Black Widow (22 page)

This case is too much, every sign points to him, and even if I do believe him, I’m not sure if I can help.

“I don’t know. All of the evidence is there. And she was my best friend. I still can’t believe she’s gone.”

Tears start to fall down my face and Eros, I mean, Preston wipes them away with the tip of his thumb.

“Becca and I were friends. I cared for her. She was one of the only people who knew that I owned the club. That’s how close we were. Believe me, I’m devastated over losing her, too. But something else is going on here and I need your help figuring it out.”

“How can we prove all of this evidence wrong? How can we prove that you didn’t do it? Even if I am your alibi. We will need much more than just my word to prove your innocence.”

“I know, but just having someone on my side who truly believes me and is willing to fight for me is all I need right now. The truth will come out, as long as I have you on my team. Please say you’ll help me.”

“I’ll help you,” I say quietly, still in shock that all of this is happening.

He leans down, lightly brushing his lips to mine before whispering, “Thank you. I don’t want to bring you or the club into this. I’d like to keep that a secret. I know you don’t want the world to know either. We have to find out the truth and hopefully we will never have to use you as my alibi because we will know who is truly behind this. For Becca we will figure this out.”

I watch as Preston turns around, leaving me alone in the bathroom as he walks out the door. I can’t believe any of this is happening. Right when I finally get out of my funk from losing Nick, this happens. I was happy, now I feel like I’ve died all over again.

E
very report, evidence tagging and pictures I could get of Becca’s murder cover my coffee table. There has got to be something that I’m missing. I haven’t brought myself to look at the actual photos of her. I know I’ll have to eventually but that will take more time and a lot more wine.

The report reads that she was murdered sometime between midnight and two in the morning so that has to mean it was right when she got home. Could someone have been waiting for her? Was she followed? There are so many questions I have and I can’t help but think that if I didn’t stay with Preston, and she came to my place like she should have, then she would still be alive.

Guilt rips through my body for the hundredth time today as I try to swallow down my pain.

I start reading a report for the third time when there’s a knock on my door making me jump in surprise. Tip-toeing to the door, I look through the peephole, trying not to make a sound incase I don’t want to talk to whoever is here.

My breath catches when I see Preston. He’s standing tall, both hands nervously placed in his pockets, pushing down as far as he can and rocking slightly on the heels of his shoes. I watch as he looks around, pulling his hand up to the door again but stopping before he knocks. His hand falls to his side again, his face looking down as he starts to turn and leave.

Before I can even think, I yank the door open, “Preston.”

We stand, staring at each other, both not saying a word. I don’t know what else to do. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to open the door, but when he started to leave my body stopped him before my brain could think.

He looks down, breaking our eye contact as he whispers, “I’m sorry to come here. I… It’s just… Fuck, never mind.”

Slamming his hands back into his pockets, he turns on his heels to leave and once again, my body reacts without my brain and reaches out to stop him. “Wait. How did you know where I live?”

He turns but won’t look me in the eye. “I know everything about you. Not only do I own Bridge, so I have all of your paperwork, but I’ve done my fair share of research about you as well. I guess I’m just lost at who I can trust now.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I can’t sit home knowing my life is holding on by a thread and I have no clue why.”

His confession breaks my heart; the poor guy looks so lost. I step toward him, holding my hand out to his. “Here, come in. I was actually just looking over the evidence I got from the police today.”

We walk into my apartment and he stands by the door. I know I haven’t known him for that long but he seems different standing here, in my apartment, looking nervous as hell.
What happen to my strong, dominant Eros? Oh yeah, murder.

I guess murder charges will bring even the strongest person down. Especially when it’s someone you were very close to.

“Here, have a seat.” I point to the chair next to me. “Can I get you a glass of wine?”

“Wine. Yes. Please.” He rubs his hands on his jeans, fidgeting as he walks toward the chair.

As I pour his wine in the kitchen, I glance in the living room to see him staring off into space with a look of lost torture across his face.

Who could be doing this? Why would someone want to set him up?

I walk into the living room, pulling him out of his trance. “If we’re going to solve this it’s my turn to know all about you.”

Our hands briefly touch, sending chills everywhere as I hand him his wine. His lips form a hint of a smile as our eyes catch and we stare for a brief moment before I nervously look away.

