Corrupted Queen - Nicole Fox Page 0,31
to go visit Clara.” I hold my phone out so he can see all the notifications. “Your goons threatened her and she’s worried about me.”
He shrugs and starts rebuilding the structure. “They were under strict instructions not to hurt her. She was in no danger.”
I frown, though the fact that he hasn’t told me no outright is encouraging. “Not being in danger and knowing you aren’t in danger are two different things,” I point out.
“She’s fine, isn’t she? Unharmed. All in one piece.”
“All the same, I want to go see her,” I persist. “She’ll be worried about me. Besides that, I’m worried about her. She’s been drinking again.”
Gabriel tosses a block between his palms. His mouth tilts down at the corners. “Yes, my men had mentioned something to that effect.”
“So you’ll let me go see her?”
I can see the gears working in his head. I wait for his answer with bated breath.
“Okay,” he says finally, stacking the block on top of the new tower. “But Harry stays here. Jessica can look after him.”
One second I’m positively joyous, and a record scratch later, my heart sinks. I can’t leave Harry. Having dinner with Gabriel last night was the first time I’d been apart from Harry since Andrew Walsh’s dirty compound, and even knowing Harry was upstairs still felt like too much distance to me. I know I’ll need to cut the cord at some point, but it seems too soon.
Gabriel watches me wrestle with my indecision. No doubt he is allowing me to leave without Harry because he knows that it is the only way to guarantee that I will come back. I wonder if there is some way for me to show him how committed I am to staying with him—at least for the time being—without revealing that I’m investigating him for connections to purple heroin.
I consider objecting on grounds of safety. What if something happens to Harry and I’m not here to protect him?
Who am I kidding? Harry’s much safer at the mansion than he would ever be with me on the streets.
I clear my throat. “All right. Harry can stay here.”
Gabriel goes back to playing with Harry. The matter is settled.
An hour later, I’m at the front door of Clara’s apartment, shifting nervously from foot to foot while Gabriel’s driver, David, leans against the car and lights up a cigarette. It was impolite of me not to call first, but I didn’t want to give Clara the chance to make up an excuse.
I buzz her apartment and wait patiently, but there’s no answer. I jam my finger into the buzzer again, this time not letting up until her voice crackles through the speaker.
“Who the hell is it?”
“It’s Alexis. Can I come in?”
There is a long pause before, finally, the front door clicks open to admit me. I step inside, stomach fluttering with trepidation. There is a reason that Clara has been so elusive. I only hope I’m not too late.
I climb the stairs and arrive at Clara’s front door, knocking lightly. I brace myself for whatever I am about to find on the other side, but nothing could prepare me for what I see.
Clara opens the door, looking up at me through bloodshot eyes. She is a shade of her former self, the ghost of my best friend. Her curly blonde hair is pulled back into a tired bun, and her skin is pale, almost waxy-looking. She wears an oversized black hoodie and sweatpants, which eclipse her slim figure.
“Clara!” I exclaim, trying not to sound overly horrified. “It’s good to see you.”
“Now’s not a good time,” she murmurs, avoiding my gaze.
“Please let me in.” I purse my lips beseechingly. “I miss you.”
She sighs, glancing back into the apartment, and then opens the door. I step inside, and the first thing that greets me is the stench. I look to her kitchen in the corner, where dirty dishes overflow from the sink and a fly buzzes above the overstuffed garbage can. I wrinkle my nose as I follow Clara into the apartment, which used to be a verdant oasis of greenery. Now my gaze tracks from one brown, desiccated plant to the next.
“How have you been, Clara?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light.
Clara slumps onto the sofa. The shame emanating from her is palpable. Not only is her apartment a disgrace, but the evidence of her relapse lies littered all over the coffee table and the floor below. I pretend I don’t see the discarded beer cans