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Chapter Five
Josephine
Five days.
Fivefuckingdays since Maceo left me naked on my bed after being whisked away by some strange text message. I have received no calls or texts in response to the several I’ve left him, and it’s caused my emotions to tumble like a rollercoaster.
How could I have grown so attached to him after a single day? I have, and my heart aches for him. It’s baffling.
Maceo said he was a solider for hire. For the first two days, I was worried sick, wondering where he was and what war he was fighting. By day three, I was having a nervous breakdown, thinking the reason I hadn’t gotten a response was because he was either injured or dead. On day four, I was numb and broken inside. And when day five came to a close, I was fucking livid.
My cell rings from an unknown number, and I answer it. It may be business related. “Hello, this is Jo of Holland Build and Design Solutions.”
A rough voice greets me. “Hey, this is Punk, from the Mercy Ravens MC. I’ve been asked to confirm if you’re still planning on breaking ground in two days’ time for the new headquarters.”
I ignore his question. “Where’s Maceo?” I ask in a whisper, fear gripping my very core.
“Atlas? He’s on an assignment overseas,” Punk says nonchalantly. “I talked to him last night and he said he wouldn’t be back for at least another two weeks, three weeks tops.”
My hand is gripping the phone so damn tight, I swear my knuckles are going to bust through my skin. “You talked to him?” I ask with malice.
“Um, yeah. He’s…well, it’s a shit show where he is, and things haven’t been working out as planned. When shit goes south, he only has time to focus on the job,” Punk says cautiously, catching on to my anger toward Maceo’s lack of contact. “I’m sure Atlas would call you if he could.”
“But he fucking called you,” I point out, my voice raising an octave.
What the fuck is this?Did Maceo just want one more go in the sack with me before ghosting me?
Suddenly, I’m embarrassed. I’ve been bombarding his phone day and night with voicemails and texts, and all this time he was brushing me off. I feel so foolish.You fucking gullible idiot, Josephine!
“Shit,” I hear Punk mumble as he realizes Maceo is in the doghouse because he let the cat out of the bag. “Look, he only reached out to me because it was related to a mission. That’s it. When our team’s working, we can’t allow ourselves to have any distractions because it could take our focus away from the job.”
Oh, fuck no!“Bullshit, Punk! I call bullshit. Stop covering for his sorry ass. He could have fucking informed me when he was going, or when his predicted return was, or he could have notified me he wouldn’t be able to contact me while he was gone. He did none of that. Nothing! But he finds time to call you and fucking have you inquire for him if I’m still on schedule for breaking fucking ground on his damn project,” I yell into the phone.
You fucking coward, Maceo!He had to have one of his brothers call me, instead of manning up and doing it himself.
“Fuck, Atlas,” I hear Punk grumble as he curses out his friend miles away. “Look, Pixie—” he starts, but I fucking see red.
“Don’t fucking call me that!” I can’t stand to hear Maceo’s pet name for me coming from another man’s lips. It’s reserved for Maceo alone.
The fuck it is!I shake my head at myself.What the hell is wrong with you, Josephine?Maceo has lost all pet name privileges.
“Fuck, sorry. Josephine, then?”
“Wrong again!” Only Maceo called me by my given name. Not even my family or friends called me Josephine. “You call me Jo or this conversation is done.”
Punk sighs. “Jo, a lot of what we do is classified. Even if Atlas wanted to, he’s not allowed to discuss it with you. He left your place and went straight to the airport where Gauge was waiting with a bag and the crew. He was in the air twenty minutes later. There was no time.”
“Punk,” I say with an exhausted sigh. “He could have sent me a damn text from the plane before takeoff. No matter what you say or how you try to spin it, there’s no excuse for his behavior. Please stop pretending he had no option when he damn well did.”
If he gave a shit about me, he would have made the effort to reach out.But I neglect to explain any of this to Punk.
“Next time you talk to yourpresidenttell him the project will start on schedule,” I say in a cold, professional tone.
“Pixie—I mean, fuck, Jo, please don’t be like this,” Punk begs in frustration, but he seems to know it’s futile. “Atlas is going to fucking kill me.”
“I’m sorry, Punk. Please refer my message to Atlas when you next speak to him,” I say before disconnecting.
Immediately after the call ends, I open up my text messages and fire off a final text to Maceo.
