13. Knight
Chapter Thirteen
KNIGHT
Was she pregnant?
Jerome punched my shoulder. “You’re doing it again.”
I blinked the large man who looked perpetually angry back into focus. “No, I wasn’t. I was just thinking about breakfast.”
“You’re spiraling. I’m not supposed to let you spiral.
Or you could just go over to her apartment and tell her that you’re thinking about her.
Because that’s all you’re doing, and it’s making the pre-season incredibly lame.
If she were still racing, there’s no way we’d have a chance at catching up.
Of course, if she were racing, you wouldn’t be spiraling.
At least no more than usual.” The man’s glower was particularly glowery today.
Had he hit me harder than usual? It was so hard to tell when I didn’t notice pain as much as I should.
I gave him a broad smile. “So tell me where we’re at with the drones?”
“Pixel’s cousin doesn’t like the ones you’ve got. He wants flashy new ones like Dagger’s. Trouble is, they’re not on the market. Maybe you could talk him into selling you some.”
I stared at Jerome. That was the important thing that I had to devote a small segment of my brain to?
Stealing drones from Dagger? Come to think of it, that did sound fun.
Except that if Daniela caught me, she’d probably cut me into pieces.
And I wouldn’t really mind her chopping me up and feeding me to Jezebel’s mountain lion because that would be positively therapeutic compared to the absolute brain-melting tension, waiting to find out if Trixie was pregnant or dying from some malignant disease.
Jerome was right. I could go to her apartment and knock on her door.
I knew her door because I’d had to personally deliver a bag of diagnostic equipment.
I should have had someone else do it, but then I couldn’t have texted a photo.
And I’d been aching to know which apartment she was in since she moved into my hotel.
But I hadn’t known, because then I wouldn’t accidentally find a reason to be on her floor.
The carpet wasn’t good enough. If she tripped on her boots and fell over, the carpet wouldn’t cushion her fall.
Why didn’t all the floors have equally stupidly luxurious carpet?
But I couldn’t get a new carpet now. It would off-gas, which might cause harm to Trixie with her possibly unborn baby. Or a life-threatening illness.
I pulled out my phone and called Dagger. He should be in his warehouse working on tech that had nothing to do with the MMR world.
He picked up after a lot of rings that I spent wondering if I should get some more tests for Trix.
She must need more if the evidence was inconclusive.
If she knew one way or the other, surely she’d tell me.
It had been a week. The flu could have killed her.
Or she could be carrying a child. I could buy her presents.
Maybe we could go maternity clothes shopping.
That was normal, neighborly behavior, right?
I mean, she’d asked me to get tests, so clearly she’d involved me in this matter.
Dagger’s voice was abrupt, irritated. “No, I’m not giving you my test drones. If you want something new and cutting-edge, cut your own edges. Don’t tell me you aren’t smart enough. You’re smarter than anyone. You’re just lazy.”
Was I so smart? Then, if I thought maternity shopping with Trixie was normal, it must be true.
“Has Trixie come in to work this week?” I asked instead of anything drone-related.
Oops. I cleared my throat. “I mean that your racing isn’t up to her level.
Pixel’s confident he can knock you down a peg or two in the next race.
Also, do you think she’s dead in her apartment? Nix keeps tabs on her, right?”
He sighed heavily. “Yeah, I’m hanging up now.”
“You really won’t let me have drones? If I start making drones, who knows where that will lead? Probably to some kind of international defense deal that actually competes with your market. Are you sure you want that kind of competition?”
He snorted. “Fine. I’ll send over a dozen drones. And yeah, she came into work yesterday, and this morning she texted Daniela asking if she wanted one of the disgusting pulp muffins in Purgatory. Five minutes ago. You’re welcome.”
He hung up before I could tell him that I had no interest in whether Trixie was eating in a public prison-themed café in my hotel.
I thought the modern-day depictions of Dante’s Inferno were particularly well done.
Maybe not entirely appetizing, but that wasn’t the point of Purgatory.
It was the detox hangover spot where you went when you were still feeling bad about your bad choices.
And now Trixie was there. Was she feeling bad about her bad choices?
