Chapter 10 Ransacked
Thirty minutes later, my teeth chatter as I quicken my pace after exiting at Halstead on the Orange Line. I skirt around the puddles on the slick sidewalk, the dim streetlights illuminating the way.
It’s quiet at one a.m. and I should’ve called a rideshare instead of walking back to my apartment, but I need air. My mind spins, my body still humming with restlessness after the encounter with the mysterious stranger at the club.
I would’ve said I imagined it if it weren’t for the delicious ache between my legs and the bruise of his absence clinging to my skin.
What was I thinking? I’ve gone completely out of my mind.
I break rules, but I’m not reckless.
This could’ve easily gone sideways, and I could’ve been raped. Or worse.
“Too stupid to live, Aria,” I mutter and make a turn toward Hollow Lofts.
A crow caws in the distance as leaves cascade down like floating wisps. A chill moves through me as I look around, the street empty.
A quiet shame seeps into me.
My heart has never pounded so hard, and my world sharpened instead of dimmed. There was an addictive pull to the man in the hood, as if he sensed what I needed without me saying a word.
But still, it felt like a betrayal, like I was moving on from the man I thought I’d spend forever with. What would Blake think? Would he be sad? Upset? Would he think I’d forgotten him?
“Be prepared,” I whisper. I wonder if he’d ever prepared for a day when he wouldn’t be by my side.
I know I didn’t.
Blake’s ring swings against my neck, and I grip the cold facets of the diamond.
He’s not here anymore.
I’m only twenty-six. I can’t be embalmed in grief forever. There are people who depend on me—little Grayson, my patients, my friends, my coworkers.
And the Blake I remember—the sunshine to my gloom—I’d like to think he’d want me to be happy.
But the idea of moving on twists my insides into knots.
I shake my head.
I’ll chalk this up to a wild experience. Standing at the edge of the roof. Breaking rules.
Yes, that’s it.
Unwittingly, I smile. I want to laugh. To cry. I don’t know what to do with the clashing emotions.
My boots snap fallen twigs on the ground. Boarded-up shops and dark apartment buildings rise to the right like the old guard fighting the new construction to the left.
After entering my unmanned brownstone, I make my way to the second floor, where my apartment is.
I need to tell someone who’ll understand, who won’t judge me. A confession.
Ghostface444.
I grab my phone, open the TellNo1 app, and swipe to my conversation with him.
ILoveDarkStories
I broke a rule today. Big time.
Relief floods my body when I see the three dots. He’s still here. He hasn’t left me.
Ghostface444
***
ILoveDarkStories
No tryst with strangers.
I can’t believe I did it.
Three dots appear, disappear, then reappear. I hold my breath when his response finally comes through.
Ghostface444
Do you regret it?
I pause in front of my door, frowning at the unusual response. I would’ve thought he’d ask what I did or if I liked the experience.
ILoveDarkStories
I…don’t. What does it say about me? That I like being manhandled in the dark. To give up control. That I want more?
My steps slow, heavy and guilt-ridden, and I ask him the question I can’t ask Blake.
ILoveDarkStories
As a guy, would you be upset if your fiancée did this?
My finger trembles as I hit send. I don’t know what I’m hoping for. Absolution? Permission? Someone telling me I’m a shitty fiancée?
His response comes seconds later.
Ghostface444
I’d hope she’d be happy. Safe. That someone would take care of her for me.
My breath rushes out in a gasp. Tears spring into my eyes.
My fingers move on the keyboard as I shove the key into the keyhole.
But before I can unlock it, the door gives, and creaks open.
“What?” I startle.
A dim light emanates from the living room.
The door is unlocked.
That’s impossible.
Fear seizes my lungs. I scan the dark stairwell, noting the rusted fire extinguisher case hanging on the wall.
And the fire axe inside.
Pulse rioting, I shove my phone back into my purse, open the case, and grab the axe.
I tiptoe to the doorway and gently ease it open.
A gasp lodges in my throat.
My apartment is ransacked, like a forensics team had come through and worked a crime scene.
Drawers are ripped out and strewn across the floor. Papers rummaged through. Picture frames on the floor instead of on the walls.
