Chapter 24 Penny
Penny
I promised Dominic I would stay in my apartment with the door locked and not answer it for any reason.
Not even the DoorDashed brunch I whined about wanting this morning.
But seriously, after a night like last night, a girl deserves some eggs Benedict with an extra side of hollandaise sauce and a freaking mimosa.
My brother, who will henceforth be known as the taste-bud-hater, disagreed vehemently, going so far as threatening to tie me to a dining room chair if that’s what it took to keep me safely locked up.
He probably wouldn’t actually do it, but I didn’t feel like testing him today.
Still, my promise was definitely made under duress, and even then, he didn’t want to leave me.
But duty calls. Duty, which also goes by the name Coach Leverson, head coach of the Hawks, made the not-a-request call requiring Dominic and Griffin to attend a meeting at the arena.
And now I’m alone with my thoughts again, waiting on my DoorDash delivery because I totally lied to my brother about that and am going to take my troubles out on a Styrofoam box of deliciousness.
And like the adult I am, I will absolutely hide the evidence before he returns so I don’t have to listen to another of his lectures about safety.
As if Dominic—a six-foot-plus-tall, muscled-up mountain of a male celebrity known for violent on-ice beatdowns—would have a better grasp on safety than I, your average everyday woman, would.
Yeah, something tells me he’s never walked a city block checking out the store window reflections to see if anyone’s behind him, but I’ve certainly done that.
Countless times, as has every woman. Being hunted by the Mob definitely adds a new level of danger, but it’s not like I couldn’t get a stalker on a random trip to the grocery store or through an appearance as a cheerleader.
So yeah, I ordered brunch, and I’ll check the peephole before opening the door to make sure it’s the DoorDash delivery and nothing more.
Because I freaking deserve it, the same way I deserved the Chocolate Orgasm ice cream I picked at until it melted last night, refusing to share a single bite with Dominic.
Nope, kept it to myself, all while reliving the up-and-down emotional roller coaster I’ve been riding for the last twenty-four hours, trying to make sense of it all, and then dumping the liquid chocolatey goodness down the drain, pointedly making sure Dominic saw me.
My grand revelation from hours of deep thought? I just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other, fixing my crown when it goes off-kilter, and getting up every time I get knocked down . . . again.
After that self–pep talk, I started to make a plan. Because this girl likes a plan. In no particular order, my to-do list is . . .
One, a come-to-Jesus talk with Griffin, in which I tell him to stop the secretive shit or I’m out.
Those yellow flags of his are now screaming blood orange, and that’s not continuing.
He screwed up big-time, but in a twisty way, it was for a good reason.
Well, he thought it was. But this is the last time I’m going to give grace on that.
Nor am I going to spend my life perpetually wrapped in Bubble Wrap.
My spirit would suffocate. So if that’s what he wants, it won’t be with me.
Two, tell Dominic to get off his high horse because, despite him thinking he’s the boss of the universe, he can’t control me or Griffin.
He should be thanking Griffin for the five-year reprieve.
Because the truth is, I remember my thoughts when I saw Griffin in my parents’ kitchen all those years ago.
Before he opened his mouth and ruined it, I was thinking I’d like to ride that ride.
Raw, rough, and repeatedly. So really, the delay is a gift because I was an entirely different woman then.
Young, full of dreams, and so stupid about the reality of life that with nothing more than the barest crook of Griffin’s finger, I would’ve happily let him smother me in Bubble Wrap.
Now I know myself, my heart, and most importantly, my strength.
So I’m glad to have had that time to grow up.
And Dominic should be glad, too, because I’m better for it. I’m more me now.
Three is the hardest step in this new plan and the scariest conversation of them all.
I have to talk to Miles Conniver. I suggested it last night and promptly decided it was a horrible, no-good, dangerous idea, but I think it’s the only way to stop the threat his guys pose.
Maybe if Mr. Conniver knows I don’t have the ring, they’ll leave me alone.
Because none of this is my fault. All I did was buy a beautiful ring.
The rest is the universe pulling a sick prank on me again.
Four, did my pink eternity band sell?
