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“The mob?” she asked. “So it wasn’t you?” My heart broke.
“You thought it was me?” I choked.
“I thought it was a scene!” she said, as quickly as she could, given that she was still pretty sluggish. “I thought, after our texts last night…”
“What texts?” Jennifer asked warningly. Lauren flushed.
“That’s personal,” I started, but Lauren pulled my head back onto her lap.
“I, um, I told him about… that thing,” Lauren said awkwardly, turning a darker red but not shrinking away.
“That…? Oh, that thing!” Jennifer said, and Lauren looked like she wanted to sink into the seat and die of mortification. I rubbed circles on her knee as well as I could from my position. I really, really didn’t want to get up. I didn’t want to stop touching her, like the minute I couldn’t feel her anymore, she’d disappear. “I mean, I’m glad for you and all, but if you knew someone was in your apartment, then why?—?”
“The footprints,” Lauren groaned, putting her hand over her face. “There were footprints on the welcome mat; they looked too perfect like somebody left them there on purpose. I thought maybe you’d texted me about it, but my phone died at lunch, so…”
Frowning, I sat up and took Lauren’s hands in mine. “Lauren,” I said seriously, making sure she was looking at me. “I will not ever, ever surprise you with that kind of scene out of nowhere, okay? Never. You have to give me permission to surprise you, and you haven’t even given me permission to do it when you see it coming. Talking about a fantasy over text is not the same as actually putting your safety on the line, and what we said in that chat doesn’t automatically translate into real-world consent. I will never assume that from you, okay?”
Lauren, flustered and wide-eyed, just nodded.
“I need to hear you say it,” I said.
“Yes,” she said quickly. “I understand. I do.” I stared at her hard for another second before slowly relaxing.
“Good,” I said, kissing her knuckles. “It’s called consensual non-consent for a reason, sweetheart, and I take that very seriously.”
“Right,” Lauren squeaked. “Sorry.”
I would have told her not to apologize, but the third member of the conversation decided to clear her throat, reminding us both that this was not actually a private conversation.
Lauren turned red again, and even I felt my face heat. God damn it, Jennifer was going to think I was psycho now, wasn’t she? Fuck.
“Okay, well, anyway,” Jennifer said, bluntly redirecting the conversation elsewhere. “Lauren, you can’t stay there. They know where you are now.” Lauren’s face dropped.
“She’ll stay with me,” I cut in, then turned to Lauren. “Normally, I’d ask, but I’m going to have to insist this time. Sorry, but you’re stuck with me.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
LAUREN
To say it was a lot to take in was putting it lightly.
The Irish Mob was after me, they knew where I lived, and they could come back at any time?
The thought was chilling.
I’d seen the signs when I walked into my apartment that afternoon, I thought it had been a game, but I really was being hunted, and not in an exciting way. They had no reason to leave me alive except to send a message. We know your weakness, and we want you to know we know it.
On the way to the hospital, Richard and Jen argued back and forth about me staying with him.
I was a little out of it, probably shell-shocked, so I just listened and tried to keep up. Jen said I’d be just as safe with her, which, of course, Rich disagreed with. Jen’s apartment was a fortress, there wasn’t a single signal that could get in or out without her approval—she literally lined her walls with metal under her wallpaper, her house was a goddamned Faraday cage, and I had no idea how she got wifi in there—but Jen was still in Austria, and her windows weren’t bulletproof. The fact that Rich’s were was something else to process.
Jen protested that she could return straight away, but I discouraged her. I admired her selflessness more than I could express, yet this money would support her for years. And, no matter how impenetrable her electronic footprintwas, it would still be two young women alone in an apartment.
Her building was slightly more secure than mine, and she had installed electronic code locks on all doors and windows, but the prospect of finding a complete stranger in my home had unnerved me. I was no longer confident in the security of almost anything.
Plus, I didn’t want to drag Jen into this. She was my best friend, which would make her enough of a target if they found out about her, let alone if I lived with her.
Rich had pointed out that the Marino estate—yes, estate—had round-the-clock guard rotations, attack dogs, an electric fence, and was run by the man I had gotten out of prison.
