Chapter 25
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
SLOANE
There’s a knock on the door and Dax glances at me.
I’m tangled up in his arms, my lips numb and probably red from kissing him, his cock hard beneath me.
A movie is on, some thriller he wanted to watch, but I don’t know a thing about it and couldn’t tell you who’s in it.
My white polo is unbuttoned as far as it’ll go and my orange wrap skirt is shifted to expose my white lace underwear.
When I got back from the library, my outfit was drenched.
I’d called Dax, fear still sluicing through my veins, and he’d told me he was pulling into my parking lot. It took me two seconds to put this outfit on and since then, I haven’t had time to think about Remi’s weird call or those elevator doors opening in the library.
Or the figure I thought I saw outside.
I texted Rem’s but she hasn’t replied and I’m forcing myself to assume she accidentally called me in her sleep, maybe haphazardly scrolling through her phone half-awake while feeding Lyle or something.
“Do you need to get that?” Dax asks against my mouth, a hint of a smile in his words.
It’s probably close to one in the morning.
In my head, I see the lightning flash again through the library entrance doors.
My heart picks up speed.
I’m glad Dax is here.
I shouldn’t get the door. Either it’s a drunk partygoer who has strayed from their party palace or it’s someone…bad.
I was worried about Henry being in danger at Mom and Dad’s but until tonight, I didn’t really think about the fact that I could be in danger.
Coffin nails. Maybe it’s a threat I should’ve taken more seriously. But even now in the hazy hours of the morning, even with the library memory and the elevator chime, with two empty wine coolers on my artsy coffee table and Dax on my couch, it doesn’t feel real.
Sure, I was spooked being alone by myself at the library but it can’t be tied to any of Storm’s shadiness.
Those things don’t affect my world. Cheating mothers and shouting fathers and scared siblings…they do. But drug dealers and enemies and threats on my doorstep?
I twist my fingers in Dax’s hair, my arm around his neck, and I think the person at the door has probably wandered off by now.
I start to tell him that no, I don’t need to get it, and he needs to fuck me instead, but when I part my lips, the knock sounds again and this time it’s louder and far more aggressive.
Dax actually flinches and for some reason, it annoys me.
I roll my eyes and push off him, then I stroll across the open plan living room in bare feet.
I rake my hair out of my face but don’t bother adjusting my skirt or my top.
I highly doubt it’s someone here to kill me and I’m fully intending on telling whoever it is to fuck off, but I do have some measure of healthy fear and I glance into the peep hole before I open the door.
My breath catches in my throat and I jerk back, like Storm struck me, even though there’s still a closed and locked door between us.
But not for long, because he must hear me on the other side of it, the way he says quietly, “Open the goddamn door or I’m going to break it down, Sloane.”
“Everything okay?” Dax calls out, but he hasn’t gotten himself up off the couch and just like the flinch when Storm knocked the second time, it bothers me.
I take a breath, close my eyes one second, then flip the lock and open up the door.
The scent of nicotine and leather hits my nose, and I don’t smoke and I don’t really like being around it, but on Storm it’s weirdly hot.
Or maybe that’s just the fact he’s staring down at me with narrowed, red-lined eyes, his jawline defined, an expensive-looking navy blue bomber jacket and black sweats on and his pouty mouth is turned down in a scowl and yeah, he looks fine as hell.
Fuck.
I fold my arms over my chest and keep the door propped open with my shoulder as I hold his gaze. But only for a second before he looks me over and I see the vein in his neck pulse under his skin.
When he meets my eye again, his nostrils flare. “Tell him to get out.” He doesn’t lower his voice to say the words.
I lift my chin. “Make me.” I enunciate both words carefully and I don’t back down. He can’t show up at my apartment and make demands and expect I’m going to jump through hoops to follow them.
Even if I do feel safer with him right here.
He smiles and that’s worse than his visible anger. “You don’t want me to do that, Princess.”
I roll my eyes at the pet name. “You don’t know anything about what I want.”
He inhales deep, his gaze dropping to my bunched up skirt. I’m not quite flashing him, but half an inch more and I would be. He runs his tongue over his top teeth, making his lip push out for a heartbeat and I want to bite him. “Let me find out, then.” He stares at me again.
