Chapter Eleven
Hayes
The smell of burnt coffee assaulted my nostrils as I entered the bookstore.
My brows snapped together as I scanned the espresso bar and my gut tightened at the sight of Sarah scrambling behind the counter.
The giant maroon espresso machine was shooting off steam, letting out a groan that sounded like an expensive tax write-off.
Customers were flooding the space, waiting with impatient scowls on their faces.
“Hayes?”
My neck snapped in the opposite direction, finding a very flustered Carrie standing at the checkout counter. Her short curly hair was pulled out of her face by a large pink clip, her round cheeks bright red, eyes wide with surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“Where’s Rossy?” I demanded.
Margo wasn’t here, that was very clear, but before I could go hunt her down, I needed to have a conversation with her boss.
“Uh, in the back, I think?” she stammered, handing a customer a receipt. “We’ve been a little slammed all day. What are you—Hayes!”
I was already moving, weaving through the new release tables, heading through the center aisle of the stacks, my eyes on the employees only sign on the far wall.
I didn’t bother knocking. Instead, I yanked the metal door open and stormed into the storage room.
The door banged against the wall, shaking the empty boxes lined along the walls.
Rossy, who was still in the middle of the room with his back to me, jumped.
He spun, putting on his glasses, lowering the sale sticker sheets in his hand.
“Good Lord, Mr. Mitchell,” he rasped. “Is there something wrong?”
“You’re going to tell me what the fuck is going on with Margo,” I clipped. I kicked the door closed, folding my arms over my chest. “Where is she?”
“I let her have the day off,” he answered calmly. He stared at me for a moment. “I assume Mr. Doss has spoken to you.”
“Ash hasn’t said shit to me. Why is he driving Margo’s car back to Astoria?”
He moved, walking over to the chair in the corner, where scissors and various sizes of tape sat.
He dropped the heavy sheets of stickers on top of the supplies, causing one of the rolls to crash to the ground as he let out a sigh.
“You know, I’ve been mulling this over all morning, whether I should get Red Snake involved—”
“I should’ve been your first call.”
Rossy looked back at me. “And why, Mr. Mitchell, after you’ve clearly hurt her in some capacity, would I call you first instead of Grayson?”
My jaw clenched, and I took a single step forward, seething. “Because Grayson doesn’t care for Margo in the same way I do,” I damn near growled, fury coming off me in waves.
“If that’s the case—”
“What happened between Margo and me is our business. I fucked up, but I am going to do everything in my power to make it right. I can’t do that if she is in danger.”
A faint sigh of exhaustion left him as he plucked off his glasses, pulling out a cleaning cloth from his vest. Absent-mindedly, he cleaned the lenses, his eyes to the floor. “I don’t know if she is in danger necessarily.”
When he didn’t continue, I exhaled through my nose. “Rossy,” I bit off.
“Someone—or perhaps it was a glitch; we haven’t gone to her bank to get to the bottom of this because, coincidentally, she will not answer her door or her phone…” he rambled, trailing off.
“Rossy, what the hell are you talking about? Did something happen with her bank?”
He put his glasses back on and propped his hands on his hips.
“Her adviser called her yesterday, and she drove to Seattle for an emergency meeting because her payment for her last semester of classes had been denied. According to what she told me, through her tears, the money was in the account and there had never been a problem before this. Upon further investigation, it turned out that someone or something had drained her account.”
I nodded, looking at the floor. “How much?”
“Just over twenty thousand dollars.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I clipped, running a hand through my hair. “Why in the fuck didn’t she call Red Snake?”
Why didn’t she call me?
He hesitated. “She doesn’t want anyone to know. Not until I take her to the bank, at the very least.”
There was no way in hell that would be happening.
I would be taking her to the bank. I would be the one to help her sort this shit out.
My mind drifted to Gordon.
As of right now, he was an unknown variable.
A puzzle piece I hadn’t figured out where to place.
It was too soon to label him a suspect…still, my gut was never wrong.
I studied Rossy for a few more seconds. “Don’t worry about taking her to the bank,” I told him, my arms falling to my sides as I turned toward the door.
“This isn’t any of your business and I don’t appreciate you barging in here—”
I was nose to nose with him then, glaring at him as I declared, “Everything about that woman is my fucking business, and this officially became Red Snake’s business two damn seconds ago.
Twenty thousand dollars is a lot of fucking money.
Glitches like that don’t just happen—someone orchestrates them. ”
“Mr. Mitchell, I need you to hear me—”
“I’ve gotten all I need from you. I’ll have Jake drop you an update when it’s time.”
Then I left him there, storming out of the store, ignoring Carrie’s hurried questions as she tried to follow me out.
I pounded on the purple door for the fourth time. “Margo!” I bellowed. “It’s Hayes. Open the door!”
Nothing.
I’d been standing here for nearly four minutes, calling her cell, and banging on her door. The workers at the bar downstairs said she hadn’t shown up at the employee meeting this morning. Rossy giving her the day off was one thing, but her not attending a staff meeting at the Buoy was another.
I put my cell to my ear, listening to it ring as I continued to bang my fist against her door.
“Come on, Temper,” I hissed before yelling her name again. “Margo!”
A chill swept down my spine, causing me to freeze, the sudden image of her lifeless body thrown across her soft sheets flooding my brain.
I could practically smell her blood, see it staining her hardwoods and all her colors.
Before I could think better of it, I stepped back, lifted my leg, and slammed my foot into the door.
It took two kicks for me to hear her scream, the sound nearly shattering my world.
With a final kick, the door flew off its hinges, falling into her apartment with a loud crash.
My gun was drawn as I stepped over the splintered wood, pieces of it crunching under my boots.
“Margo!”