“I really know nothing about you. First, why did you want the club to be so secretive? Are all, um, sex clubs like this?” My body flushes as I say sex and I feel my cheeks flame with heat. How come this feels so different without my mask on? I feel like my shield is completely gone and the nervous, shy girl has re-emerged.

I stare at his lips as he slowly opens them, releasing a long breath before answering, “I didn’t want my personal life to intertwine with my needs.”

“What do you mean? How long have you lived this lifestyle?”

“About a year.”

“But this club just opened right? Where did you go before?”

“I went to a few different places. Checking them out, seeing which one fit my needs.”

“So what are you needs, Preston?”

He looks me dead in the eye, not wavering an ounce, “You.”

My heart flutters and I start to pulse with my own need. Trying to stop the sudden ache consuming my body, I close my legs, crossing them slightly to apply pressure where it’s needed most.

I watch as his eyes change right before me. They turn darker, sharper and more open than the eyes I met at the door. I’m frozen, stuck to my seat, holding my drink to my lips, mid-drink but not finishing the actual sip.

No, I have to stop this. I’m his lawyer.

I look down, breaking away from his spell, setting my drink down and whispering, “Things have changed, Preston. We aren’t in the club. I’m your lawyer. If we’re going to find out who is framing you then we need to stay focused,” as my fingers instantly go back to their old habit of nervously pulling at my bottom lip.

I glance up and he’s shaking his head, rubbing his eyes before running both hands through his hair. “Shit. I’m sorry. I know and I couldn’t agree with you more. I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s ok, but I need to know more. I need to know everything about you. Even things you don’t think are significant. They might be so spill it.” I glance up, giving him a playful smile, trying to change the sudden mood filling the room.

“It all started about a year ago. My wife and I originally went together.”

“Wait, what? You’re married?” A sickness comes over me and I have to swallow the bile coming up in my throat.

He looks down again, “No. I’m not anymore.”

Thankful to hear he’s not married, I swallow my stomach down trying to calm my nerves, “Ok, so you’re divorced. Where is she now?”

“I’m not divorced. She’s dead.”

“Oh Preston, I’m so sorry. What happened?”
I can’t believe I just said that. I hate when people say that to me yet that was my immediate response.

He shakes his head, looking down, barely whispering, “She committed suicide.” I sit silently, not sure what to say so he continues. “I tried to stop her. But I couldn’t.”

I can tell this is still a very sore subject for him so I don’t press the issue. “Is this why you wanted to keep your personal life separate?”

He shakes his head
yes
as he picks up his wine taking a big sip. I wait for him to finish, hoping he will elaborate some more. When I stay silent and open my eyes slightly, tilting my head to the side, silently persuading him to go on, he finally does.

“I have needs, as I’ve said before. These were needs that I hoped my wife and I could accomplish together. Once she proved me wrong, I didn’t want to make any personal connections with the people that fulfilled my… needs.”

Wow. That felt like a sting in the chest to hear. All I was, was someone to fulfill his
need
?

I pick up my glass, contemplating why it hurt to hear him say that before it hits me.

I’m such a hypocrite.

That’s exactly why I asked him to keep our masks on the last time we had sex. I have needs, too. And same as him, I didn’t want the personal connections. Been there and I will never do that again.

So how did we end up here?

He goes on to explain the few months after her death. How he tried other clubs but was having trouble fulfilling his needs without intertwining personal feelings or feeling like he was betraying his wife.

I ask before I even think, “Why are you so against personal feelings?”

He looks at me, pain in his eyes showing me that I clearly hit a sore spot. “I know it doesn’t make sense that I wanted to fuck other people but I loved my wife. I have mourned her death every day, especially knowing it was my fault. Sex is sex. It’s a human need, love on the other hand is something that you only have,” he pauses, looking at me, not finishing his sentence.

I pry him to finish, “You only have…?”

His lips part, looking as lost as ever before he continues, “I thought you only found once.”

We meet eye to eye, both of us staring, not giving anything away to one another, yet not smiling, smirking or even breathing. I feel my body heat up from my toes to my fingertips and I finally break away, looking down to my notepad as I try to think of something to write down.

My mind is blank of anything I could write down so I continue with the questions, “Is this why you started your own club?”

“Yes, this way I could control the rules and keep everything separate. I met Becca at another club that I tried after my wife passed away and we bonded in a purely friendship way. I never had any personal feelings for her beyond that friendship. And she truly was one of my closest friends.”