13. Neomi
I place the last of my chips into the tray to cash, stand from the table and slide it toward the attendant at the counter. I had a great night, quadrupled my buy-in, and I should be happy, but like a fool, I can’t get Lars out of my head.
A full week. I’ve played three games and not a single glimpse of the man who ruined my concentration and my sleep cycle.
The attendant hands me my cash. I tuck it into my clutch and force myself not to dwell on the empty chair he once filled, not on the question he left hanging in my doorway, not on the way my body still remembers his hands, his mouth, his goddamn voice.
It’s pathetic.
It might have been overly confident of me to think he would fold first if I didn’t call the number he left me. That he would become impatient and show up tonight. But I was wrong, and judging by the restless ache growing under my ribs, I know I’m the one that has to make the next move.
I push through the front doors and step out onto the sidewalk, and the humid night air wraps around me. The scent of exhaust and city heat clings to everything; neon from the surrounding buildings cast glossy reflections across the pavement.
After my first few steps, a gnawing feeling grows in my stomach, it’s a subtle shift in the air that makes every instinct inside me sharpen. Years of trusting that internal alarm have taught me not to ignore it.
Someone is watching me.
The hair at the back of my neck lifts, but I keep my pace steady, refusing the urge to glance over my shoulder. My hand drifts casually to the gun in the holster around my waist.
It isn’t panic. It’s preparedness, and it could mean survival.
I keep my hand on my weapon and pull my purse tighter as I move a few steps down the sidewalk to wait for my Uber. Traffic flows on the street, headlights sliding past in long streaks of white and red, but every sound feels sharpened around me where I stand.
A faint scrape of a shoe behind me makes my heart pound harder.
Thankfully, my Uber pulls up to the curb, and I slide into the back seat, forcing my breathing to remain even as the car merges into traffic. I glance through the rear window and notice a vehicle lingering behind us, its headlights steady in the dark.
My pulse kicks hard against my ribs as we move through the city, each turn stretching the tension tighter in my chest. Then, the bright glow of the Argent’s valet awning comes into view, spilling warm light across the street as the car pulls toward the entrance.
I manage to thank the driver before climbing out of the car.
“Welcome to the Argent.”
The valet attendant steals my focus, and when I turn to thank him, I see a man standing at the end of the block. He’s a dark silhouette under the streetlights, with a hood over his head, making it impossible to see his features.
As if sensing my attention, he goes back to the car, gets in, and drives away. I struggle to catch any plates.
The moment I cross the threshold of the lobby, the sensation of fear begins to leave me. I’m safe—for now.
I walk to the elevator, lift my chin, hit the button, and wait impatiently. Only when the doors slide open and I step inside, alone, do my lungs seize in a shaky inhale.
And I finally feel relief. It’s a trembling release that leaves my hands unsteady and my chest heaving.
“Jesus,” I whisper to myself as the elevator ascends, my reflection staring back at me through glossy steel. “Get it together, Valentine.”
The elevator ascends toward my floor, but my nerves don't settle. I try to shake it off whatever that was but the adrenaline is still clawing through my veins.
I step into the quiet hallway when the doors open to the familiar sight of my floor. It shouldn’t soothe me, but it does as I walk to my room.
Once the door clicks shut behind me, I turn the deadbolt. I toss my purse onto the console table, kick off my heels, and stare at the business card sitting on the dresser.
I shouldn’t call him. But as I drag my fingers over the card, I feel the need to hear someone else’s voice right now. I need the distraction.
“Fuck it,” I whisper, grabbing my phone.
I key in the number before I can talk myself out of it. It rings three times before his voice washes over me.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Lars, it’s Neomi.”
“Neomi. It’s so good to hear your voice again.”
I swallow hard, leaning against the dresser, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.
“I, uh…” I wince at myself.
Lars’ tone changes. “Are you okay?”
“Define okay,” I say, forcing a lightness I don’t feel. “Because I think someone just followed me after I left the game.”
“What happened?” His voice sharpens. “Explain what you mean by being followed.”
“There was a car that followed my Uber to the hotel,” I blurt. “He got out of the car when I got here, then just stood and watched me. He was in black, wearing a hoodie. I couldn’t see his face. Then he just…left.”
A low curse slips out of him. “Neomi…”
“I’m fine,” I insist. “Just frazzled.”
And I hate that. Frazzled isn’t me. There’s another slow exhale from him, like he’s trying to rein something back before it snaps.
“Where are you now?”
“In my room.”
“Alone?”
“Very.”
I can feel his concern through the phone, crawling over my skin, tightening everything inside me.
Then he says, “I’m coming to you.”
“Lars—”
“Don’t argue,” he says softly. “You call me after a week of silence, sounding like this, telling me someone followed you? There’s no world where I stay put, Bella.”
Heat rolls through me so fast I have to grip the edge of the dresser.
“That’s not why I called,” I breathe.
“No?” His tone warms, amused. “Then tell me why.”
I bite my bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood.
“Because I wanted to hear your voice.”
A low sound comes across the line. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
The line goes dead.