Three minutes later, I kneel down and take his pulse. He’s dead.
I remove the mask from his face and rest my hand on his cheek. He looks so peaceful. I need to leave quickly, but I can’t bring myself to leave him here.
“Oh, God. What have I done? What have I done?”
I twist around and vomit onto the carpet behind me. Once my belly, and my soul, are emptied, I swipe my hand across my mouth and lay a soft kiss on Daimon’s forehead.
“Goodbye, mon cher.”
Chapter Eleven
Getting out of the International Lounge without anyone seeing me is the trickiest part. I start by removing my mask and unzipping my dress. Letting the dress fall to the floor, I fold it tightly and stuff it beneath a cushion on the sofa near the window. I pull up the dangling straps of the black camisole I was wearing beneath the dress, then I remove the safety pins holding up the bottom half of my yoga pants.
Removing the five hairpins from my up-do, my hair falls over my shoulders as I make my way toward a small bar in the corner of the lounge. I turn on the faucet and scrub as much makeup off my face as I can. Dragging my nails through the thick layer of pancake covering my skin. Then I hold my head under the running water and imagine the temporary reddish-brown dye running clear into the sink. I squeeze the water out of my hair then hold out the white piece of hair on the left side of my head.
I head straight for a door leading to the adjoining California Ballroom. I maneuver through the maze of tables to the other side of the room where I find another door to another adjoining meeting room. From here, I exit near the elevators, keeping my head held high. I ignore the few strange looks I get from people wondering why I’m walking around with wet hair and my face rubbed raw. I hope they’ll assume I just came from the pool deck.
In front of the hotel, I hail a taxi and I’m at my apartment in less than five minutes. The first thing I do when I step inside is head straight for the refrigerator. The vomiting and crying, combined with the anxiety, have left me extremely parched. I open the refrigerator door to get a bottle of water and the first thing I see is the prickly pear Daimon brought me nearly two weeks ago.
Reaching for the fruit, I barely flinch when it pricks me again. I hold it in my palm in the light of the refrigerator and a roaring pain throbs inside my chest. I turn around and quickly toss the fruit into the waste bin under the sink, then I grab a bottle of water and head for the bedroom.
I guzzle the water and place the empty bottle on my nightstand. I slide my laptop out from underneath my bed and I swiftly open up my email program. After I cancel the email I had scheduled, I double-check that my flight is on time. It is.
I slide the laptop back underneath the bed. I won’t need it anymore. Then I grab the small carry-on duffle I packed this morning. I take the bag with me to the bathroom where I take a long shower to completely rid myself of all the makeup.
Daimon’s peaceful face flashes in my mind as I scrub the scar on my side. I vomit the bottle of water I just consumed onto the shower floor. Collapsing into a heap, I hug my knees to my chest and try not to think of his face. His touch. His voice.
He was right. We are the same.
I peel myself off the shower floor and stand under the hot water for a while, hoping I’ll find the courage to call the police station and confess. But, just like Daimon never had the courage to confess he killed my father, my cowardice wins over my honor.
I blow-dry my hair and dress in a new pair of jeans and a pink T-shirt. Then I slide on a new pair of glasses. The only thing dark about these glasses are the square rims. Anyone who sees me now will see the real me.
I allow myself a few final tears as I realize this is it. The mask is gone.
Grabbing the duffle bag, I head for the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water to go. When I open the refrigerator door, my hearts stops. The prickly pear is resting on the top shelf where it was earlier.
“No.”
I yank the waste bin out of the cupboard under the sink and dump out the contents. No fruit. Did I imagine throwing it away? Am I losing my mind? Or….
I spend ten minutes tearing the apartment to shreds, but I find no sign of entry or that anyone has been here. I am losing my mind.
Staring at the fruit where I left it on the counter, I shake my head in dismay as I sling the strap of my duffle bag over my shoulder. I can’t leave this city any faster.
Thank you!
Thank you for reading Unmasked: Volume 1! This story continues in Unmasked: Volume 2.
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Other books by Cassia Leo
EROTIC ROMANCE
KNOX Series
LUKE Series
CHASE Series
CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE
Forever Ours (Shattered Hearts #0.5)
Relentless (Shattered Hearts #1)
Pieces of You (Shattered Hearts #2)
Bring Me Home (Shattered Hearts #3)
Abandon (Shattered Hearts #3.5)
Black Box (stand-alone novel)
PARANORMAL ROMANCE
Parallel Spirits (Carrier Spirits #1)
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About the Author
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Cassia Leo loves her coffee, chocolate, and margaritas with salt. When she’s not writing, she spends way too much time watching old reruns of Friends and Sex and the City. When she’s not watching reruns, she’s usually enjoying the California sunshine or reading – sometimes both.
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