Page 31 of Shades of Ruin

Jesus Christ, that was the wrong thing to say, but I’m sick of tiptoeing around the truth we all know. I give pain, and Ienjoygiving pain. But that doesn’t mean I killed her.

Detective Dickson looks ready to lock me up on the spot. “You were the last person to see Sarah Daubert alive. She has your marks on her body. And your damn DNA inside her. You’re our only suspect at the moment, Mr. Greyson. And right now, I’m really liking my fucking odds.”

Shit, definitely the wrong thing to say

“I need to make a phone call,” I demand, trying to keep the panic from my face.

The detective turns to his partner. “Howard, go get Mr. Greyson’s phone from lockup.” His eyes land on mine, cold andmerciless. “Not that it will help him any. I think we’ve about got this case straightened out.”

Howard disappears for a few minutes while Detective Dick and I stare down each other in charged silence. The tight-faced detective returns and throws my phone across the table toward me. It’s a miracle it doesn’t crack on impact with how little she gives a shit. “Go ahead, make your call.”

I unlock my phone and find the number of someone I haven’t talked to since he found me at a sex club with his precious sub turned fiancée. Things between us have been a bit tense after I kept Kara company during their separation. Wonder if he’s found it in his heart to forgive me yet?

I almost think he won’t answer at all before he picks up on the final ring. “Ashford,” I greet tentatively, wincing while I wait to see what kind of mood the bitchy British bastard is in.

“What the fucking hell do you want?” comes the deep, accented voice on the other end that used to belong to one of my closest friends. We’ve shared subs and even brushed cocks, but now I’m not sure where we stand. I think it’s safe to say I haven’t been forgiven for getting too close to his fiancée. And I hope he doesn’t see this as an opportunity for a little payback.

“Long time no see, Lord Dark and Broody. I hate to disturb you while you’re probably fucking sweet Kara halfway toward ecstasy with your moderately adequate, boring dick, but I need a favor.”

“An offer I’m absolutely dying to refuse. So what’s so important you had to come crawling back on your hands and knees?”

I heave a breath and glare at the detectives who are eying me like they’re sizing up what noose to hang me from. “I need your fucking lawyer.”

Chapter Seventeen

ANGÉLICA

We’re halfway through dinner service, and Greyson still isn’t back. I’ve spent the entire day torn between worrying about him and worrying that the first cock I’ve had inside me in six months belongs to a murderer. Not that I have much room to judge—my pussy isn’t exactly murder-free either. To top things off, my ass was on fire for about two hours after I ran to the bathroom to rip the damn ginger out. All things considered, it’s been a really shit day.

As expected, few people rallied behind me after Greyson left me in charge of the kitchen. Liam backed me up, but Henley quickly assembled the other chefs beneath him. I didn’t have the energy to go to battle against the established hierarchy, so I let Henley seize the power he so desperately wanted. It’s not as thoughIwant to lord over twenty other chefs who hate me. Greyson may punish me for not enforcing his demands, but I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.

The kitchen has been in total disarray. Henley may be a very loud presence of authority, but he has little influence over the chefs who were so quick to support him. Unlikewhen Greyson is in charge, prep has been lazy, time has been neglected, and our dishes have been mediocre at best. We’re a three Michelin star eatery that’s performed like a trite, shopping mall chain restaurant all day.

Henley even dared to make some last minute changes to the menu—which I’m sure will leave Greyson seething if he manages to escape the cops tonight. I’m not so sure he wouldn’t prefer jail to seeing the mess Henley has made of Grey’s.

The one thing Henley has tried to emulate is Greyson’s usual bully tactics, and he even does that half as well. “Flores, you’re not being paid to stand around while the rest of us work our asses off. Get the damn mousse on those plates now.” See? Not even a pussy flutter. I suppose torment really is an art form. And Greyson mastered it long ago.

The lack of organized chaos has left me feeling on edge. I’m used to the business of the dinner rush, but with no one competent taking the lead, I have too much pent-up energy and no clear direction of where to apply it. Berating myself for my own weakness, I pull away from dessert assembly just for a moment to try to center my focus once more.

The first quiet spot I can find is the pantry, and I duck inside, leaving the door open in case someone shouts for me. I glare at a sack of potatoes like it’s done me a personal injury and try to get myself under control. It takes longer than usual for the tension in my bloodstream to fade.

“Hey, you okay?” Liam asks, coming up from behind me. I guess the pantry wasn’t such a good hiding spot after all.

“I’m fine.” I offer him a weak attempt at a smile. “I’m just trying to calm down a bit.”

“Henley is a piece of shit.” He assumes I’m cowering in a food closet trying to soothe my wounded feelings, and his words are a peace offering—an opening to trash talk the insecure littleoverlord who’s making our lives hell today. “He talks to all of us like that most days.”

It’s sweet of him to care, but he doesn’t realize that I’ve been dealing with people like this my whole life. Words lost the ability to hurt me a long time ago, no matter how razor-edged they are. “Don’t worry, I’m used to it.”

Liam’s friendly smile falters. “Chef does go pretty hard on you.”

It’s not a fucking lie, but Greyson’s tortures have always twisted at me in an unusual way—one that doesn’t always feel as bad as it should. “I think he just wants me to do my best.” With no justification, I’m defending him, and the words don’t sound as false as I thought they would. Maybe in his own sadistic way, Greysondoeswant me to succeed.

“I’m sorry about the other night, by the way,” Liam adds, stumbling over the words. “I shouldn’t have enjoyed that. It just seemed like someone recognized me for the first time in the kitchen, and I rode it like a high.” He looks up at me guiltily. “I felt like shit after it, though.”

“It’s alright, Liam. It wasn’t your fault.” And I have no complaints about what Greyson and I did after, so maybe I should be thanking him.

“Itwasmy fault. I should have stood up for you.”

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