Chapter 152: We Can Talk This Out

Chapter 152: Chapter 152: We Can Talk This Out

Chapter 152: We Can Talk This Out

"I also want to apologize properly for what happened before."

Cyrus Calder looked at Rhea Maddox through the open car window.

Her tone sounded sincere enough, and the dark blue police uniform she was wearing helped more than he wanted to admit.

After a brief hesitation, he nodded.

"I can come for a little while."

He was agreeing because she was a detective.

That uniform represented law, public safety, and a profession built around protecting people. Surely someone with that job would not completely abandon reason inside her own apartment.

Besides, Cyrus had already seen how much Rhea trusted him.

If she suggested anything he did not want, he could refuse.

They were friends.

They were also, in a loose sense, drinking companions, although Cyrus was usually the one making the drinks rather than consuming them.

There was no situation that could not be handled through a normal conversation between reasonable people.

The payment had absolutely nothing to do with his decision.

Rhea gestured toward the passenger side.

Cyrus got into the car.

Warm air surrounded him immediately.

He shifted in the seat.

The temperature was not unbearable, but it felt noticeably warmer than outside.

What confused him was that the heater did not appear to be running.

Cyrus glanced toward the vents, then decided it was not worth investigating.

Rhea pulled away from the curb.

"Was work tiring tonight?"

"Not really. It was about the same as usual."

Cyrus rested against the seat.

The work itself had not changed.

The customers had.

Over the past several days, more women at The Full Moon Lounge seemed to watch him with increasingly obvious interest.

The rumors about Helena paying for his time and Rhea hiring him privately had probably contributed.

As long as nobody started making ridiculous requests in front of the regular customers, Cyrus could tolerate the attention.

Still, he had begun wondering whether accepting too many arrangements like this might become a problem.

Money arriving this quickly felt unreal.

That was exactly why it was dangerous.

A person could get used to easy money and start making decisions around it.

Cyrus glanced at Rhea.

The contrast between the woman driving beside him and the woman who had once put a collar around her own neck remained difficult to process.

In uniform, Rhea looked competent and disciplined. Her posture was straight, her attention stayed on traffic, and nothing about her suggested the sort of person who would willingly hand someone a leash and ask him to take control.

The difference was almost absurd.

Cyrus sighed quietly.

People with niche interests really were complicated.

After watching her for a few seconds, he asked, "Is your time off over?"

"Not yet. I stopped by work today and extended my leave for a few more days."

Cyrus did not fully understand why someone on leave would still go to work, but he nodded anyway.

He was beginning to consider cracking the window for cooler air when Rhea turned into the garage beneath her building.

Getting out of the car brought immediate relief.

Unfortunately, that relief disappeared once they entered her apartment.

The place felt even warmer than the car.

Cyrus frowned before he could stop himself.

An ordinary human would probably find the apartment comfortable.

Complaining that it was too warm risked drawing attention to the fact that Cyrus preferred temperatures far below what most people considered normal.

He kept quiet.

Rhea noticed the small change in his expression.

"What is wrong?"

Cyrus answered with the first reasonable excuse that came to mind.

"I need to use the bathroom."

Rhea pointed down the hall.

"It is over there."

Cyrus headed in that direction with enough urgency to make the excuse believable.

After two steps, however, something made him look back.

A faint sense of wrongness brushed across him.

He had felt something similar the last time he stood near Rhea’s apartment door.

Rhea was still standing by the entrance.

Her expression looked exactly the same as before.

Nothing obvious was wrong.

"Did you forget something?" she asked.

"No, I am fine."

Cyrus continued into the bathroom.

The uneasy feeling followed him.

He turned on the sink and let cool water run over his hands.

The temperature helped immediately.

Maybe he really had become too suspicious lately.

If there was anywhere he should theoretically be safe, the home of a police detective ranked high on the list.

Cyrus gave a quiet, self-deprecating laugh and looked at himself in the mirror.

The apartment was still far too warm.

If he stayed here for long, he would need to find some way to cool down without making Rhea suspicious.

Outside the bathroom, Rhea watched the hallway.

A tiny flicker of red passed through her eyes.

Cyrus suddenly looked back.

Rhea’s expression did not move.

He disappeared into the bathroom.

Only then did she narrow her eyes slightly.

For one instant, she had thought he intended to run.

That would have been inconvenient.

Rhea was standing close enough to the front door that even if Cyrus tried, he would not necessarily get past her.

She did not want things to become physical.

If they did, she was confident she could restrain an eighteen-year-old student even without relying on anything unusual about her body.

Hurting him would bother her.

That did not mean she would let him leave before they finished talking.

Rhea turned toward the door.

She pressed the lock button.

Then she opened the battery compartment on the smart lock and removed the batteries.

The small batteries went into a nearby drawer.

Rhea closed it.

Only then did she move toward the kitchen island.

Fresh bottles had been restocked.

The equipment she had destroyed when she broke free last weekend had also been replaced.

Everything she needed was ready.