She rushed out from the hallway, emerging from the shadows, dressed in an oversized Three Days Grace hoodie and pink and black-striped pajama pants with a pair of huge sunglasses on her face. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a bun, held together by a lime green scrunchie.
“You okay?” I clipped.
“What the fuck did you do to my door?” she screeched.
Yeah, she was okay.
I lowered my gun, scanning her over and over. I lifted the back of my shirt up, tucking the weapon into the waistband of my jeans. “Kicked it in,” I answered, making my way across her living room, the scent of everything that was her surrounding me.
Fucking hell, I wanted to drown in it—in her.
“What the fuck, Temper?” I clipped, chest heaving as relief washed over me.
She was okay.
Alive and breathing.
Her mouth went slack, and she gestured to the mess I’d made before she yelled, “What the fuck me? No, what the fuck you, Hayes! Why are you here, kicking down my damn door at ten in the morning?”
“It’s three in the afternoon.”
That pretty mouth snapped shut as she visibly stiffened. “What?” she whispered in disbelief.
My brows came together as I took another step, then another, needing to be near her, to put my hands on her so that my body would know she was okay.
She was alive, unharmed. “Margo, I’ve called you fifteen times in the last half hour, and I’ve been banging on your door.
I’ve been screaming your name for the last five minutes. ”
She jerked back and visibly paled. All my adrenaline faded away as I took in her body language.
Shit. I’d scared her.
Fuck, but I frightened her.
I softened my voice, knowing the last thing she needed was for me to be lecturing her right now.
“I’ll replace the door. Today. I apologize for that—and for frightening you, but beautiful, I was scared shitless.
” I paused, swallowing the lump in my throat as my heart called out for hers.
“I just needed to make sure you were okay, to get to you as fast as possible.”
“Don’t talk to me like that,” she croaked. “I’ve had a hell of a week.”
I studied her, the large sunglasses on her face, a new concern manifesting.
“I know, and we’re going to talk about the shit that’s going on with your school.
But first, I need to know why you’re wearing sunglasses inside.
” When she said nothing, I took a guess.
“Are you not feeling well? My sister gets horrible migraines, and she has to sit in the dark for at least two days when they happen.”
Still, no answer. Instead, she kept those sunglasses pointed in my direction.
I ached to see just a glimpse of her mossy green.
But fuck me, I really fucked this up, didn’t I?
“Are you hungover? Do you need me to go get you some food?” I continued, needing to take care of her.
When she finally answered, her voice was cold and her walls were higher than they’d ever been. “No, I don’t need you to go get me food. I don’t need you to get anything for me. I just need you to leave.”
My eyes narrowed. “I’m trying to help you.”
“Your help is the last thing I need,” she hissed. “Leave me the hell alone.”
She turned, but there was no way I was letting her walk away from me again.
Within seconds, I closed the distance between us and grabbed her hand. “You aren’t walking away from me again,” I clipped, stopping her. She twisted her neck, looking up at me, and a chunk of loose hair fell away from her face. My pulse spiked at the sight of the discolored skin on her cheek.
“What the fuck?” I whispered.
“Hayes, let me go,” she begged, realization dawning, pulling against my hold.
What the fuck?
My hand slid up, my fingers wrapping around her wrist before I tugged her closer, my heart lurching. “Margo, take off the glasses,” I ordered.
She tried to move back, but I spun us, backing her into the kitchen, where I flicked on the light, the bright fluorescents making her wince. “Hayes—”
Still moving, I backed her up into the nearest wall, the yellow landline phone hanging beside us.
I pressed my lower body against hers, pinning her in place as I brought my other hand to rest by her head.
Not once did I take my eyes off the bruise.
“Take off the sunglasses,” I murmured, my voice filled with agony, the tips of my fingers brushing against her hair at the top of her head.
Her bottom lip trembled, her body shaking against mine. “Please leave.”
“Never leaving you again,” I declared, staring into the dark lenses. “Take off the glasses.”
“It’s not that big of a deal.”
My hand at her wrist shifted, and I wrapped my arm around her waist. “Please, baby,” I pleaded softly, my voice jagged. “Let me see so I can fix it.”
She shook her head, her bottom lip trembling. “Hayes, please go.”
Fuck, but the way she said my name.
“Please,” I rasped.
She didn’t move for a long time, but then, time damn near stilled as she lifted both of her hands to her face and pulled off the shades.
Every inch of my body tightened, my jaw snapping shut, my eyes scanning every centimeter of the bruise covering her right cheekbone.
In the center, there was a line of dried blood surrounded in dark purple that stretched into a concerning blue-black at the edge.
Violence swirled inside me, toxic and consuming.
“Come here,” I murmured, staring at it.
Who hurt my sweet Temper?
“Uh, I’m right here, Hayes.”
I grunted, slipping my hands under her armpits, lifting her onto the counter behind me.
My hand found her other cheek, my thumb stroking her soft skin as I stepped between her legs.
“I gotta clean this,” I told her, my body trembling with fury.
I was trying my best to get a lock on it.
The last thing I needed to do was to scare her.
Clean the wound.
Fix the door.
Feed her.
Get answers.
Clean the wound.
Fix the door.
Feed her.
Get answers.
Clean the wound.
Fix the door.
Feed her.
Get answers.
“Where’s your first aid kit?” I whispered, voice shaking.
Her eyes darted, focusing on the mess in her living room. “Hayes, it’s getting cold in here. Maybe we should—”
I bit down, grinding my teeth, and shook my head. “I’ll take care of it. Where’s the first aid kit, beautiful?” I repeated, my voice still soft as my fingers ran through her hair.
“You have to stop talking to me like that,” she rasped, tears in her eyes.
“Not gonna happen.”