My pulse races under my skin and I’d let him fuck me right here against this door, but I hear Dax’s footsteps coming closer and I know that’s not going to happen.
Not yet.
“I think you need to leave, bro.” Dax stands at my back like a coward and I’m ready to throw his ass out myself but I don’t think I’ll need to.
Storm looks at him.
And he just stares.
And stares.
No one speaks, but it seems like we’re all waiting on Storm to say something as the cool October wind breezes through my apartment and I shiver, hugging myself tighter.
At least… I tell myself it’s because of the fall air.
“You think so, huh?” Storms finally asks, his voice soft.
Dax says, “Yeah, I do,” with the confidence of someone who thinks they’ve gotten what they want, but only because he’s obviously not thinking clearly.
I remember what Tyli said, about how I could do better, but I could do worse. The thing is I’ve never settled for anything but the best, and that’s definitely not Dax.
Storm nods once, like he’s going to go, but I know him better than that.
Dax doesn’t.
Which is why Dax is surprised when Storm pulls a gun from a holster somewhere beneath his jacket and casually gestures to Dax.
Fear is cold in my veins but I don’t react at all. I’m staring at Storm’s red-lined eyes more intensely now, more aware, and I realize something isn’t quite right with him. He sniffs, a habit I’ve not heard him do before, and he must be…high.
“If you don’t get out of her apartment in the next ten seconds, you’ll be taken out in a body bag.
” Storm says it so quietly, I blink a few times to make sure he actually said that and it wasn’t just some twisted fantasy of mine that he would.
But his movements are off, a little jerky, and if Dax doesn’t listen, I’m going to shove him out myself to save his life.
I turn to him and find he’s looking at me, his thick brows furrowed.
He starts to speak. “Sloane, you need to call the police—”
“No, I—”
“You’re hilarious.” Storm cuts me off, and the next second, he’s in the apartment. He walks past me and goes to Dax, grabbing him by the fabric of his shirt and dragging him close. He’s got a few inches on Dax, plus the gun in his hand.
Dax’s complexion looks green.
“Get the fuck out,” Storm whispers. He presses the weapon to Dax’s stomach, and I suck in a breath, but I don’t intervene. “Now.”
Dax swallows, then looks at me.
I nod once.
And without waiting for Dax to get his shoes or say anything, Storm turns and shoves him out the door. But he gently moves me away from it, circling his fingers around my arm and tugging softly. When I’m safely out of the way, he slams the door on a bewildered, barefoot Dax, and flips the lock.
Then he bows his head to the door, gun still in his hand, by his side.
I try to regain the sensation of steadiness on my feet and force myself to push past the chill of nerves. Slowly, I come up behind Storm and reach for the weapon. Before I touch it, I say, “I’m going to take this from you, baby,” the tender name coming on instinct.
I pull the gun from his fingers by the grip, my heart racing, and he doesn’t stop me.
Then I head to the kitchen, open a bottom drawer with dish towels in it, and gently lay the gun inside even though I want to drop it like it’s on fire, then close the drawer.
I never want to hold one again. I don’t know how to use a gun and I don’t want to learn. It felt like holding a bomb and the relief I feel not having it out nearly sends me to my knees.
But Storm is still leaning against the door.
I don’t want to babysit him, but something in my chest aches, seeing him like this.
On slow steps, but not quiet so as not to scare him, I find him again in the darkness of the foyer. It’s cold here, since the door was open so long, and goosebumps pebble my skin, and I don’t know what to do, but I fling my arms around his middle without thinking and rest my head on his hard back.
Then I squeeze him tight.
He tenses at first, his body rigid.
I can feel the muscles flex around his spine.
But after a moment, when I don’t let go, he shifts to face me, wraps his arms around me too, and collapses back against the door.
I inhale the cigarette he must have smoked, along with the leather and his cologne.
I’m pressed so close to him, there’s nothing between us but heartbeats. I just don’t know if vital signs are enough to keep us together.
“What happened, baby?” I whisper against his chest, my face buried beneath the lapel of the bomber jacket.
His chin is on my head.
He squeezes my waist so tight.
“Call me that again,” he whispers in my hair.
Every nerve in my body seems to light up with his husky voice. “Baby.”
“Again.”
I swallow hard. Then I say, “My baby.”
And he doesn’t let go.