Chapter 86
Larkin paid no mind to Georgia’s frosty demeanor. A faint, almost indifferent smile played across his lips as he spoke softly. “Wounds need tending. Ignoring them only lets the pain fester.”
Georgia’s reply was icy, sharp–edged, “That’s none of your concern.” But then, recalling the weighty check she’d just accepted from him–twenty thousand dollars, a fortune in her hands–she softened her tone just enough. “Mr. Nash, I said don’t kiss my forehead again.”
Larkin’s eyes gleamed with a mischievous glint as he leaned in slightly, voice lowering to a gentle murmur, “Then… can! kiss you?”
Before she could respond, his lips brushed swiftly against hers, a quick peck, a claim made in silence.
Georgia dropped her gaze immediately. A flicker of revulsion clouded her eyes, so brief and so faint that Larkin missed it
entirely.
She pulled back and asked with a carefully measured voice, “Mr. Nash, does the money cover this kiss too?”
Larkin took no offense. On the contrary, he was pleased–his prey was proving far less timild than she pretended to be. “The money includes the kiss on your forehead,” he answered smoothly, a note of satisfaction threading his words.
With that, Larkin turned and strode to the door, pausing in the frame. “Miss Cooper, no need to see me off. Today was good. Thanks for the meal.”
Georgia watched the door close behind him, then pressed her palm to her forehead, where the faint sting of his kiss lingered–her scar still tender, though the doctor said it was healing.
She moved into the bathroom, stripping off her clothes layer by layer, Beneath the fabric, her body was gaunt and painfully thin, marked with dark, brazen hickeys that still throbbed beneath her skin.
Rubbing a towel roughly over the bruised fles reminder etched into her flesh.
but they clung stubbornly, a permanent
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Downstairs, Larkin didn’t rush away immediately. Hel
reflected in his dark eyes.
by a bright window, gazing up at the skyline, the city’s pulse
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and, as he walked, dabbed repeatedly at the corners of his mouth, the motions restless and almost compulsive.
Finally, with a flick of disgust, he tossed the crumpled cloth into the trash,
Mason had once warned him: Larkin was courting disaster. Kissing someone on the lips made him feel sick–yet, despite the nausea, he kept doing it. Each new prey was another reckless chase, a game he couldn’t quit.
To the world, Larkin was the picture of charm–wealthy, handsome, surrounded by admirers who threw themselves at his feet. But those who knew the real him understood the cold paranoia lurking beneath the surface, the playful cruelty wrapped in a dangerous calm.
Sliding into his car, Larkin started the engine, the vehicle’s roar swallowing the silence. The dormitory building receded behind him as he drove off into the growing dusk,
The following day, Georgia carried Larkin’s check into Charlotte’s office, her hands steady but her heart heavy.
Charlotte eyed the check briefly before meeting Georgia’s gaze with a grave expression. “Georgia, you realize Larkin has more than one motive for involving you, don’t you?”
Georgia’s reply was simple, resigned. “Yes.”
A deep frown marred Charlotte’s face. “Then you need to stay away from him.”
Georgia’s calm voice held a quiet strength. “Charlotte, you know my situation.”
Charlotte’s concern deepened, and though reluctant to press, she couldn’t help but remind Georgia, “Time is running out. Georgia”
Chapter 66
Georgia nodded, resolve hardening her features. “I know. That’s why I want to keep trying.”
Charlotte’s eyes softened with pity. “Georgia, please. Just give up.”
She wanted to say more about Preston’s iron grip, about how he forbade her from finding Georgia work, about the barriers closing in all around–but she held back, unable to shatter Georgia’s fragile hope outright.
“I won’t,” Georgia insisted, voice firm.
“Do you hate Mr. Hill that much?” Charlotte asked, the question hanging between them.
She longed to tell Georgia the truth–that when Georgia was sick, Preston carried her to the hospital; that when she collapsed at work, it was Preston who summoned the pack’s doctor. Yet Preston’s orders barred her from revealing these things.
Charlotte had no insight into the tangled history between Georgia and Preston. From her limited knowledge, it seemed Georgia needn’t fear Preston so deeply.
Georgia couldn’t explain why it wasn’t merely disgust or fear.
“Tell me, how do you plan to make this work?” Charlotte asked gently, rubbing her temples in frustration. “You have less than a week left. You’ve made under two hundred thousand so far. How will you scrape together the remaining eight hundred thousand in just seven days?”
She longed to tell Georgia the whole truth: that Preston had ordered no jobs be arranged, that the cold hand of control strangled every avenue of escape.
But what she could do was help Georgia hide the money she had saved so far, shielding it from Preston’s prying eyes just a little longer.
Still, it was painfully clear: only a miracle could help Georgia meet Preston’s impossible demand in the time left.
Charlotte clung to hope for that miracle.
“Also, Georgia,” Charlotte added, voice dropping, “Larkin is dangerous.
A faint, ironic smile flickered on Georgia’s lips. “To me, Mr. Hill is the most dangerous.”
“Alright, Georgia,” Charlotte said softly. “I’ll let you get back to your work. Maybe you’ll get lucky and find a job.”
She watched Georgia walk away, her steps unsteady, her figure tinged with weariness and stubborn hope.
Charlotte’s heart ached with pity.
Georgia, she thought, your luck has nothing to do with job prospects. Preston’s orders keep the door shut tight, not your
fate.
“When you finally realize that, will you be able to bear it?”
