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“You could always come to me.”
“Not on your life,” I growled.
His deep laugh filled the phone and was still continuing when he ended the call.
I handed the phone to the errand boy and turned around, my legs carrying me away from him quickly.
But when he pulled from the curb and drove out of sight, I stopped the first cab I saw and asked for Wake Forest.
I didn’t bother having the cab take me to the Holloway estate.
With the time of night, I doubted he’d be there.
And if he wasn’t where I thought he was, I knew he’d be there soon.
Be here.
He told me he went to The Jack every night to watch and plan and wait for something that would only be his demise in the end. I’d left because he still intended to go.
Be here, I silently begged again.
I threw some cash into the front seat and stalked out of the cab, my stare on one thing.
The doors.
I needed to make it there.
And then I needed to make it to him.
Weak. So weak.
Head up.
Shoulders back.
Lips twist—
Damn it.
Even that felt impossible when I was so close to being near him again. And I hated that he’d done this to me. That he’d weakened me. That I needed to be near him to draw strength.
So damn weak.
I belong to no man.
He’ll ruin me.
I knew I needed to turn and run. I knew what waited beyond those doors was only temporary—knew we would more than likely end up in the same position as the night before: me begging, and him not giving an inch.
But I couldn’t stop myself from walking toward those doors. They were a beacon. And I hated that I needed the comfort they offered.
As soon as I was inside, I headed in the direction of the booth he sat in every night. Not caring when I bumped into people or shoved through them. I needed to get to him before I broke.
My stomach dropped when I finally stumbled to the darkened booth.
It was empty.
I wasn’t sure I’d make it until he got there . . .
