Page 80 of Dark Heart


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I blow the smoke to the side and stub the cigarette out.

She speaks again.

“Anyway, I told him I no longer see you, but the fact that I’m leaving him drives him crazy. That’s why I wanted to warn you. They’ll come looking for you.”

She snatches her purse off the couch and fumbles through its contents before rising to her feet.

A small piece of paper dangles from her fingers.

“This is the address that they have. One of his men gave it to me.”

She hands it to me.

“They want you, but they’ll use your family if they need to, whether it’s your dying grandma or your pet...”

“Thanks,” I say curtly.

Without another word, I pull out of her room.

Swiftly, I make the trip back to my bike, and as I stride across the empty parking, I make the call.

“Yes... Tonight. Eleven o’clock. At Jill’s.”

* * *

SENNA

The phone goes off again.

It’s Friday evening, and the damn thing buzzes like a bee. Abel, Nick, Adele. Isabel called twice.

Sadly, my attempt to reconnect with my family has failed miserably.

Luckily, we didn’t kill each other, and we’d probably see each other again at the wedding, but nothing else came out of it.

When I returned, I gave my staff time off and buried myself in work. For the last couple of weeks, I’ve pretty much lived on the couch with my laptop glued to my lap and bags of junk food nearby.

Jaden and I split ways in front of Jill’s the night we came back. He didn’t want me to drop him off at home, and I didn’t ask questions, fearing I might look obsessed with him.

Not that I’m not.

He hailed a cab as I was waiting in my car, and without a glance in my direction, he slipped inside and pulled away.

I’ve never seen him since.

A couple of nights ago, I stopped at Jill’s and asked Scottie about him, hoping he’s not back on the streets again, turning tricks.

The bartender told me he hadn’t seen him in a while, which was good news in a way but also bad.

What if he had vanished?

I throw on a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and a leather jacket. Briefly, I check my reflection in the mirror before I grab my car keys and walk out of my home.

I lock the door behind me, and thirty minutes later, I bring my Camaro to a stop in front of Jill’s.

I turn off the engine and spend a couple of moments scanning the people standing on the sidewalk.

There are a lot of regulars––the working girls included––but not one person that I know.

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