“By who?” My teeth are clenched as I take steps to rein my temper in. I don’t break my own things. But if I don’t get answers soon, I will.
Her eyes are wide as she shakes her head, like a child’s in wonder, or maybe fear of how I must look sitting here barely controlling my anger. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen them before.”
“Them?”
Once again, her head answers with a nod before her voice does. “Yes. Two.”
“Where?”
“My apartment.” She whispers this, and I wonder if she’ll cry, but no tears grace her eyes the second I see them before she looks down at her lap. At her hands that tremble. That have been shaking since I saw her at the club.
I leave her sitting there as I go to my room. I pull my phone out the second I enter my closet and head to the back shelves.
“Yes, sir.”
“Send the team to 15thStreet between Bedford and Nostrand.”
“Yes, sir.”
I hang up as I grab a sweater and head back to her.
“Here.”
She takes it easily but doesn’t put it on right away.
“You’re shaking,” I say and look at her hands.
Still, she doesn’t put it on, just looks up at me. There’s so much in her expression. Fear, worry, helplessness. But also want.
Not sexually, but like a want for someone to take over. For a night, maybe longer. She’s out of her depth, which is crystal clear. So much has happened to her in less than a year. I have a full file on her, but I haven’t looked into it. I had my guys just tell me the basics. Her parents died, and she took on their debt, selling everything till there was nothing left.
And then she came looking for work.
As a dancer, it makes sense that she would try to find a career in that, but I still don’t know how she went from potential prima ballerina to a strip joint. I could ask. I could read about it. But knowing is just another layer of getting to know her that I shouldn’t.
And having her in your home isn’t already crossing the line?
“Now what?” she asks softly.
Isn’t that the million-dollar question?
“Yes?” I say as I answer my phone. Been sitting on my couch for an hour now, just staring at the fireplace. It’s electric, and while it’s not nearly cold enough to have it on, I still enjoy watching the flames dance.
Reminds me a bit of Payton.
The woman who’s inside my house. Sleeping in my spare room. Wearing my clothes.
“You know how you said not to bother you unless there was an issue?” Dante asks.
I shake the ice lightly around in my tumbler as I take in his words. It’s my second one of the night, and I’m not planning on a third. But depending on what he says, that might change.
“And?”
I swear to Christ, if he’s calling to complain about some stripper shit, I’m going to fire everyone involved and be over it. My anger lessened once I got news from my team about what happened at Payton’s place, but it hasn’t fully dissipated.
“The Kings are here.”
I sit up at his words. That’s an issue.
