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He doesn’t get to fuck with my peace, not anymore.
I take a deep, shaky breath and push every negative thought to the back of my mind.
Every instinct within me is screaming I should run, to be anywhere but in Chihuahua, but I’d be a fool to flee.
Fleeing would only mean this would happen again in some other city.
Staying in Chihuahua with Python by my side is my best chance to put this behind me once and for all.
My voice is much steadier than I am. “If you think it’s safer, I’ll stay there. I just don’t want anything to happen to the cats.”
Tony is the kind of person who would hurt the things I love, or the people I care about just to get under my skin.
“If you want, I can talk to Amara about having a prospect in the cafe, or around the cafe,” He pauses for a moment and runs a hand soothingly down my back. “It would just be a temporary thing, until he’s gone.”
The offer alone is enough to settle my nerves. “That would be really nice. It would calm me down a bit.”
His heartbeat quickens against my ear, “Consider it done.”
Python presses a soft kiss to the top of my head and scoots out from beside me. “Are you hungry?”
I scoot myself up, leaning against the headboard. “Starving,”
A small smile tugs at his lips, and it’s a nice break from the bullshit we’re in the middle of right now.
He walks toward my bedroom door and pulls it open. “Let’s get something in your stomach then,”
As he turns, he flicks on the light and I notice scars on his side I’ve never seen before.
A testament to his dark past in the biker lifestyle, and I wonder how he got them.
He’s already down the hallway of my three bedroom apartment, heading for the kitchen.
I’m pretty lucky to have an apartment of this size.
The bedrooms aren’t overly big, but they’re cozy and offer a sense of privacy, so that’s all I need.
The clink of metal on metal pierces the silence in my apartment.
I scoot off the bed and throw on my baby blue silk robe, walking to the end of the hallway and peek around the corner.
He’s maneuvering around my cramped kitchen like a professional, almost like he knows where everything is.
There’s a point where he stops and opens every cabinet and drawer until he finds what he’s looking for, but I simply stand back and watch him.
He pulls the curtain back in the kitchen and sunlight spills through the window.
He opens my fridge and pulls out a bunch of different things: eggs, cheese, bacon.
I can’t wait to find out what he’s making.
It’s not too long before he’s thrown the bacon on the pan and there are aromatic spices wafting through the air.
My stomach grumbles on cue and I walk in the kitchen, “Want any coffee? I’ll go downstairs and whip something up for us.”
He turns his head and nods, “Yeah, can you make an almond macchiato?”
There’s not anything I can’t make. “You bet I can.”
