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It would be better to talk in person, I reply.
Come on. You saw what happened last time.
Then, I’ll have to steal your keys from you this time.
An email notification appears.
There’s no subject, and the address is a seemingly random collection of letters and numbers.
I press it.
Two words.
Be careful.
Followed by an address on the bad side of town.
I scan my mind, trying to think of anybody I know that lives around there. There used to be many people when Graham and I started out in boxing, but I can’t think of anybody now.
I read the words again.
Who would want me to be careful?
If it’s a threat… Emil, it has to be him.
But who could the address belong to?
Suddenly, I stand up so sharply that Speeder cocks his head and lets out a short whine. He leaps up, and I quickly walk over to him, trying to calm him down even if I can’t do the same to myself.
There’s too much potential pulsing through me.
Mia, is this your address?
I copy and paste the address, then pace up and down, Speeder walking alongside me.
How did you get that? she replies. It’s nowhere online.
I don’t respond, just immediately bolt for the door.
I’m still wearing my work clothes, meaning I don’t have to get changed except pull on my sneakers.
Speeder whines in the hallway, walking in frantic circles, eyeing me stubbornly. I know it will drive him nuts if I leave him without explaining where I’ve gone or what’s happening.
“Okay, boy, let’s go.”
I quickly got his leash. It wouldn’t be fair to leave him here alone.
He’s not used to me behaving like this.
With so much terror emanating from me.
As we ride the elevator down, I play it through in my head.
Emil must’ve been watching the building earlier.
He saw Mia, then saw me run out to the car, saw the pain in my features, the longing.
And the sick freak followed her.
That must be what happened or something similar.
Otherwise, there’s no reason for him to know her address… or even know who she is.
I don’t want to send this text, but I have to.
I think you might be in danger. Pack a bag for you and your mom.
Pack a bag? What? she texts back right away. You’re not making any sense.
I’m sorry, Mia, but you have to trust me. Pack a bag. Now!
I get Speeder into the car, buckle him in and then sit in the driver’s seat. My thoughts are clashing.
One second, I’m standing at the end of the aisle, watching Mia walk toward me in a bright dress, her cheeks flushed beneath a light layer of makeup – just enough to enhance her natural beauty – and then next….
There’s red everywhere. I’m roaring at my loss.
Speeder throws his head back and howls.
Emil is after my woman.
I drive as fast as I can without breaking the law, urgency forcing me on as I try to push the evil images from my mind.
I’ve never felt so possessive.
I own Mia.
Nobody else.
Any man who threatens her or thinks he has a claim to her in any way – good or bad – will pay the goddamn price.
CHAPTER 10
Mia
Standing outside Mom’s room, I wonder what I will say to her.
She’s asleep in there. I can hear her snoring through the closed door, something Dad used to joke about on his good days, something he used as an object of catastrophe on his bad ones.
“She’s going to die in her sleep.”
The memories are always there, clinging to me.
I push them away.
How can I explain to Mom that a man I’ve never even met, not properly anyway, wants us to pack a bag because we’re in some kind of danger?
Just thinking through it like that has me almost laughing at the insanity of it, at how absurd it really is.
Stepping away from the door, I let out a groan.
I don’t know how to explain this to Mom, I text.
I’m almost there, he replies. I’m at a red light. Wait for me. I’ll explain when I’m there.
I read over the last part of his text. He’ll explain when he’s here.
In person.
Maybe standing in this apartment seems much more depressing now that I’ve got the prospect of somebody else seeing it.
But that’s if I can even let him in here.
I ran from him this morning.
My mom might freak out if I have you up here, I text.
That part is true, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m looking for more excuses, more reasons my life has to be difficult, and more ways to blame other people for my inability to be normal.
Whatever normal is.
I know what it’s not – almost hyperventilating at the thought of seeing this man.
Or maybe I’m overanalyzing.
Women in the books I read get nervous before meeting men.
It’s regular. Normal.
I’m overthinking.
Stop, stop, stop, I sing in my mind.
A while later, Killian texts.