Oh my God.
Blake. Blake’s things.
Without thinking, I tear into the apartment, beelining for my bedroom, nearly tripping over the books lining the floor. I skid into the bedroom, my gaze first darting to his chessboard by the window, still intact and unmoved.
Then I see the rest of the room.
Everything’s been pulled apart.
“No, no, no.” I dash to my closet, my eyes misting when I see the paper box I haven’t looked at since Scarlett helped me pack up his things.
His papers, books, clothes. Everything’s out of the box. Tossed around like they’re worthless. Like they aren’t the only things left of the man who’d saved so many lives, the man who’d saved me by giving me an anchor, a home to come back to.
The antidote to my chaos.
One of his old scrubs is crumpled, ripped, and smeared with dirt. Our engagement photo is wrecked with a shoe print. Our Polaroid, taken at the tattoo parlor as we were getting our matching ink, is crumpled into a ball.
Tears stream down my face, and my knees buckle, hitting the carpet with a thud.
Loneliness sweeps through me. I’m once again drowning.
I’m surrounded by vignettes of a life I’ve lost with a man who’s no longer here. Things that offer me little comfort now. But still, I can’t let them go.
Sniffling, I carefully put his things back, piece by piece.
Then I look up.
Ice curdles in my veins.
Scrawled in blood-red ink is a message on the closet door.
We’re watching. Give up the key.
My lungs tighten, my eyes snared on the red paint dripping down the white door like gore.
A warning.
Hands trembling, I pick up the phone and make a call.
I’m in danger and I need help.
The knock comes twenty minutes later, then the door opens.
“Easy on the bat,” a sultry voice drawls.
Black stilettos come into view, followed by long legs and a lithe frame clad in a slinky black dress that belongs on a catwalk in Paris.
“S-Sofia?” I drop my baseball bat. “I didn’t call you. I called Lana.”
Sofia is Elias’s younger sister and has been to Arcana & Bloom a few times in the past year, always quiet, always put together like she’s about to make a runway debut.
But definitely dangerous.
Cold green eyes meet mine. Her crimson lips curve into a smile.
She closes the door behind her, her dress creaking from the movement. Slowly, she pulls off her long gloves and scans the room.
“Lana contacted me. She was in the air when you called her. A trip back to New York.”
Oh right. She had a family visit planned.
“You weren’t kidding,” Sofia murmurs. “You are in danger.”
“No shit,” I snap. “Why did Lana send you? I need help, not sarcasm.”
She smirks. “Lana thought you might need female support.”
“And you’re a cuddly teddy bear?”
“Never.” A genuine smile appears on her lips. “But I’m deadly. Kind of think that’s more important right now.”
She winks.
We eye each other and I laugh.
I don’t know what’s funny, but I can’t stop. I’m shaking so hard, I can’t catch my breath.
“Glad I’m funny. That’s a first for me,” she says, easing me onto the sofa. “I think you’re in shock.”
She disappears into the kitchen. A cabinet opens. Metal clinks against ceramic.
I’m swimming in delirium and fear. A fog so thick I can’t tell if I’m still laughing or coming apart.
A cup of hot tea appears in front of me.
“Drink. Settle your nerves, then we’ll talk.”
Wiping the tears off my face, I take a sip, the liquid scalding my throat, but I barely notice.
“So…what’s the plan?” I ask minutes later.
“Find out what they’re after, then get it—”
The door crashes open.
A silver barrel glints in the light. Sofia has a gun drawn and aimed at the door.
“Holy crap, put that away.” Scarlett scurries over, her red tresses billowing behind her. “Are you okay, Aria? I came as soon as I heard from Lana. She was going to turn back, but I told her no.”
She hugs me and I hold on tight, inhaling her familiar scent of orange blossoms.
“I-I’m fine. Just shaken.” Forcing a smile, I add, “But hey, at least I didn’t have to buy a movie ticket to freak myself out this time.”
“Oh. My. God. Aria, seriously—”
Someone knocks on the door and enters, and I let out a relieved breath.
Finally. Someone useful.
