Chapter 43
The next morning, I’m sat in the corner booth of the diner across the street from the shop on my third coffee of the day, running on barely an hour of sleep and an empty stomach because the thought of food makes me nauseous.
I’ve been on edge ever since I rolled myself out of bed at the ass-crack of dawn after tossing and turning all fucking night.
I can’t even remember getting dressed. I can’t remember the ride to work and as bad as it sounds to admit, I can’t recall a single tattoo I’ve completed since arriving at the studio.
My body aches all over but I can’t afford to cancel my clients and despite my ribs screaming in pain, I forced myself to plough through.
The doctors told me to take it easy before they discharged me yesterday, but I couldn’t sit around doing nothing. Not with the prospect that Curt Naylor is close. He’s watching and he’s waiting.
He’s one man on this entire fucking planet who should’ve been left to rot behind bars until his final dying breath. A man who was only in my life for a matter of months, but has had a hold on it for over a decade.
Mark my words, Killer. Someday I’ll get outta here, and that day will be your last. I’m coming for you, Hunt.
The memory of his words make me shiver. He’s out there somewhere, the promise he made me all those years ago at the forefront of my mind.
He wants me dead and I need to be ready.
The guys visited me in the hospital yesterday, grilling me about my knowledge of who the driver of the van was. I didn’t give them anything because it would’ve only bred more questions, questions I definitely didn’t want to answer.
I stifle a yawn, wondering why I’m still exhausted after three cups of coffee. I should be bouncing off the fucking walls, high on caffeine by now.
Sofia shoots daggers into the side of my head while pretending to scribble something down on the little notepad in her hand. I purposely chose this booth because it’s not one of Sofia’s stations.
She hates me.
She made that abundantly clear when she told me to go fuck myself—amongst other things—after breaking her best friend’s heart and even after almost a month, that animosity hasn’t left.
I don’t blame her for hating me, I hate myself even more for hurting Kaia.
Fuck, when I saw that van approaching us yesterday, I saw red immediately.
I needed to get us away from him. I didn’t give a fuck about myself, all that mattered in that moment was keeping Kaia safe.
The thought of her being hurt, the thought of losing her had me feeling something I haven’t felt in over a decade.
Fear.
Real fear. The kind that clenches tight around your heart, twists up your insides and makes you sick to your stomach. The kind of fear that brings you to your knees.
“Here’s your coffee.”
Sofia’s voice rips me from the thoughts and I look up as she drops my fourth coffee of the day down onto the table in front of me, a little of the liquid sloshing over the side onto the table.
“Didn’t think this was your station.”
“It’s not, but I wanted front row seats as I accidentally dropped your scolding cup of coffee on your lap and enjoy watching you squirm in pain.”
“You still planning on doing that?”
“No, I changed my mind the second I came over here.”
“What stopped you?”
“Kaia. She still loves you, and I’m not about to cause her anymore distress by giving your dick second degree burns. No matter how much you deserve it, she doesn’t.”
“My dick thanks you, but you’re right. I do deserve it. I don’t deserve her or her forgiveness.”
“Then, I take it there was some major grovelling on your part last night,” Sof says.
“What are you talking about?”
“Kaia. You better have been down on your knees begging for her forgiveness, preferably with your head between her legs, but either way, I hope she made you work double time to win back her trust.”
I frown. “Kaia wasn’t with me last night.”
“Then why did she text me saying she was?” She pulls out her phone and taps the screen a few times before handing it to me.
The message was sent last night around two hours after she left the hospital. Sof replied not long later.
I scroll down to the two texts Sof sent her this morning.
Both of Sof’s messages from this morning have been left unread.
Alarm bells are blaring in my eardrums as my heart pumps faster.
Something’s wrong. I can feel it.
I hand Sof back her phone before digging out my own from my pocket and dial Kaia’s number. It rings and rings before going to voicemail. “Shit. She’s not answering.”
Sof slides into the seat across from me. “Kill, what is going on? You’re scaring me.”
I meet Sof’s worried gaze. “It wasn’t her who sent the message.”
“What?”
“Sofia? You’re not on lunch break, back to work,” her boss, Derek Warner barks from behind the counter.
“Just a sec,” she calls back before turning her attention back to me.
“You know as well as I do, Kaia would never spell ‘tonight’ like that and she never calls me Kill. Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever known her use an emoji.”
“I didn’t even think about that. Then who sent it?”
I pull up the club’s group chat and type out an SOS, my thumbs flying over the keypad so fast it barely takes me a second before I’m hitting send.
“I think I have an idea, I just hope I’m wrong.” I drop couple of bills onto the table for my untouched coffee. Suddenly I’m wide awake and this is the most alert I’ve been all fucking morning.
I slide out of the booth, heading for the door.
“Kill, wait!” I turn back in time to see Sofia ripping her apron over her head before she tosses it onto the table. “I’m coming with!”
“Sofia! Where on earth do you think you’re going?” Derek barks again.
“Family emergency!” she calls back as she meets me by the door.
“You don’t have any family. If you walk out, don’t bother coming back,” he says.
She shrugs. “Then I guess I quit.” She turns to me, “let’s go.”