject to a death warrant that I myself have signed, sealed, and handed to them.