Page 15 of Wreck Me

I flinch. I never visit my mother’s grave. Not because every fibre of being doesn’t want to, but because the danger of being seen, of giving away my new identity, is too great.The O’Connors are a formidable family. I wouldn't put it past them to be watching, waiting for me to show up.

‘I miss her,’ I say. They’re the only words I can muster.

‘I know, sweetheart. I’ll lay some flowers on her grave for you.’ Eleanor’s kindness knows no bounds. ‘Are you okay? Do you need anything? Have you got enough money?’

‘I’m fine, thank you.’ I blink back the tears forming in my eyes. ‘I got a job in a bar.’

‘Is it safe?’ Concern taints her tone.

‘Yes, it’s low key. The uniform is…’ Can you call designer lingerie a uniform? ‘It makes me unrecognisable, even to myself.’

‘You’re on the home run. Last semester, then the world is your oyster,’ Eleanor reminds me with a hint of pride.

‘I know. I can’t believe it.’ I’ve spent the last five, almost six years, in survival mode. I can’t imagine what it’ll be like to truly live.

‘You’re amazing Scarlett. Your mam would be so proud of you.’

My chest tightens. My fingers instinctively reach for the cross around my neck. ‘That means a lot.’

‘I wish you’d come over. I’d love to see you.’ Eleanor sighs.

‘I don’t want to put you at risk.’

‘So much time has passed. Surely by now…’ she trails off.

‘Maybe you could come to my graduation?’ Eleanor is the closest thing I have to family, although we barely manage to see each other twice a year, at most.

Her smile is evident in her voice. ‘Honey, I wouldn't miss it for the world.’

‘Great. I’ll check in again soon.’

‘Do.’ Eleanor says. ‘And please, visit. Anytime.’

I hang up before she can pin me to a date and time. My solitude is her safety. After everything she’s done for me, I’m unwilling to jeopardise that.

I slip the phone back into my bag and weave through a throng of commuters. My studio apartment is only a ten minute walk from college. Despite the college’s prestigious reputation, it borders some less salubrious areas, but at least the accommodation is affordable. Well, it was, until my dickhead landlord raised the rent.

Thank God for the Luxor Lounge. Cole wires my wages weekly. And don’t get me started on the tips. Someone anonymously left me five grand on my first night. The cash is tucked away in my lingerie drawer, which is now overflowing with decadent silk, chiffon and lace, thanks to my open credit limit at Belle de Nuit.

As the weeks are progressing, so is my confidence. Dancing feels as natural as breathing. And if I’m honest, being admired and desired so carnally does things to me. Things that ignite a fire in my stomach and lower.

I love commanding the attention of every eye in the room.

Even if none of those eyes feel a fraction as intoxicating as James’s.

The memory of our conversation, of how it felt to be in his proximity, is seared into my soul as if it had taken place minutes before, not weeks. I’d do well to remember the man is a notorious player.

He’s a client of the club.

And he has no real interest in me.

Chapter Nine

SCARLETT

The sun is dipping low behind the building when I reach the paint-peeled front door of my apartment building. I jam my key in and twist, glancing over my shoulder as I step into the cold concrete hallway. The stairs are a winding, creaky affair that spiral up five floors. They’re a death trap. I always cling on to the wobbly handrail, even if it’s grubby and questionably sticky.

I jog up the steps and let myself into my apartment, if you can even call it that. There’s a tiny sitting/kitchen area and a bedroom/ensuite. I’ve seen bigger shoe boxes. It’s single-glazed sash windows render it absolutely freezing. The décor can only be described as shabby at best, but I keep it spotless.

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