24

Allison

I stare at the ceiling and try to remember the last time I spoke with Riker Corgan.

It was probably at some industry thing, a party or a charity auction or something like that. But I can't seem to recall exactly when.

Which is terrible. The man's dead—at least partially because of me—and I can't even recall what we last spoke about.

Probably some inconsequential nothing.

He was a business rival, but he was still a man. Now he's gone, murdered horrifically for selling to my husband.

Sleep won't come. It's the middle of the night, a little past ten. My purple bed doesn't seem funny anymore now that the reality of my situation's become clear. Dead bodies, headless corpses, murdered businessmen. Corgan wasn't exactly a saint, but he also didn't deserve to get mutilated.

"You can't sleep." Gregory's voice drifts in from his side of the bed.

I try not to look at him. I swear, he must hear my heart racing. "It was a stressful day."

"You're not used to this. I understand."

"You do? Do