“Okay, a man came to me. The stranger blocked my car one evening when I was preparing to back out and head home. He drove a Charger. He told me to... no, no. He held a gun against the glass door—g”
“Tell me the friggen truth,” I command through gritted teeth.
“I AM. Upon seeing a gun plastered against my window, I knew he was serious. When I rolled my window down, he handed me a phone. The man who spoke to me over the phone sounded like Marlon Brando! But I could tell they were not joking. The man in charge made a request. I give you a placebo for your next set of two prescriptions. When I hung up, the guy in the Charger said he'd kill me if I didn't follow my command. He spouted off my address, my children's addresses!”
“I should kill you myself.” I step away from the doctor.
Jamie grabs my shoulder and I shrug him off, heading out of the room.
“Reese…” he shouts, calling after me. I move swiftly through the lobby, sidestepping a very pregnant woman on her way into the office. Once outside, I break out in full speed.
I'm not a fucking idiot. There’ll be no running over Reese Dunham today! I channel the street-smarts Milo forced upon me.
The champagne Charger that left Lure Spa had returned and was parked when Jamie and I got out of the spa. I had been refreshed and chucked it off as paranoia on my part. I assumed it was a worker, who’d left for break or lunch. However, prior to Luxe, my gut tells me I've seen him before. This has to be the guy who cut off Dr. Saadat and gave him the cell phone, Sal almost has this Marlon Brando swagger, my grandfather had to be on the other line.
The car is at the edge of the parking lot. As Jamie calls out to me, I rush toward it. And give the side door a swift kick! And then again. And again. The iridescent paint shimmers as it starts to cave. Damn this feels good…
38
Evan
Searing pain awakens me with a jolt. I reach over instinctively to claim what is mine. But Reese's warm body is no longer beside me.
“My fucking doc is gonna murder me,” I grumble, rolling over to my back. I place my palms on the mattress at my sides and then pull myself into a seated position.
The digital clock reads 4:07 p.m. High fucking time for another pill or two. There's a bottle of water beside my bed warning that Reese is aware that the job got crazy last night. I glance around, half expecting to hear footsteps coming from the bathroom but a sweep of my large studio tells me she's gone.
Fuck, I start to doubt how well I actually read her body last night. She was the fucking ocean. She was fucking everything for me. My cock was squeezed tight in her ass. She’d started off doubtful, but then again, Reese hadn’t masturbated until I coerced her to. Was she not ready? We've tried anal before. Maybe I was being too much of a dick in the sack?
“Grrrrr!” I reach over to grab the water and the bottle, and opt for two pills. The pain doesn't even have a chance to mellow out, as I pull my dead-weight over the side of the bed. Another grunt accompanies me standing up.
I walk over to my slacks. Standing over the pile of clothes, I determine how the fuck I will reach down to pick it up. My cell phone is in my pocket, and intuition is blaring. Call Reese. Call Reese now!
At a quarter to eight, my abs are no longer in pain. This numb state of euphoria won't last. I start up the stairs to Reese's apartment. The moving crew had taken everything though Reese owns the place for another four days, which is the end of the month. There'd be no reason for her to be here. Like Reese said, she could easily have left me and stayed with her friends or her mom. Did I piss her off enough last night for her to have come here?
It strikes me as odd that Reese would want to return to her apartment, a residence she no longer saw as home. We’d only stayed the night a handful of times in over half a year since Riker and his crew targeted her.
Yet Reese finally responded to my texts offering to meet her here of all places. I pull my keys out to find the one to this door.
As I insert the key into the knob, the door creaks open. It wasn't locked, nor was it even closed.
Grabbing the Glock from my waistband behind me, I undo the safety and enter. As I'm sweeping the corners, a white-gloved hand grabs out for my gun. I twist my arm away, and then pivot, turning inside the entryway.
Officer McGregor… Milo Benincassa’s old partner.
His whitish-blonde hair is matted to his forehead, freckles and dirt smudges are on his face. A once decorated officer is now a transient, who just so happens to be slinging a karambit curved knife. His pale-green eyes widen; he’s surprised to see me too. “Where is that little bitch?” He sneers.
“Put down the fucking knife, McGregor,” I shout out my name and rank at the LAPD.
Any sane person would determine that attacking a police officer might not be in their best interest. McGregor advances toward me. Since he has a deadly weapon, I fire a warning shot. It pierces into McGregor’s left arm as he dodges and lunges for me.
He's not some dumb motherfucker off the street that doesn't know how to handle himself without heat. We've had the same training. He fists the hook knife in his hand and swipes toward me.
I aim a fatal shot to his chest. His gun falls, due to the force of the bullet. But