Like asking me to get birth control tests for her? Surely not.
I hadn’t called her and asked about the results even once.
Maybe I was supposed to ask her. Maybe it was implied when she asked me to supply her with the tests.
Not that she hadn’t done that under duress, but her existence had been duress in that bathroom.
The bathrooms on her apartment’s floor weren’t large enough and luxurious enough if you were going to spend a lot of time there.
She needed a better suite. She should move from the fortieth floor up to the fifty-fifth.
That was a good floor. The long-term tenant suites had all the amenities you could ask for.
And room service deliveries right from the kitchens up to the suites.
It was a great feature. And the carpet was much better where it wasn’t hardwood or tile.
How much money did she make? I’d have to set a special rental price for whatever was a reasonable percentage of her monthly income.
She raced a lot though, lots of winner’s pots.
And her boxing matches seemed to do well, at least as far as gambling on them was concerned.
Maybe Nix wasn’t paying her enough to afford a fifty-fifth floor suite.
Maybe Nix needed to die. Although considering how difficult it would be to kill him, and how his men would be sure to destroy anyone who tried, I should probably deescalate my reaction. Nix needed more competition.
All of those things went through my head as I raced for my bike. I was out of the gate in thirty seconds, and pulling into Providence’s circle in five. I left my bike on the sidewalk and headed inside, directly towards Purgatory.
Would she be happy to see me? She was a woman.
Lots of women played games like, ‘Are you paying attention to me?’ so they’d leave clues, like telling me to buy her pregnancy tests when what they were really saying was, ‘I’m looking for a father for my baby.
Are you interested?’ And if that were the case…
Trixie wasn’t most women. She was direct to the point of pain.
She didn’t play games like, ‘Who’s the prettiest girl at the table?
’ Or ‘Guess what I’m thinking.’ If she wanted me to be the father of her child, she’d let me know the same way she’d told me to get her pregnancy tests: with great reluctance.
We were barely on speaking terms. I’d taken advantage of her being at a physically vulnerable low, or she wouldn’t ever have asked something so personal of me.
It would take something devastating to drive her into my arms for any given length of time.
I’d played on her sense of empathy. I was worried about her.
She’d help me be less worried. Because I’d been honest with her, and she responded to honesty.
Honest was her normal while it was something I avoided for obvious reasons.
Basically because she despised everything about who I honestly was.
Manipulative, obsessive, borderline psychotic, with a serum swimming in my DNA that made men monsters.
She knew about the serum, because otherwise she would have asked more questions about how Daniela had picked up her armored off-road vehicle, but she didn’t know that I was a fifth generational pandora’s child.
And I intended to keep it that way. Not knowing was half the battle.
I walked through the lobby, brushing back my hair so it fell just so. Short on the sides, longer on top, enough wave to give it body and take off the hard edge of the martial artist.
A flock of females walked out of the gift shop and saw me. I calculated the odds that they’d see me as the man-whore who was open-season hunting, and broke into a run.
I turned a corner and ran straight into Nix.
Another man would have gone sprawling, but he just shifted and took it like a shoulder check, grabbing my hand as I spun around him so we ended up standing there, females creeping in on every side while he squeezed until I couldn’t feel my hand. The lack of feeling was mutual.
“Where’s your driver?” I asked casually. “You’re going to keep losing without her.”
The blonde barbarian grunted. “Flu. You seem less smug than expected. You must realize that your win won’t last.”
I let go of his hand and shook it out subtly. “How’s the wife?”
His eyes narrowed. “We don’t talk about my wife.” He was clearly out of sorts for some reason. Maybe she was dying again. Maybe Trix was dying with her. Maybe he was angry because Pixel beat Dagger on the track.
I shrugged. “It’s just inconceivable to compare who you were to who you are. Can a good woman really change a man?” If only Trixie wanted to change me.
“You looking for a change?”
“Change can do you good.”
He studied me for a long time before he shook his head. “Not you.”
“Why?”
“Someone has to keep the bar low so the rest of us look good in comparison.”
I snorted. “So that’s my purpose in life. I was wondering.”