Chapter 4
Chapter Four
June
“Damn it. This was my favorite perfume. They don’t even make it anymore.” I sigh heavily, feeling like I could cry.
What an asshole.
Careful not to cut my fingers on the sharp edges, I pick up a chunk of pink glass with the Ed Hardy logo still intact and drop it into the garbage bag.
“I mean, what kind of monster would do this?” I can feel the tears pricking behind my eyes. Seriously, though. What kind of jerk breaks into someone’s apartment and does this kind of shit? An asshole, that’s who.
Brooklyn opens her mouth. “Uh…”
Sucking in a deep breath, I let it out. I need to get out of here. “I’m just gonna,” I point over my shoulder. It’s on the tip of my tongue to say run away and hide from all this mess, but where would I go? Not to my mom’s house, that’s for sure.
Stella smiles sympathetically. “Yeah, babes. Go ahead.”
Dropping the garbage bag on the floor, I grab my iced coffee that’s sitting on the windowsill beside Moo and head out the door.
I just need a minute to clear my head. That’s all. Just a second of not seeing everything I’ve worked so hard for in pieces on the floor.
I suck in a deep breath and blow it out.
It’s fine. I got this. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. Maybe if I repeat it enough times, I’ll actually start to believe it.
Taking the steps two at a time, I skim my hand down the railing. The second I hit the bottom landing, I shove through the front door with my shoulder—And walk directly into a wall.
A very big, very human wall.
“Ack!” Like it’s happening in slow motion with the slo-mo sound and everything, the lid pops off my iced latte the second I smack into him and the cold coffee I’ve barely had a chance to enjoy explodes everywhere—down my arm, across the chest of my favorite tank top, and all over the front of a very worn, perfectly fitting black leather cut.
Stumbling back a step, I grab hold of the door frame to keep from falling on my butt. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”
All the air whooshes out of my lungs when I lift my head to find stormy gray eyes staring down at me.
“Journey.” His name rolls off my lips like a prayer.
His gaze sweeps across my face and I catch a spark of something flash behind his eyes. Something that I can’t comprehend because it looks a lot like desire, but that can’t be right. There’s no way that the man I’ve had a crush on since FOREVER would look at me like that.
And then he blinks, and just like that, the shutters come crashing down.
I really must be losing it.
Shaking my head, I pull my thoughts together. “I’m really sorry about—” I wave my hand at the front of him.
His jaw ticks and he looks down at the front of his cut, which is absolutely, one hundred percent soaked.
Oops.
He drags a hand slowly down the front of the leather, then does it again, like he’s hoping the second time will somehow undo what just happened.
I press my hand over my mouth as heat floods straight up my neck and into my face. “I am so, so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going, and I just—” I glance behind me and gesture helplessly at the door. “I just need some air, and you— is it ruined? Please tell me it’s not ruined.”
One sexy dark brow goes up, and did his lips just twitch? I’m pretty sure they did. Does he think this is funny?
“I can pay for the dry cleaning,” I keep on, because apparently I can’t seem to stop putting my foot in my mouth. “Or—” Do you dry clean leather? “I don’t actually know if you dry clean leather. You probably don’t. Right?” I wave a hand. “You know what? I’ll look it up.”
Jesus. Shut up, June. Stop. Talking.
I blow out a breath, and my shoulders deflate. “I’m really sorry. You came all the way out here to help me, and I dumped my coffee all over you.”
“You done?” he asks, cutting me off.
“Yep. So done.” I lock my lips with an imaginary key and toss it over my shoulder.
“You want to show me what I’m here for?” he chuckles.
“Right.” I nod, feeling heat rush over my cheeks. “This way.”
Could I make any more of a fool of myself?
Shaking it off, I turn around and head back inside. So much for clearing my head.
Journey follows me in and stops just past the threshold. His brows shoot up to the roof when he gets a look at the state of things. “Shit.”
“Yeah.” That’s one way of saying it.
Everyone’s eyes swing our way, and Stella’s eyes zero in on the wet spot on my boobs. “What happened?”
“Uh…” I glance down. “Is it that bad?”
“Yeah, babe. I can see your nipples,” Brooklyn adds unhelpfully.
I can feel the blush spread across my cheeks. “Great.” I cross my arms over my chest.
“Start from the top,” Journey says, lifting his hat off his head only to put it back on again. “Tell me everything that’s happened.”
I puff out my cheeks to keep from asking him if that’s a nervous tick.
Focus, dummy. He wants to know everything.
I think back to when I got the first notification.
