Page 15 of Redemption

I used to be frugal with my money too, when I had nothing more than a small stipend from my scholarship at Johns Hopkins.

Now, I’m more than wealthy enough to buy an expensive home in Harleston Village. I’ll never be poor again.

And as long as I choose to keep Abigail with me, she will want for nothing. I won’t be seen to neglect a woman who’s on my arm. I can provide for her, and I won’t allow anyone to think otherwise.

Clean up, Daniel. What will our friends think if they see you with bloody knuckles?

I hear my mother’s voice again. Always so concerned with appearances, not with why her ten-year-old son might have blood on his hands.

I crumple the magazine in my fists.

I loathe pretentious people who perform for the sake of others, but I can’t deny that I’ve been forced to live my life with my civilized mask firmly in place. I learned at a young age that I can’t get what I want if I let people see the monster inside; charm works much better than fear.

I gnash my teeth and toss the magazine in a public rubbish bin. These irritating thoughts aren’t something I often contemplate, and I don’t know why they’re troubling me now.

Must be the sleepless night messing with my usual composure.

I run a hand over my hair to smooth it into a neater style and stride towards the café. It’s just past eight AM now. Surely, they’ll be open.

The glass door isn’t locked, so I’m able to stride into the Sunny Side Café with smooth confidence.

Abigail is almost entirely hidden behind the espresso machine that dominates the end of the counter; only the top of her brunette head and the barest hint of delicately arched brows are visible.

Is she shy even in her workplace? Last night, I surmised that she’s a bit anxious in social situations. I’d enjoyed riding that edge, making her nervous while drawing out her forbidden lust.

“Good morning! How are you?”

I blink and redirect my attention to the pretty woman behind the register. Her name badge saysStacy.She must be Abigail’s friend, the one they couldn’t find at the bar last night when Franklin so rudely dragged my prey away from me.

My drunken prey.

I smother a frown as I remember Abigail’s slurred speech and the way she’d leaned on her male friend for support.

Even if he hadn’t taken her out of the bar to look for Stacy, I wouldn’t have been able to satisfy my lust last night. Not when Abigail was intoxicated.

It would’ve been much easier to track her down if we’d exchanged numbers, though. Less risky than following her.

I arrange my features into my usual charming smile and sharpen my focus. My prey is within my sights once again. She won’t escape this time.

“I’m well, thank you,” I say in response to Stacy’s inane question. This Carolina pretense at politeness will take some getting used to.

Although, looking into Stacy’s large brown eyes, she does seem more interested in me than rote niceties. I’m used to attention from women, but there’s only one that I want to captivate now.

“What can I get for you?” Stacy’s voice drops slightly deeper, an invitation rather than simply taking my order.

I keep my smile in place but don’t allow it to tilt in anticipation of a flirtation. Usually, I’d enjoy toying with this woman. In a slew of social interactions that are so often mundane, making people flustered so that they’ll trip over themselves to please me is mildly amusing.

“I’ll have an Americano, please.” My tone is warm and friendly, but nothing more.

Abigail probably wouldn’t like it if I were rude to Stacy; they’re friends, after all.

“What’s your name?”

I pause for a moment and quirk a brow at Stacy. She’s being quite forward, and I’m here for Abigail.

“For your cup,” she explains when I don’t answer right away.

I don’t fully buy it, but I suppose it’s probably common practice at their café to write names on cups to keep track of orders.

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