17. Reese
17 REESE
Kade Laurent strides from the marina parking lot toward the docks.
I track him through the scope of my rifle, focused on keeping my breathing even.
Steady. It’s the only thing holding back a vague, creeping sense of panic.
How did he find me?
My former best friend types a code into the locked gate, makes sure it is shut firmly behind him, and heads down the walkway.
He turns onto one of the narrower docks, pausing at the slip of a small speedboat.
Its name is obstructed.
He steps on board and disappears from view.
I wait another minute, then climb down from my position.
My finger was nowhere near the trigger—the asshole was safe from me this time—but I still double-check the safety as I exit the roof and hurry back toward my apartment.
Once inside, I lean the firearm against the wall.
Kade didn’t actually find me.
He’s about four blocks off, currently, but he’s still here .
In Sterling Falls. The last place I want anyone I care about to be.
I strip off my shirt and exchange it for a clean one.
The studio apartment was cheap to rent, the landlord accepted cash, and he didn’t ask a ton of questions.
It’s also one of the taller buildings in the industrial district that has apartments.
It’s just on the edge of South and East Falls, where the warehouses give way to housing.
Most of the people who live in this building work at the harbor, on the ships, or in factories dotted around South Falls.
As a result, they’re relatively quiet, and a lot of them live alone.
It’s an eat-sleep-work mentality during the week, which is fine by me.
The roar of a motorcycle below reaches my ears.
I automatically stiffen, but it continues on.
I stay still until it fades, then hurriedly finish getting dressed.
The Hell Hounds’ compound is a fifteen-minute drive from here, which means motorcycles aren’t out of the norm.
Especially on nice days, when it seems like the whole club goes out for a ride.
Still, the sound reminds me of things better left in the past.
Going to Artemis once was foolish.
Seeing her a second time was dumb.
And seeking her out a third time was…
problematic . Stupid seems too light a word, but I regret it.
I regret it even as I remember the feel of her skin on mine.
I regret it even though I cause her panic attacks.
She’s lucky she didn’t pass out last night.
Guilt strikes me. And a second emotion is quick to follow: jealousy .
That someone left hickeys on her neck.
That she moved on from Terror while I seem trapped in the past.
It’s my fault she has this reaction to me.
My fault my parents brought me to Terror and forced me to…
Pounding at my door jars away my thoughts.
I grab the rifle and creep to the apartment door, peeking through the peephole.
A man in a leather cut stands waiting, his hands in his pockets.
“What do you want?” I call, standing off to the side of the door.
My fingers tighten around the rifle.
“Artemis Madden,” the guy replies.
“She wants to have a word.”
I pause.
Debate.
“Come on out,” the guy continues.
“Just a conversation.”
I’m curious, so I relent.
I unlock the door and crack it, keeping my foot braced so he can’t shove it inward.
“Who are you?” I bite out.
The man appraises me.
“Malikai Barlow.”
I glare at him, but he just shrugs.
Like none of this bothers him.
Knocking on a stranger’s door, sending a very particular kind of message…
There’s a knife in a very visible holster at his hip.
The handle alone looks wicked—the blade has to be seven, maybe eight inches long.
It means he’d rather maim than kill.
Or he prefers his enemies to suffer a slow death.
When I don’t reply, he adds, “She’s downstairs.”
With that, he turns and leaves me standing there like an idiot.
Do I want to talk to Artemis again?
Is she in any state after I walked out on her?
I sigh and set the rifle aside, checking that my handgun is still in the holster in the small of my back.
It is. I meet him at the end of the hall, where the green exit sign flickers ever so subtly.
Tall as it is, there’s no elevator in this building.
We take the stairs to the ground level.
Around and around we go, until my knee protests and I grit my teeth to stop from complaining.
My knee is always the first thing to ache.
The first to alert me to incoming storms, even.
A weird trick, but true enough.
And it’s helped me avoid the rain on more than one occasion.
The reason for the ache isn’t positive, but whipping out the party trick to impress the random person beside me at the bar gives me a dose of levity.
We exit into a small lobby.
There’s a row of mailboxes along the left wall.
Some packages are collecting dust on the floor.
One of the fluorescent tubes in the ceiling light is out.
Malikai Barlow spares none of that a glance.