It feels like it’s been a lot longer than just a few weeks.
“Well…” I pull my bangle bracelets up my wrist and look at the wall instead of him, because looking at him makes it harder to think straight.
“It started about a month ago, I guess. Messages. On Tokker.” I glance over at him. “That’s the app I—”
He rolls his eyes and waves me off. “I know what Tokker is.”
Stella shoots her brother a glare.
“Right.” I clear my throat. Of course. Everyone knows what Tokker is. “Anyway, they were weird at first, the messages I mean. It was harmless stuff.”
“That said what…?” He lifts a brow.
Right. I shake my head. He wants to know everything. “Uhm, they said stuff like how they felt connected to me, and how they hated missing my livestream that day. I didn’t think anything about it. I mean, they were harmless, right?”
His gaze shifts to the bright red proof that they were not harmless.
“Yeah.” I exhale heavily. “Anyways, then came the creepy ones. Those I knew were crossing a line. That’s when I started blocking the accounts, but this guy or whoever kept making new ones.
” I pause, thinking how today things got even worse.
“Then this morning, before I even left the apartment, he mentioned my window.” I gesture toward the curtains I pulled shut hours ago and still haven’t opened.
“Said he could see my hair in the sunlight.” A shiver races up my spine.
“Then, when we were grabbing coffee, I got another DM and felt like someone was watching me. That’s why we came back here,” I clarify.
“That was smart.” He nods.
For some reason him saying that makes me feel a little better. Like maybe my survival skills aren’t complete shit.
“Which is when we found this.” Stella sweeps her arm out, indicating the destruction around us.
With his arms crossed over his chest, Journey glances around the room again like this new information will somehow show him something.
“It’s bad, right?” I glance around the loft, wondering if he thinks it’s as bad as I do.
He moves to the message on the wall. His fingers ghost over the crooked letters.
“It’s—” his words are cut off by the sound of boots tromping up the stairs.
Oh god. My hands start to shake. Is whoever broke in coming back? Journey and Bax must think the same thing because they pull out their guns and aim at the empty doorway.
“What the hell?” Brooklyn hisses, dropping down behind the shredded sofa like she’s expecting a freaking shootout to happen at any second.
Wait. Is a shootout about to happen?
Oh shit. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest.
The sound gets louder, then, suddenly, a large man in a King’s cut is standing in my doorway. His wide eyes flick between Journey and Bax, and the guns in their hands. “Whoa! Don’t shoot!”
“Jesus,” Journey hisses, lowering his weapon. “What are you doing here, Prez?”
Prez?
My eyes fly to the patch on the big man’s vest. Sure enough. President. Kings of Anarchy MC. He’s got black hair streaked with silver at the temples and striking blue eyes. He’s hot for an older guy.
Two more bikers step through the doorway behind him. “He came with us.”
“Shit,” Journey mutters, adjusting his hat on his head. “I forgot I told Lobo to send you guys over.” He thumbs over his shoulder at me. “That’s June.” Then he points at the big man who came in first. “This is Tacoma.” He gestures to the other two. “And these assholes are Bash and Gator.”
I lift my hand and wave shyly. “Hi.”
Tacoma’s blue eyes land on me. They’re not unkind, exactly, more like assessing in a way that makes me feel like he’s already catalogued everything about me and filed it away.
Gator, the one with the dark hair, icy blue eyes, and a smile that’s a little too easy, sweeps his gaze around the apartment, and does a double-take when he notices Brooklyn rising from her hiding spot behind the couch.
She brushes imaginary dust off her cutoffs with as much dignity as a scaredy cat can manage after hiding behind a sofa cushion. Not that I’m judging her, because hello… they were pointing guns up in here.
Gator’s easy smile gets a little less easy, and a lot more interested.
Brooklyn either doesn’t notice or pretends she doesn’t. Knowing Brooklyn, it’s the latter.
“Damn.” Bash, I think his name was mutters.
And let me just say, wow! He is a major hotty. Not as good-looking as Journey, but yeah, he’s a looker.
His dark eyes sweep around the apartment. “What the fuck happened in here?”
Tacoma pulls his gaze from me and looks at Journey. One dark brow goes up.
Journey drags a hand over the scruff on his jaw. “Someone’s been sending her messages from a bunch of different Tokker accounts. Creepy ones. Whoever it is got in here while she was out.” He glances at the wall. “Left her that.”
Tacoma reads the message, and his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
He turns back to me, and I resist the urge to take a step back. “Do you have any idea who might have done this?”