That being the easiest question to answer, I pull up my website’s back end to see that yes, the ring did sell.
Woo-hoo! That’s another $500 toward my credit card bill!
A few clicks later, the buyer has been sent an email thanking them for their purchase and I’ve got a shipping label printed.
Even though the post office is closed today, I box the ring up beautifully, prepping it to begin its trek to its new owner in Oregon tomorrow.
The small win restores my sense of control in some small way, reminding me that I can handle the rest of my to-do list too.
Even though I’m expecting my food delivery, the knock on my door scares the bejesus out of me.
I jump a foot in the air, clutching invisible pearls at my neck, before laughing at myself.
One glance at my phone, and I see the notification that my order has been delivered.
Still, I peek out the peephole, checking the section of hallway that I can see.
The coast is clear, and heaven in a box waits just on the other side of the door. I open it slowly, already bending down to grab the bag when footsteps sound out on the stairs a few doors away.
I glance up as the two people I want to see least come into view. Not my brother and Griffin. I wish it were them. But no, my life couldn’t go that well. It’s the guys from the game.
I gasp in startled shock. They’ve found me!
How and why do things like this keep happening to me? Did I piss someone off in a former life, and now I’m doomed to catastrophe after catastrophe as punishment? Is there some sage-infused penance I can do to make it stop? Hell, I’d snort the whole damn sage stick if it’d help at this point.
But I don’t think that’d really work either.
“Shit!” I hear one of them mutter, and then he’s running toward my door.
I abandon my food, slamming the door shut as fast as I can and locking the dead bolts, wishing we had more than the two, which have always seemed perfectly adequate until now.
Today, with the Mob bearing down on my door, I’m thinking steel core and twenty locks would be better, and then I’d only lock half of them so that if they tried to pick them, they’d be unlocking some and relocking others.
Back pressed to the door, fear dumps into my veins. What am I going to do?
I need to call the police. I need to call Griffin. Those are the only two things that come to mind. Only then do I belatedly consider grabbing a knife.
I hear a muffled voice in the hallway and press my ear to the door, listening.
“We didn’t mean to scare her, boss. We were coming up the stairs, and there she was.
” The voice goes silent, and I assume he’s listening to someone else talk that I can’t hear.
Another glance through peephole tells me the taller of the two guys is on the phone. “Yeah, will do.”
A loud knock on my door sends me scurrying back like their break-in is imminent. “Miss Lee, we’re here to apologize. Mr. Conniver would like to have a word with you.”
I let out a nearly silent laugh, wondering if that actually works on people. Yeah, sure, a Mob boss wants a word? Pretty sure that word is murder.
“Miss Lee?” He knocks again.
I look around as if a solution will appear out of thin air, and when it doesn’t, and unsure what else to do, I fake a bad accent and say through the door, “No Miss Lee here. Wrong apartment.”
“Your food is sitting here with your name on it. And we know who you are,” he answers dryly. Silently, I mouth, Shit. “We’re here to apologize for scaring you. We just wanted the ring, and we understand you don’t have it anymore. We’re sorry.”
If you look up insincere in the dictionary, you’ll find an audio clip of that apology. But I’m not looking for us to braid each other’s hair and do a few trust falls like besties. I want them to go away. And I want my eggs Benedict, which is probably going all soggy in the box because of them.
“Okay, apology accepted. Bye now!”
“Mr. Conniver still wants to speak with you.”
“No thanks.”
On the other side of the door, I hear his voice again, but he doesn’t seem to be talking to me.
I risk looking through the peephole again and see that he’s back on his phone.
“I said sorry and told her you want to speak to her. She said no, thanks.” He shakes his head at the other guy, who shrugs. “Do you want us to take her by force?”
“I can hear you!” I shout through the door. I’d still prefer an inch of steel core for a door, but my current door does have this as an advantage.
“Shit, she heard that,” he says to whom I’m assuming is Miles Conniver on the line. “Okay, okay. I’ll tell her.” He hangs up and says through the door, “He says to answer your phone.”
I have two seconds of confusion because my phone is completely silent on my desk before it rings, scaring the shit out of me.