31. Anna #2
What the hell? The location of the heist is nearly an hour away, yet the timeline suggests this went down only thirty-seven minutes ago.
The robbers wouldn’t even have a chance to drive back to Paradise City, let alone be talking to the police for the last four and a half hours.
Yet, the videos uploaded to social media of the robbery show three suspects dressed in head-to-toe black with the same brandless clothes, and they even match Damon and his accomplices’ heights.
Either my stalker is a God’s honest magician and can teleport, or…
This is part of the “favor” he called in to his elusive friend.
I’d laugh if not for the eyes on me from passing pedestrians and officers.
Leave it to my stalker to orchestrate a robbery for when he would have the most concrete alibi.
Seriously, how could the police argue that?
Sure, they’ll try, especially with Lillian yelling in their ears, but the case won’t look so convincing if this part of it gets in front of a jury.
But the world is too much of an asshole to allow me a moment to breathe. I make it out the door and just past the set of benches when I hear, “ My, how the mediocre have fallen.”
Those six words are enough to turn my blood to ice.
Because I know that voice. It haunts my dreams every single fucking night.
I brace myself for the visual, but there’s not enough preparation in the world to lessen the impact of having to see his face again.
I wish I could say Sebastian was unattractive, with bland features and a forgettable presence.
I wish I could say that seeing him again leaves me unaffected, that it doesn’t make me sick having to be within a hundred miles of him.
I wish I could say I don’t have to curl my fingers into fists to prevent my hands from shaking.
But I can’t.
I turn to see him lounging on the bench with a coffee in hand, looking for all the world like he’s at a park instead of the police station.
Sebastian has the kind of good looks that are guaranteed when the men in your filthy rich family have been marrying supermodels for generations, and as always, he’s dressed impeccably.
And having to see that smirk, having to feel those lecherous eyes roam over me, it’s enough to make me want to simultaneously slam my fist into his face and projectile vomit.
“You couldn’t possibly be getting into more trouble now, could you, sweetheart?” Anyone passing by overhearing him would think he’s being playful, his tone entirely teasing, but it’s enough to send shivers down my spine that slice into me like icicles.
“What are you doing here?” I snarl.
“Just out for a morning stroll. Figured this spot was as good as any to stop and enjoy my coffee.” Was his smile always this punch-inducing? Because, honestly, my fingers ache just having to look at him.
“I mean, what are you doing in Paradise City?” The only part of the Midwest this man has ever been to in his entire life is Chicago. There’s no way in hell he just so happened to take a hop, skip, and a leap over to this small metropolis.
“The Forester Foundation reached out to one of my father’s organizations to collaborate on a project for underprivileged children,” he says smoothly, looking me up and down again. “And you know I’ve always been a sucker for a charity case.”
“Then why not throw a check at it like you do with everything else? Anything more, and you’ll have to actually do some work. We both know you’ve never been very good at that.”
That playful veneer slips just long enough to see that flash of anger beneath the surface of his perfectly constructed mask.
Taunting him probably doesn’t sound like the best idea, but I can’t resist. “Careful, Bash. You might be in danger of developing a genuine work ethic, and I’d hate to see you follow through with something for a change.”
His smile returns, but there’s a leer to it that wasn’t there before.
“Oh, I’d be careful too if I were you, sweetheart.
From what I hear, you’re not staying in the best neighborhood.
Who knows what kind of unfortunate things might occur?
They always seem to sneak up on you when you least expect it. ”
I refuse to acknowledge the twinge of pain flaring from my back, the phantom sensation nothing more than nerve dysfunction.
But the longer I have to look at him, the worse it seems to get.
The door behind me opens, and I know who’s walking out of the station before his arm wraps around my waist.
“Ready to go, love?” Damon hesitates when he sees where my eyes are focused but remains completely unbothered, looking Sebastian up and down like he’s in on a joke that no one else is. “Can we help you? The country club’s that way, Old Sport.”
He flicks his thumb over his shoulder towards the North End just as Sebastian rises to his feet. They’re roughly the same height, though it’s clear who has more muscle.
That doesn’t deter my ex, who regards him with that same punch-inducing smirk.
“Don’t you worry yourself, Damon. I can find my way around just fine.” His gaze flicks to me before he comes to stand directly in front of my stalker. “Enjoy my sloppy seconds while you can.”