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He smiles. “Your car is fixed. Jaxon is on his way to pick you up. He’ll be your chaperone for the morning.”
I don’t need a chaperone.
He places a finger over my lips when I start to argue. “I have some business to take care of, but I’ll see you in a couple of hours.” He moves his finger, replacing it with his mouth. My lips part and his tongue finds mine. His hand tugs my hair, pulling my head back as he leans deeper into the kiss, presses harder into me. I moan into his mouth. His other hand grips my hip. It’s a collision of fevered heat, making every nerve ending come alive.
He drags himself away, licking his lips as he stares down at me.
I want to tell him about Eva. I need to ask him about the bar, about the other woman. But the moment I open my mouth, my throat goes tight and my words freeze.
A loud buzzing sound echoes into the bedroom from his living room. “That’s Jaxon.” He steps away and my body immediately misses his presence. “He’ll take you home to get your things, then bring you back here to get ready.”
“Something wrong with my house?” I’m joking.Kind of.He’s been overprotective ever since he saw those things Nathan left in my car. If he knew about the rose someone left on my doorstep, he’d never let me leave the house.
“You wanted demanding. There it is.”
“Not what I meant.”
“Oh, I know what you meant. Behave now and I’ll give it to you later.”
8
Callisto
I wish I could believe I was the person Makenna thinks I am. I wish I could be the man she deserves. A good man would be with her right now, watching her get ready for her pinning ceremony, telling her how proud he is. Instead, I’m driving to the Crescent City Motel, thinking of all the different ways there are to kill a motherfucker. Anthony thought he could run from me, but the devil always knows where his demons hide.
GPS tells me I’m close. Two men stand chest-to-chest on the street corner. Their faces are mere inches apart and their voices raised in fits of rage as they shout at each other. A group of kids rolls dice against a wall in a game I’ve seen played by grown men a hundred times before. They’re surrounded by clouds of smoke as older kids pass a joint from one hand to another. Children. Innocent lives that have no business in the middle of all this.
A bright orange building with blood-red doors stands out against the backdrop of its off-white neighbors. I pull into the empty spot right in front of room 127—right next to a black Aston Martin. That car is way out of character for a place that advertises $39.99 per night rooms on a vinyl banner.
I push the keyless start, and the quiet purr of the engine comes to a stop. The sun smiles down on me from above, giving the illusion of a cheerful day ahead, but the sinking feeling in the pit of my gut tells an entirely different story. Somewhere in the distance the sound of sirens fills the air. A man in a plaid shirt and blue jeans carries a small ice chest in his hand as he walks to a well-used white pick-up truck on the other side of the lot.
I’m ready to get this over with so that I can get back to Makenna. Being with her is heaven, and every minute I’m not inside her is pure hell on earth.
I keep an eye on the window, watching for movement in the curtains at the sound of my car door slamming shut. I reach around, securing the heavy steel of the gun tucked into the back waistband of my pants.
I knock twice against the window, then step aside, hiding myself from the view through the peephole.
Nothing.
I tap again.
I tune out the background noise, hearing the sound of fabric rustling against the inside of the doorframe as someone checks the peephole. I don’t have the patience for bullshit. With my hands tucked into my pockets, I step in front of the door and into plain view, staring directly at the person on the other side.
“You can hide in that room until your fucking corpse rots into the mattress. I’m not going anywhere.”
Metal grinds against metal as the deadbolt is slowly unlocked, and the door opened just enough for me to lock gazes with a pair of bright green eyes. The background is pitch black. The door starts to slam shut, but I stop it with the tip of my foot.
“What? You’re not gonna invite me in for a drink?” I say, my palm flat against the steel as I push it the rest of the way open.
Jesus, it stinks in here. Like cigarettes and sex. I swallow back the bile that rises in my throat and take a seat in a dark brown vinyl covered chair next to a round, black lacquered table. Anthony clicks a switch, filling the room with the dim glow of a bedside lamp. His hair is a mess. He’s wearing the same black button-up and gray pants he wore in the picture Morano sent me. Only now the shirt is unbuttoned and untucked, and he’s barefoot. His eyes have dark circles underneath them. He looks like shit.
I slide an overfull ashtray across the surface and watch as he takes a seat on the unmade bed. “You know why I’m here.”
He shifts his weight on the mattress and clears his throat. “It’s not what you think.”
“Then why are you hiding out in a shitty motel instead of having breakfast with your wife?”
He doesn’t answer. I hate when they play games. It only drags things out further.
