Blade (The Alpha Elite #11)

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Juniper

B iting my lip, the muffin long gone, sitting in my parked Jeep outside a biker bar, I stared at my cell.

It’d been an hour since his last text.

Me: So like, any chance this isn’t some stranger and this is still Reena’s phone?

There wasn’t any chance, but embarrassment and shame were a bitch, and I was tired.

For two minutes, I sweated it out. Then he replied.

Bossy Asshole: You’re fucking kidding, right?

Wishing I was, I forced myself to type the next sentence.

Me: Then who is this?

Bossy Asshole: Who the fuck are you?

I wasn’t a sweet barista who had her shit together, but I tried to channel her anyway.

Me: You swear a lot .

And I wished it didn’t turn me on or make me think of another bossy asshole who’d sworn a lot, but it did.

Bossy Asshole: That’s what I do when people fuck with me. Which goddamn bar are you at?

Me: I’m fucking with you?

Was this guy serious? He was basically catfishing. Sorta. Okay, he wasn’t. But still. I typed another text.

Me: And not that it’s any of your business, but I didn’t go inside a bar tonight.

Technically, it wasn’t a lie. I wasn’t inside, and even if I did go in, I couldn’t afford a drink if no one bought me one. So parked outside it was, and if I was being honest, after my texts, my mood had tanked anyway. He was the only person I’d ever told about… that . Which made me feel both ashamed and a little relieved, but it also made me want to never know who he was. Or him to know who I was. Like, ever. But I also couldn’t help but think how he hadn’t really said anything, or told me I was completely screwed up, or basically reacted at all, and that was—I sucked in a breath. I didn’t want to think about how freeing that felt.

Or how it’d felt when he’d demanded to know where I was because that was a whole other reaction that was so visceral, I wanted to live in it.

The little bubbles appeared, then he texted the last thing I was expecting.

Bossy Asshole: Your number’s untraceable .

My…. Holy shit.

I texted without thinking.

Me: The blond god.

That guy made my phone untraceable?

Bossy Asshole: Who the fuck is the blond god?

Me: The guy who bought my and Reena’s phones, right before she disappeared .

Bossy Asshole: His name.

Me: I don’t know it.

Bossy Asshole: You didn’t say Reena disappeared. You said she was saving the world. What the fuck does the blond god look like?

Oh God, I’d said a lot of things.

Too many things.

I needed to end this. I really, really needed to end this because it was getting way too personal. But I stupidly didn’t. I texted back.

Me: Reena didn’t exactly disappear. She left with the blond god. And he looked like money.

And power. The scary kind of power.

Bossy Asshole: The blond fucker was a suit?

What?

Me: No .

It seemed like that day was forever ago, but the guy’s image was burned on my brain. I couldn’t even imagine him in a suit. He’d barely been contained by his black T-shirt and pants.

Bossy Asshole: What did the blond fuck look like? EXACTLY .

Wait. Seriously? He was texting in caps now?

Me: You tried to trace my phone, and now you’re texting in caps?

“Oh my fucking God,” I whispered into the dark. This guy was crazy or a stalker. Probably both.

Bossy Asshole: Yes . Answer the question.

An earthquake of a tremor shook my body so hard, I almost dropped my cell.

Me: Why?

Bossy Asshole: Be more specific.

Dominant, demanding, and an unapologetic asshole. That itch tickling my brain came back, and I wondered if he was in the military.

Me: Why did you try to trace my number?

Bossy Asshole: Because you’re crazy as shit .

I inhaled twice,but not because I was frightened or insulted. A way, way worse sensation was cascading down my spine and tingling across my limbs. Sucking in a breath, trying and failing to stop the shiver, I typed the only appropriate response.

Me: You’re tracing my cell, and I’m the one who’s crazy?

I needed to dump this number for good and relocate. Actually, this was past need. This was about making smart choices. This was bordering on survival mode. But before I could turn the damn thing off, another text came in.

Bossy Asshole: I trace everyone who calls me .

I…. No.

This was not happening.

I whispered it twice.

He had to have another reason. This wasn’t about me personally. It couldn’t be. I hadn’t seen anything suspicious, no one was following me, and I looked for that every day.

I took another breath. This was something else. It had to be.

Oh God, please let it be.

Me: Why?

My thoughts spinning, I suddenly wanted to hear his voice. I wanted to hear it to make sure it wasn’t another voice, even when I rationally knew the chances were so low, it was crazy to even think it.

Super crazy—but not impossible.

I typed without thinking it through.

Me: How come you’ve never called me?

I needed to hear his voice.

I needed to know it wasn’t him.

Then I could stop this. Because I couldn’t keep texting this random stranger and dumping my most intimate insecurities all over him as I gave him personal details about myself that could get me killed.

Or worse.

Bossy Asshole: Now you want me to fucking call you?

I stared at a cell phone that could ruin everything. Then I stamped my fate on the disaster that was my life.

Me: I want to hear your voice and know your name .

Two forever heartbeats later, my Ultramarine iPhone rang.

I didn’t even take a breath.

I swiped to answer, then held the phone to my ear, but I kept my tongue in check.

A deep, menacing voice filled my head. “Blade. Who the fuck are you?”