Chapter 18
CALLIE
It’s an amazing evening. Reid and I dance, and laugh, and I make a dozen new friends of the wives of the “London Maths Club”.
There are prizes for the best costumes given out by Willow, one of the London Mafia wives who owns a bookshop specialising in romantasy special editions.
Lambeth wins the vote for best dressed man, though Mayfair insists it was rigged, and a woman called Cassie wins the women’s competition in her detailed fantasy dress, complete with elf ears and sparkly tiara.
It’s magical. Truly.
And I know that it can’t last. Reid said when he was healed he’d leave, and that day is—depending on your view—either very soon, or already passed. Acknowledging that is like uncooked cake mix in my stomach.
The next morning, Reid is drinking black coffee and scowling at his computer and I smile wistfully, because that pose is so familiar now.
“Hey.” I take a seat beside him.
“Sweetheart,” he greets me, and begins to remove his shirt so I can access his arm without comment. Our twice daily routine.
I fuss over removing the dressing, and then looking at the pink scar on his arm.
His dressing doesn’t need changing.
We both know it, and aren’t saying anything. The surface is totally clean. Not a drop on it. It was fine yesterday, too. I’m just doing this because I can’t face reality.
“No discharge,” I say cheerily, as though this is exactly what I want. It is, for him. For me, I’m wondering if I can start sticking pins in him, so he has a mystery ailment I have to tend. For another, oohh, sixty years or so?
But the truth is, he doesn’t need me. The only reason for him to stay is the unlikely scenario that he opens up the wound again.
Okay, that’s possible. He’s careless of his arm, to the point of making me into a nag about it. But only because I care. It began as a general care, like I’m concerned for any patient, and it’s grown into an obsession.
Love.
What an idiot. Reid told me. He made it clear from the beginning that this was just a paid nursing job with dubious exit-clauses, but that when he was well again, I’d be surplus to requirements.
A horrible thought strikes me as I carefully tape the dressing onto his arm.
If he doesn’t need me anymore, he’ll leave, right? He won’t dispose of me? I reassure my galloping heart that it’s fine. I haven’t heard anything I shouldn’t have.
But I saw the guns. And he took me to the Maths Club event, and they were talking about the conflict with the Essex Cartel.
Reid slowly tugs on his shirt sleeve, then begins to button up the front. He avoids my eyes. “Callie. There’s something I need to tell you.”
“Not now,” I chirp. “I have to get to work. We can talk later. When I get home.” When I’ve figured out whether to run for my life.
He gets to his feet and scowls down at me as I hastily gather up my supplies and shove them into the cupboard.
I give him a sunny and entirely fake smile, covering my worry.
If he really wanted me to stay with him, he’d say something, wouldn’t he? If he were going to murder me, he wouldn’t be coy about it.
“I’ll see you later.” I grab up my coat and phone, and practically run out of the house, my head full of Reid. It’s the mafia equivalent of “Fuck, Marry, Kill”. Reverse-kidnap, marry, kill.
I just hope I’m only the kidnap, and not the kill. Jack drives me to work, and it’s horrible how normal it feels.
And perhaps that’s why I don’t notice the man in the staff changing area. It’s only when a hand clamps over my mouth and I’m picked up that I realise something is horribly wrong. I kick, but a rag is held against my face and my head swims. My vision blurs.
“Settle down, girly,” orders a harsh, unfamiliar voice. Adrenaline surges in me at the Essex accent. I try to fight, but it’s too late. He’s drugged me, and my limbs are weak.
I’m being kidnapped.