FBI Special Agent Tristan Clarke steps into the light, dressed in a fitted dark-gray suit. His dark-brown brows knit together as equally sharp eyes scan my apartment, his lips moving silently, as if he’s cataloging his observations. Then he flinches when he spots Sofia.
A flush crawls up his face. “You.”
“I told her not to call him,” Sofia mutters. “Feds are useless.”
Tristan flattens his lips in obvious distaste and walks past her.
“Aria.” He crouches in front of me. “Can you tell me what happened?”
I exhale. Scarlett’s hand on my shoulder gives me strength. I tell them everything that transpired—how I went to the club, walked home, and came back to the mess. I leave out what happened in the dark room.
“You said the man wanted something from you? And you have a bounty on your head?”
I nod, my skin crawling from the memories.
Then I lead them to the bedroom, show them the message scrawled on the door, before doing a walkthrough of the mess.
“And nothing’s missing?” he asks.
I kneel by the window, my hands careful as I lift the chess set, still pristine in the case.
Exactly how Blake left it.
I reply, “Not that I’m aware of. I don’t understand. What key do they want from me? I don’t have anything. What am I supposed to hand over?”
“Did you make any enemies? Angry families from the ER?”
Frowning, I shake my head. Sure, there are bereaved families and high emotions, but nothing warranting this.
Then I gasp. The man in the alley. “The Triads!”
“What about them?” Sofia and Tristan say together. They scowl.
“I was walking to the movies the other day and bumped into a guy with the Triad tattoo—the skull one with—”
“The snakes, yes. And?” Tristan prods.
“He told me I should ‘give it up.’” My head spins, the dots connecting. “He wasn’t making sense, but now…”
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Sofia says from inside the closet.
Her gaze pins on Tristan, who’s staring at her like they’re sharing a message.
“The Kongs,” he says.
“The Association.” She nods and steps out of the closet. “I’m making a call.”
“What’s going on? Can someone tell me?” Clutching the chess set, I sit on my bed.
Scarlett holds my hand.
Sofia leans against my vanity. Phone against her ear, she flicks her manicured nails in Tristan’s direction. “You explain.”
“What are you even doing here?” Tristan grunts and turns to me. “Aria, do you know about The Association?”
“Some hush-hush organization with billionaires and politicians that controls the gangs? They were the ones who almost killed Elias and Lana, right?” I shudder, thinking about the news stories and the bits and pieces Lana told me about her experience last year.
Tristan nods, his lips set in a grim line.
“They’re real and they’re everywhere. The gangs you’ve heard of?
Triads, mob, Bratva, cartels? They do their dirty work.
The Association has reach, money, and power most people never see.
If they want something from you, it’s important. And they won’t stop until they get it.”
“But I’m a nurse. I’m nobody,” I whisper.
“You’re somebody if you’re on their radar.” Sofia ends her call. She checks her nails, lips pursing as if she finds them wanting. “Definitely in danger. Hope you have a will.”
“For Christ’s sake, Sofia.” A pulse leaps on Tristan’s jaw as he storms in front of her. “Can’t you tell she’s terrified?”
“Dark humor. That’s how I deal with shit.” She doesn’t bat an eyelash. “And back off, Tristan. Before I poke your eyes out.”
“I’d like to see you try. And it’s Special Agent Clarke.” He towers over her, and I swear I see her blush.
“Guys,” Scarlett intervenes, “it has to be a mistake. What can they honestly want from Aria?”
Tristan ruffles his dark hair. “I don’t know, but if it’s The Association, I can’t risk going to the Bureau.”
“Why—” I gasp. “You think they’re in on it.”
He swallows. “They’re everywhere. I don’t want to put you in more danger.”
“Th-Then what should I do?” I whisper.
“Already took care of it.” Sofia holds up her phone. “You can thank me later.”
“What did you do, Sofia Kent?” Tristan asks.
Then I hear it.
Soft thuds, barely noticeable, in the living room. Tristan pulls his weapon, his index finger resting over his lips. I clutch Scarlett’s hand, my heart slamming hard against my rib cage.
Sofia smiles.
The bedroom door creaks open, and someone steps in.
Black boots, dark pants, leather jacket, black mask.
Ren.