The CEO and Her Driver

Chapter 11

When you are plotting to kill— or save someone, it's all about those first few moments when you confront them. You have to decide how you are going to approach the subject of said betrayal. Did they hurt you, or did someone hurt said person who still may or may not have betrayed you?... Clearly, the entire thing was confusing to the point where my sentences didn't even make sense in my own mind. But to be fair, I was running on three hours of sleep.

Secrets. That was my current problem. How did you start a conversation with someone when you weren't sure if they were hurt, or if they were doing the hurting? And why was everyone acting so dodgy?!? I wasn't one for assuming I was betrayed without proof or clues. But... things had been spiraling ever since Laurence Royal stole my models the day before. Had it really been a day?

I threw open the door before the car had even come to a full stop. Running on adrenaline and anger, I bolted up the stairs towards Susan's apartment, ignoring Tate's protests that I stop for a moment and try to calm down. I would not calm down. I wanted answers and I was going to get them. Screw second guessing.

I had enough common sense to take in a deep breath before knocking on her front door. I glared at the deep green door, staring down the peephole, hoping that she was sick. Hoping that it was just a poorly timed text. Hoping that she was sick enough to send me an incompetently structured text.

I heard a shuffle on the other side of the door before spotting a shadow under the crack. Then there was a long silence. No doubt Susan was taking in my glare, through the fishbowl view that the peephole caused.

"Susan, open the door," I said as the shadow retreated.

"What are you doing here Allie?" Susan replied, her voice uneasy on the other side of the door.

I crossed my arms. "I need to talk to you. Open the door please."

"I'm contagious," she insisted.

I gritted my teeth, hearing the lie in her tone. "I really don't care. Open the door."

There was a pause filled with uneasy breathing. "Can we just talk when I feel better?"

"It'll be too late by then. There's a problem and I need you to open the door."

"...Okay, just... don't freak out."

Then she opened the door, and there was ZERO chance I wasn't going to freak out.

"What the hell Susan!?!" I gasped. Rage was no longer under control after an hour of beating it into submission through a punching bag. It was back, stronger than it had been in years, making it almost impossible to see anything other than red. My hands shook at my sides.

Several bruises covered Susan's face, poorly hidden behind a layer of red hair that she had pushed in front of her cheeks. She looked down and away, tears brimming to the surface. "Allie, I'm sorry I lied..." Her voice cracked. "I just..." She winced, touching her cheek gingerly.

"Who?" I breathed.

"Who what?" Susan asked as I walked into her apartment. I stopped in the doorway, a new level of anger surging through me. It was getting to unstable levels. Her apartment had been ransacked.

"Who hurt you?" My voice was steady, clear, and cold as I took in the shattered picture frames, pillows that had been torn apart, and broken furniture. My tone was scary level calm. The kind of calm that I only got before I set something on fire. "Who did this to your apartment?"

Susan shifted from foot to foot, watching me take in her apartment. "It doesn't matter."

I turned to look at her. "Of course it matters! I need to know who I am going to kill!"