Page 11 of A Corruption Dark & Deadly

Chapter 3

The next morning, Annie cracked her eyes open. She needed last night to be a dream. She needed to have this house in her name, where Jericho couldn’t touch it. She closed her eyes, letting a low groan out of her mouth before rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands. It was still overcast outside, so dark the sun had no chance of peeking through. She liked to sleep in Saturdays and Sundays but her mind had woken up early thanks to the stress she was currently under, considering Jericho could kick her out at any moment. She refused to give up the last thing she had of her parents so easily to some corrupt businessman.

Deciding it was too early to think about Jericho without coffee, she forced herself out of bed. Her feet hit the floor and she stood, stretching as she did so.

However, there was something off, something she couldn’t quite pinpoint. Without thinking, she reached for her big overcoat and slid it on, heading down the stairs with the question in her mind. And then it hit her. It wasn’t cold.

The house Annie lived in had its own heater but Annie refrained from using it as often as possible because the energy bill would skyrocket if she did so. Though she did make a decent salary, she didn’t want to spend when she didn’t have to. This meant that when she woke up, she woke up to bitter mornings and always wore her overcoat when she made her coffee and ate her breakfast. It wasn’t until she took a hot shower did she finally get the opportunity to finally relax.

It was rare when Annie would use the heater and she knew she didn’t turn it on last night. Of course, she had been so pissed, she didn’t even eat dinner so she might have flipped it on in silent rebellion to everyone and everything. The heat did help her sleep better, considering she wasn’t layered with clothing, wrapped under three blankets, and shivering to keep warm. She had considered moving to warmer places like California but she would miss the rain too much. Plus, Bruce was here, and even though he was the last person she wanted to see right now, he was still her only brother. Her only family.

When she walked through the living room to get to the kitchen, she nearly had a heart attack. There, sitting at the small dining table tucked into the corner of the dining room, was Jericho himself, dressed in business casual clothing – dark jeans with one ankle resting on the other knee, a blue t-shirt hugging his broad shoulders and tight torso, a pair of Vans on his feet, and his blond-brown hair left messy (a word she never thought she would associate with him) – reading a newspaper with a cup of coffee next to his left hand.

He picked his eyes up from the paper and she stopped moving. She didn’t even step through the entranceway to the dining room. She was rooted to her spot because of that stare. It was almost as though she was some teenage girl sneaking out at night and she had just gotten caught. Except Jericho was only ten years older than she was, if that, and was the last person she thought of when the word family came to mind.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. At first, she felt guilty for sounding so blunt up until the point where she remembered he was in her home without warning, sitting at her kitchen table, like he owned the place. And maybe, technically, he did but he wasn’t allowed in her home. There had to be some rule that prevented the owner to show up and disturb the tenant.

“In case you forgot,” he drawled slowly, the silky tone wrapping around her body like ribbon, “I happen to own this residence now.”

Annie pressed her lips together, giving herself a moment to respond. “I know,” she finally said. “I know. It’s just…” She didn’t like being nice if she didn’t have to, especially with someone who clearly thought they were entitled to just take what he wanted without really asking first. “If the gossip magazines are to be believed, you own a penthouse in Seattle and a mansion in the suburbs. Why are you in some three-bedroom, single-family home?”

His lips spread out into a smile. Annie thought it was similar to the way a predator might regard its prey just before it was about to pounce. “If the gossip rags are to be believed, I would have three children by four different women, a gay relationship with one of my security guards, and a different woman on my arm every week. Only one of those things is true.”

Annie rolled her eyes as she crossed her arms over her chest. The last thing she wanted to talk about with this man was his reputation with the women.

“However, I do have my penthouse and I do have my suburb home,” he said with a nod. “I just decided that I’d prefer the quaintness Eastvale offered, rather than the elaborate scheme, the gated community, that makes up New Haven. My bodyguards hang around the house. I prefer to be alone.”

“Is that such a good idea?” Annie asked before she could stop herself, perking her brow. Her heart raced. She shouldn’t have said that. She shouldn’t have alluded to his criminal dealings – his alleged criminal activity. What if she wasn’t supposed to know things? What if he does something to her from opening her mouth? What if-?

“And why would you ask that?” he asked. He still had that sparkle that had occupied his eyes whenever he was around her. She wasn’t sure if he always had it. Most pictures depicted him as serious and brooding. Even when he was with beautiful women on his arm, he never smiled. It made him look intimidating, even though he wasn’t particularly tall. She wondered if he was manipulating her now or if he was letting his guard down with her for some unknown reason.

Did it even matter?

“I just figured,” Annie said, trying to find some logical explanation for her flippant comment that wouldn’t sound judgmental. “You’re an important person, I suppose, and-“

“Being alone with you would put me at risk for something?” he asked, slowly raising his right brow and keeping his eyes in hers. The corner of his lips quirked up into a smirk and he shrugged his shoulders. She had no idea how it was possible, but he made the gesture look graceful, elegant. “I suppose you could be right. I think I’ll take my chances.” He folded the newspaper and tossed it on the surface of the table. “Would you like breakfast? I make a mean scrambled eggs and sausage.”

“You’re going to cook for me?” she asked doubtfully. Annie still lingered by the entranceway of the dining room, hesitating. She was hungry but she wasn’t sure if she was actually comfortable sitting across the table from Jericho like this living arrangement was perfectly normal.

“I am capable of cooking,” he told her, standing up in one fluid motion. “You know, just because I own nightclubs doesn’t mean I don’t get my hands dirty when I need to. I can’t expect my employees to do something I refuse to do. That wouldn’t be fair. As a leader, I am expected to set the example and I take that very seriously.”

Annie’s breathing got shallow. Even though his words appeared normal and understandable, there was something more to them. Something deeper and lying in the spaces between.

“So.” He stood next to her cabinets and perked his brow. “Scrambled eggs and sausage?”

“We don’t –“ She had to clear her throat. “We don’t have sausage.”

Why had she said we? It was just her now. Bruce lived in some shitty apartment in the city, close to his job. Her parents were gone. It was just her.

“Yes, we do,” he said with a small smirk. “Once I took possession of the house, I had my employee fill the fridge. You will never have an empty fridge again, Ms. Brennan.”

“I can cook my own breakfast,” she told him. “Listen, are you going to, like, be here, now?” She placed her hands on her hips, trying to figure out a nice way to ask if she should expect him here now. “I just…”

“Have you ever lived with a stranger?” Jericho asked with a grin. He turned to open the fridge and pulled out eggs and sausage.

“Of course not,” Annie said.

“Ever brought one home?” he asked with a grin. “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business.” He reached up to grab a mixing bowl and then bent down to grab a pan. How the hell did he know the layout of her kitchen already? And it wasn’t as though he had switched things up to his liking, he had simply learned her layout and possibly added to it because she definitely didn’t recognize the stainless steel pan he had out. “Do you prefer your eggs with butter or oil? I know oil is probably healthier but there’s just something about butter… Why do the bad things always taste the best?”