He fought his way up from a nobody running errands on street corners to the boss of the Syndicate, and then to Mr. Matthews in the business world.
I never missed a single step of it.
I thought the red thread between us was made of steel wire, the kind not even the devil himself could cut.
But a girl named Eleanor Harding snapped it without breaking a sweat.
June. A storm rolled in, sudden and savage.
I wandered the streets with no destination, soaked to the bone.
My phone rang.
"Betty, what's your problem?"
"Didn't I tell you to clear out the bedroom?"
The voice on the other end was ice. Colder than the rain hammering my skin.
I said nothing. Hung up.
By the time I got home, I was drenched through.
"Kenneth, stop it, quit messing around."
"Someone might see us."
The moment I opened the door, there they were. Kenneth and Eleanor on the couch, draped over each other, flirting like teenagers.
Eleanor's oversized collar had slipped down, exposing half her collarbone. Kenneth lifted his head from the curve of her neck and looked at me.
"What took you so long?"
"Don't you know we've been waiting for you to get the room ready?"
Not a single word of concern. Not a trace of worry. Just blame.