Page 53 of Psychotic Faith
"I can't—"
"Can't?" His hand on my hip tightens painfully. "Faith, you're an intelligent woman. Surely you understand how things work. I've invested millions in that library. In you, specifically. I selected you for that position two years ago."
My stomach drops. "Selected me?"
"Your interview was just formality. I wanted you there. Close. Available." His breath is hot on my neck. "You reminded me of someone I knew once. Someone who also thought she was too good for what I offered."
His hand moves to my throat, not squeezing, just resting there. Possessive. "She learned otherwise. They always do."
"Please, I need to go. The children are waiting."
"The children." His fingers flex against my throat. "Yes, you love those children. It would be tragic if budget cuts eliminated story time. If you had to tell all those little faces that Miss Faith couldn't read to them anymore because the library couldn't afford it."
"You wouldn't—"
"I would." He steps back suddenly, but his eyes hold me in place. "Eight o'clock, Faith. The Ritz Carlton bar. Wear something that shows you understand your position. Or Monday morning, you'll be explaining to your director why the Neumann Foundation is withdrawing all funding."
He returns to his desk, dismissing me. "Oh, and Faith? I prefer my women wearing blue."
The lock clicks open.
"Run along to your story time," he says without looking up. "And think about your choices. Career-ending poverty, or one drink with a generous man who could change your life. The smart choice seems obvious."
My hand finds the door handle behind me, fingers slipping on the metal from sweat. I'm going to be sick. Going to vomit right here on his expensive carpet. But I force it down, force myself to smile. "I'll do whatever you ask, Mr.Neumann. But please let me get to the children now."
He stares at me a moment longer. "Good girl," he finally says, then presses a button to release the lock. I turn the handle with trembling fingers, and it takes everything I have to open the door and walk, not run, to the elevator.
The elevator doors close and I make it exactly three floors before the sobbing begins. I barely get the doors open in time, stumbling into the parking garage where I collapse behind a concrete pillar, body heaving until there's nothing left but acid and tears. Bile burns my throat, mixing with the phantom taste of Luca's mouth, and I sob harder at the corruption of that memory.
My phone shakes so badly in my hands that it takes three tries to type:
"He hit on me."
The response is instant: "Where are you?"
I fumble over my phone, fingers like ice blocks, and when it rings, I almost drop it.
"Where are you?" Luc's voice is cold and calm.
"Leaving Neumann's building. He said he’ll cut the funding to the library if… if I don’t…."
One beat of silence, then: "Come to this address." A location appears with a pin. "Now."
"What's there?"
"Neumann's private compound."
My heart ratchets up. "No, I can't go there, never…"
"You need to see what I've done so you feel safe."
"Safe? You're insane. The man just threatened me, I can't go to his house. Anyway, his security is extensive. Military-trained. You can't just…"
"Not anymore."
Two words that make my blood turn to ice. Oh God. Oh God, what has he done?
I should go home. Call my father. Call the police. Do anything except drive toward whatever horror Luca has created. But I've already put my phone back in my bag, I'm already starting my car with shaking hands, already pulling into traffic, already choosing the psycho who marks me over the man who strangled my mother.
