Secrets and Sins: Malachim (A Secrets and Sins Novel) (Entangled Ignite) by Naima Simone Read Free Book Online

the front of the black fitted jacket and eyed the frilly white shell and pencil skirt. Nerves tap-danced under her skin, and her heart provided the deep, heavy percussion.
    More precious minutes skipped by, but her sneakered feet remained glued to the worn brown rug. She studied the petite, dark-haired woman in the power suit. She was so familiar. If the room behind her had contained a tasteful collection of antiques and was appointed in the finest of Southern décor instead of a hodgepodge of yard sale discoveries, the reflection of Danielle Warren in a tiny, dog-eared Boston apartment would’ve been identical to the likeness of Elena Rainier, high-powered, successful Birmingham civil attorney.
    But Elena had lived every moment in fear—of making a mistake, of embarrassing her husband. Fear of his silences, rages, and fists. Beneath Elena’s calm exterior, anxiety had replaced oxygen, terror had pulsed through her veins every second. Always on edge, afraid the slightest infraction—real or imaginary—would thrust her into the drowning abuse of pain and humiliation.
    Danielle, though… Danielle knew the trepidation of having to glance over her shoulder at regular intervals. She understood the importance of secrets and the necessary evil of lies. But she also woke each morning realizing she didn’t have to please anyone but herself. If she dropped mustard on her shirt or smiled at a stranger, she didn’t shake in terror of the beast that would slash, bite, and hurt her. Danielle dreaded discovery, not living.
    Giving the mirror a shaky smile, Danielle stepped back and closed the door.
    Now she only had twenty-two minutes left to lock up and arrive at the station to catch her train.
    Damn.
    She bundled into her coat and grabbed her bags. A slip of paper on the scratched coffee table snagged her attention. The note she’d jotted down Carmen’s address on. A reminder to call about the money. She patted her pocket, and a different piece of paper crinkled. Envelope. Check. Her keys jingled in her pocket as she pulled them free and yanked open the front door.
    “Great first impression I’m going to make,” she grumbled. “Wild-eyed, wild-haired—What the—”
    A long, slender box with a delicate gold bow skidded a couple of inches across the landing toward the staircase. She hadn’t seen the gift before the toe of her sneaker had bumped against it. Frowning, she lowered her bag and purse to the floor and picked up the box. The name of a florist on Cambridge Street was embossed on a small, white envelope.
    A disquieting heaviness settled in her chest as she slowly tugged the bow free. The soft material drifted quietly to the floor. Silly . She was being silly. It was probably a good-luck gift from Pat and the diner’s staff. The cantankerous owner hated losing her as a waitress but was truly happy to see her pursuing another career path. Just last night, he’d called her “useless as tits on a bull” even as he’d pressed extra bills into her hand for lunch.
    The memory eased the icy, tight band squeezing her chest. They were just flowers . She nudged the lid up. A perfectly acceptable token that hundreds of thousands of people gifted each other with for various reasons. Nothing to pass out about or make dire predictions over.
    Right. Just flowers…
    The box top toppled to the floor, tumbling from her numb fingers.
    Roses. Twelve perfect, blood-red roses.
    Air sawed in and out of her throat. The frantic pulse of her heart drummed in her ears, crashing against the inside of her head like furious swells pounding against a rocky shore.
    The white walls and wood stair railings wavered in front of her eyes, were replaced by lemon and gold silk wallpaper and a huge four-poster bed. An open pale pink box rested in the center of the white coverlet. And inside…crimson, long-stemmed roses nestled inside blue tissue paper.
    As if trapped in that time and the beautiful bedroom, she grazed her fingertips over her throat,