Chapter 13 Zeth
Zeth
I hope you really heard what I was saying, Sloane. Stay away from that guy. I mean it!
I get tingles when I read through Sloane’s messages.
Kinda fucked up, I know, but I am that self-obsessed.
I get the warm-and-fuzzies when I realize she’s been talking about me to her friend.
I haven’t mentioned her to a single soul on the face of this planet, but then that’s what guys do.
We hoard our shit. Refuse to let anything slip.
Chicks aren’t like that. They gossip like mother hens.
I’m absently wondering whether she’s told this Pippa how big my dick is, if she remembers how big my dick is—of course she does—when the phone fucking chimes in my hand.
Asshole.
I know it’s from her. And I know it’s meant for me. I grimace as I reply:
Me: Bitch.
(206) 555-0142, Rcv’d 9:38 pm
That phone is on a plan. Be good to get it back.
Me: Have to come get it then, won’t you?
I’m playing with fire. I shouldn’t be trying to get her to meet me. I should be cutting all ties. Since I brought Lace home and corralled her into bed, I’ve questioned her eighteen different ways from Sunday.
Did you give her an address?
No.
Did you tell her where I worked?
No.
Did you give her your real name?
No.
Did you give her my real name? Lace? Did you give her my real name?
Yes.
Well, shit. It’s not her fault. The girl was drugged up to the eyeballs and I hadn’t had a chance to give her our story, but still…
I’m fucking furious that Sloane has my name.
Somehow feels like a gross imbalance in power now.
I know everything about her. Up until now, she’s known next to nothing about me, and I’ve liked being the anonymous party in this shit-fight of a situation.
(206) 555-0142, Rcv’d 9:41 pm
Give me an address. I’ll send the cops around for it asap.
She’s grown feisty since we met again in the corridor of St. Peter’s.
It’s easy to be shitty with someone in a text message, though.
Different story face-to-face. Body-to-body.
I’m yet to get a proper read on the girl, but I’m concerned she’s not as smart as I think she is.
She’s a doctor now, so you’d think she had some brains—will let this drop and will forget all about me like I told her to.
But I know firsthand how badly she wants to find her sister, and I doubt any amount of time will change that.
Me: Apt. 12c, 515 West Ave. 8pm, tomorrow. Wear something nice and short. And I recommend leaving five-oh at home. We don’t play well together.
I smirk as I hit send. That’s not the address to the warehouse.
That’s the address of the apartment downtown where I host my little get-togethers.
Get-togethers isn’t exactly the right term for the gathering, but Lacey thinks it’s better than what I’d called it before: the fuck-fest. The first Saturday of each month is always the same at 515 West Avenue, and tomorrow night will be no different.
My cock stirs in my pants just thinking about Sloane knocking on the door, absolutely no idea what awaits her on the other side.
I’m taking precautionary measures. If she doesn’t follow this Pippa’s advice and shows up tomorrow night, I’m going to make sure that, no matter how badly she wants to track down Alexis, she will run at the sound of the name she now knows belongs to me.