Cyrus was not leaving so easily tonight.

This time, Rhea intended to make him understand why surrendering control could be enjoyable.

Before that, however, she had questions.

In the bathroom, Cyrus spent several extra minutes cooling himself and making sure nothing about his appearance looked unusual.

When he returned to the living room, he immediately noticed Rhea behind the kitchen island.

She was making drinks.

Cyrus slowed.

She moved with a surprising amount of confidence.

Not at his level, but certainly better than someone who only poured liquor into a glass at home.

Cyrus watched her finish measuring the last ingredient.

The thought that entered his head was difficult to suppress.

She hired a bartender, brought him home, and then started making the drinks herself.

Was she stupid?

Cyrus kept that assessment off his face.

Rhea poured a vivid red cocktail into two glasses.

Then she pushed one across the island toward him.

"Try it."

Cyrus looked at the drink.

"I cannot drink alcohol."

Rhea gave him a peculiar look.

Cyrus noticed.

He was eighteen, and Massachusetts law had not changed simply because a police detective was serving him personally.

Rhea did not argue.

She picked up her own glass instead and tipped it back.

Half the drink disappeared at once.

Cyrus silently gave her credit for commitment.

Whatever else could be said about Rhea, she did not hesitate once she decided to drink.

Before he could comment, she set the glass down.

"I have been wondering about something."

"What is it?"

Rhea studied him.

"Am I ugly?"

Cyrus blinked.

The question had come from nowhere.

"No. You are definitely not ugly."

He answered seriously.

Even by Cyrus’s standards, Rhea was beautiful.

There was nothing difficult about admitting that.

Rhea continued.

"Then am I not attractive enough?"

"You are attractive."

Cyrus’s suspicion sharpened.

He was beginning to understand where this was going.

Rhea looked at him across the island.

"Then why, when I already went that far, did you not do anything to me?"

Cyrus went silent.

"Why did you leave so easily?" she continued. "Was I still not showing enough trust?"

So this was about last weekend after all.

Cyrus felt a headache forming.

Alcohol really should come with a separate seating area for people who wanted to make bad decisions.

Only idiots blamed the drink after deliberately creating the situation themselves.

Cyrus kept his voice calm.

"I actually had something unexpected happen that day."

Rhea shook her head.

She did not answer until she had stepped around the island.

"I know that I trust you."

She came closer.

"What I do not understand is why you refuse to trust me."

"I do trust you."

That part was true enough.

Rhea was still a detective.

If Cyrus lost his memory completely, someone with official resources could become extremely useful.

He was already considering what polite excuse would get him out of the apartment when Rhea reached behind herself.

She brought out a white collar.

Cyrus stared at it.

Rhea held it toward him.

"If you trust me, put this on."

For several seconds, Cyrus could not tell whether she was joking.

Her face said she was not.

"You have had enough to drink. I should probably leave."

Cyrus turned toward the entrance.

He managed only two steps.

A sudden force drove him sideways.

His shoulder met the wall before he fully understood what had happened.

Rhea planted one arm beside him, blocking the easiest path away.

Cyrus stared at her.

The collar remained in her other hand.

"Why do you always reject me?"

Heat flickered in her eyes.

Cyrus felt increasingly tired of this conversation.

"Because forcing something does not make it better."

They were almost the same height.

At this distance, Cyrus could clearly see the irritation building beneath Rhea’s composure.

His regret grew with it.

He should have given her another week to calm down.

When she appeared outside the lounge acting completely normal, he had actually believed the incident no longer mattered that much to her.

That had been optimistic.

Cyrus did not want to argue about anyone’s preferences.

He pushed her blocking arm aside and headed for the door again.

Rhea immediately reached after him.

This time Cyrus was ready.

He turned quickly and caught both of her wrists.

"Do not rush this. We can talk it out."

Rhea did not answer.

What irritated her most was his expression.

Even now, Cyrus looked calm.

As though every strange thing she did could be sorted into some category, analyzed, and handled without ever truly affecting him.

Cyrus tightened his grip.

Rhea’s wrists looked slim enough that he worried about hurting them.

The actual resistance coming through them did not match their appearance at all.

She was much stronger than expected.

Cyrus increased his strength.

Rhea barely moved.

His concern sharpened.

He used more.

Even at roughly eighty percent of what he could comfortably exert, all Cyrus managed was forcing her hands a little farther away.

That was wrong.

A normal woman should not have this much strength.

A normal police detective should not either.

Cyrus’s expression finally changed.

Something was seriously wrong here.

He suddenly pushed hard and broke the stalemate long enough to create space.

Then he ran.

The front door was only a few steps away.

Cyrus reached it first.

Good.

He had still reacted faster.

Whether Rhea remained useful as a safeguard could be reconsidered later, preferably from inside his own locked apartment.

Cyrus grabbed the handle and tried the smart lock.

Nothing happened.

He tried again.

The panel remained dead.

Cyrus stared at the door.

For the first time that night, he had absolutely no idea what to do next.