The back of his cut says Hell Hounds MC , and I bite the inside of my cheek.
I should’ve noticed it before I followed him down eight flights of stairs.
Bad enough still that I left the rifle, but this?
Willingly following a member of a motorcycle club—one who could’ve easily lied about who awaits me at the exit.
Unprepared.
Sloppy.
This could be a trap.
A clever one. No one knows—no one really knows—my relationship to Artemis Madden.
But he said her name easily, as if he’d said it a thousand times before.
—the golden girl is up next ? —
I blink hard, erasing the hazy image that floated up out of nowhere, the echoing words that followed.
We get outside, my muscles tensing for the attack.
But no—here she is.
She fiddles with a helmet in her lap, half sitting on a motorcycle.
There are three other guys surrounding her, taking up most of the street.
Not that anyone gives a fuck.
Her half-lidded eyes stick on my shoes, and she giggles to herself.
“Drunk,” Malikai mutters.
“At nine-fucking-thirty in the morning.”
I scan the street.
Besides Malikai’s three club members, and the bike Artemis uses to keep herself upright, there’s nothing.
No movement, no sounds.
A block away, in the opposite direction of the docks, floats the sound of construction.
A decimated warehouse is being rebuilt.
“Well?” Malikai demands.
I straighten. His words are for her, not me, but they rake down my spine all the same.
“Don’t talk to her like that,” I snap.
The Hound eyes me. “Oh, really?”
I keep my expression even and don’t reply.
I haven’t dealt with him before.
I’ve barely got the lay of the land.
But I do know that guys like him respect confidence.
If I show fear, I’m done.
I’m not afraid, though.
Not of him.
“S’okay, Mal.” Artemis shoves off the bike and weaves toward us.
She pats his chest, tipping her head back to see him clearly.
She’s in a black cropped top and ripped, light-washed jeans.
Her dark hair is long and flowing around her shoulders, not in its usual braid.
Her eyes are bloodshot, but her makeup is perfectly in place.
Black powder on her lids, mascara lengthening her lashes.
She has layered necklaces that almost conceal her cleavage.
Conceal or accentuate, I can’t decide.
Her tanned skin is almost glowing bronze in the morning sunlight.
She focuses on me, and her breathing hitches.
Malikai grips her forearm in response.
I smirk at him.
“I found him,” Malikai says slowly, his gaze not leaving mine.
“Now I want my favor.”
Her expression changes.
Drops into nothing, like liquid glass being set back in the fire.
Her lips twitch, the slightest inclination of a frown flickering.
Then back to smooth glass.
“Your favor,” she repeats.
“Okay, then. What is it?”
“I want you to stay away from him.” He gestures to me.
My eyebrows hike.
She laughs.
I don’t get the joke.
Her laughter fades when he doesn’t smile.
He’s serious?
She’s considering it?
“He lives on the top floor,” Malikai continues.
“Apartment 8F.”
“Gee, thanks,” I mutter.
He ignores me. “Tem. Are you going to pay me my favor?”
She studies him.
Then me.
Then back to him.
I don’t like this. I don’t like that she’s thinking about doing what he says, because I don’t know how to avoid her.
I’m drawn back to her, time and again, and it isn’t just because of how stunning she is.
It’s because of our past. And a bit of our future, too.
We’re woven together whether she wants to be or not.
“You need me,” I finally say, like I can help my case any more.
Push myself a bit farther.
“You don’t know what’s coming, Artemis. But I do. And you’re going to need my help to stop it.”
To stop him .
It’s too late, though.
My words have little effect, as she nods to herself and seems to make a decision.
She slides the helmet on and flips the visor down, blocking my view of her eyes.
She’s drunk—he said so himself.
She can’t decide to cut me out while inebriated.
But they’re all moving, the verdict heard even though she didn’t fucking say anything.
She climbs on the bike.
Malikai swings his leg over, sliding into the position in front of her.
Artemis doesn’t wrap her arms around him, just grips the two handles on either side of her ass.
She stays leaned back enough that she doesn’t even touch him, although she sways when he kick-starts the engine.
I grimace.
The others are on their bikes, too.
The roar of four motorcycles in front of me rings in my ears, and they all take off.
I’m left on the sidewalk alone, with my heart oddly in my throat.
No one even looks back.
But especially not Artemis.