Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Slamming the door of the Camaro closed, I quickly flip my visor down to inspect the cut on my neck.
The skin is split under my tattoos, but only enough to cause a little bit of blood.
It’s already starting to dry up and I lick the pad of my thumb to wipe it off.
Smirking to myself, I feel a sense of pride bloom in my chest.
She never used to be this aware of her surroundings.
It’s taken a lot to get her to this point, but with my…
guidance, she’s come a long way. I groan at the memory of her pressing the blade to my throat and my cock twitches.
The fire that blazed behind her crystal blue eyes, the flush in her cheeks, and the determination in her words stirred something feral inside of me.
I want to push her further; to see how much more she can take before she finally breaks for me.
The sound of tires squealing breaks me out of my momentary trance.
Looking in the rearview, I see the red Audi speed around the corner, past my vehicle and out of the parking garage.
She thinks she can lose me, get so far ahead of me that I won’t catch up.
This is what I’ve been waiting patiently for so long to change–and I am anything but fucking patient–her to realize that I’m not going to fucking leave her alone.
She can run all she wants to, I will always catch her.
I decide to give her a few minutes head start.
I remove my jacket and place it on the passenger seat, then pull my cell out of my jeans.
There are some texts in the group chat between Mav, Slater, Cole and me.
Slater wants us to meet him in the security booth tomorrow morning after shift change.
There’s another one from Elias telling me he’s going to take tomorrow off and handle some things.
What things? Don’t give a shit. I send him a quick ‘K’ in response then drop my phone in the compartment under my radio.
“Time’s up, terror,” I mutter to myself, then press in the clutch and throw the car into reverse.
Once out of the parking space, I shift into first gear and peel out of the garage. Leaving Perdition in my rearview, I speed down the winding road that leads to the interstate. My Camaro has had an engine swap and a ton of other upgrades which make it possible for me to easily catch up to her.
I shift into fifth gear merging onto the highway, taking off like a bat out of hell to find her.
It takes around twenty-two minutes to get to Ashlynn’s apartment from Perdition if you’re going the speed limit.
Tonight, we’ll make it in half the time.
I catch up to the red Q8 in no time and follow behind her.
My phone rings almost immediately, Terror flashing across the screen.
A grin tugs at the corners of my mouth as I answer the call.
“Miss me already, doll?”
“Fuck you, Karson! If you follow me home I promise I’ll slit your fucking throat this time.
Stay the fuck away from me!” she says, her tone even and harsh, trying to tamp down her anger.
Hearing her struggle to maintain her composure makes me chuckle.
I watch as she tries to speed up and pull away from me.
Not happening.
I press the gas pedal in further and ride her back bumper, then ease into the left lane. Pulling alongside of her, she whips her head to the side and snarls at me through the window.
“No you won’t,” I say dryly and stare at her.
She’s silent on the other end, breathing heavily like she was back in the parking garage.
Ashlynn has been riding the “Fuck Karson” train ever since I barged back into her life and is refusing to get off.
She fights me at every turn and I’d be lying if I didn't say it wasn't a turn on at first–now she’s just pissing me off.
It would be one thing if she held her ground like she did in the beginning, but there was a shift after Parker went missing last year.
She stopped demanding I leave her alone every time she saw me and became slightly more tolerable of my presence.
She watched how Parker would hug me every time she saw me, and still does.
To this day she watches our interactions in shock, as if she can’t believe that someone would actually like being around me.
“Do you really want to try me, asshole?” she spits and I let out a dark chuckle.
“Sure do.”
I punch the gas, launching past her then merging in front just in time to get off of her exit.
“Son of a bitch,” she mumbles to herself before the line goes dead.
Dropping the car into fourth, then third gear, I don’t even stop at the light at the end of the ramp before turning right and racing the three blocks left to her apartment.
Looking up in my rearview, I see her stop at the red light, and I take advantage of the time I have before she catches back up to me.
I ease past her street and look for a parking spot on the next one over.
She’ll pull right up in front of her building like she always does and think she managed to get me to fuck off.
Sorry about your luck, doll.
Pulling up on the emergency brake, I exit the car and start walking in the direction of her building.
The cool, early morning air slaps me in the face, giving me a burst of energy and I pick up the pace.
Digging around in my pocket, I pull out a cigarette and stuff it between my lips.
Lighting it with my zippo, I take a long drag and feel the mentholated nicotine swirl through my lungs with the crisp, early morning air; the excitement I feel calming slightly.
As I round a corner to turn on her street, her Audi pulls up along the curb and parks.
She steps out of the car, slams the door and locks it behind her before stomping onto the sidewalk to enter the front of the building.
Poor thing’s still pissed at me. She needs to get over it. I’ve been patient with her long enough. I lean against the brick wall of the building beside hers, counting to myself while I finish my smoke.
Thirty–she’s checked her mailbox in the lobby.
Forty-five–the elevator doors are opening and she’s stepping inside.
Seventy-five–she’s arrived on the fourth floor.
Ninety–putting her key in the lock.
One hundred and twenty–I look up and like clockwork, the lamp in the living room area is turned on.
One hundred and sixty–the soft glow of another lamp illuminates the fifth floor, and her silhouette appears in the window of her bedroom.
She’s looking for me. I watch as she cranes her neck to the left and the right, but I’m still perched against the neighboring building.
When she disappears from the window, I make my way to the front door of hers and walk inside.
I don’t bother with the elevator. I want her to think I’ve decided to just toy with her instead of actually showing up tonight.
I ascend the stairs in just under two minutes, trying to take as much time as I can, and open the door to her floor.
Strolling down the hall, I quietly hum the tune from the song that played in the club tonight when she noticed I was there.
I run my finger along the wall absentmindedly as I think about that night when she came crashing back into my life like a goddamn hurricane.
ONE YEAR AGO
I need to get off this plane before I bathe the interior in blood.
I’m so fucking sick of these security details. I need something more exciting, something where I’m allowed to release my fucking rage on people who deserve it. We’re paid to cover the asses of high-profile scum bags, when really I want to kill this asshole I’ve been protecting for the last week.
Tristan Pierce is an up-and-coming attorney for the state of Washington.
He’s young, passed whatever fancy ass law school he went to at the top of his class, and he’s just the right amount of shady to be a district attorney.
He was supposed to be on a vacation this week with his fiancée, but he kept slipping away for hushed phone calls and late-night video calls with clients while his lady friend was passed out in another room.
I had the displeasure of over hearing one such call late last night, and I’ve had to rein in every demon that roars inside my body to avoid me spending the rest of my life in a fucking cell.
The truth behind why Maverick and I provide high level protection for these people isn't what it looks like from the outside.
Our…upbringing taught us that the elite, the rich, and the leaders are the worst of the worst, and they get away with it due to their status.
The real-life monsters are the ones in a neatly pressed suit and a million-dollar smile.
We have built a very delicate and complex company dedicated to taking them out however we need to.
Most of our clientele are good people, but we do take jobs for pricks like Tristan here often.
The plane touches back down in Oregon, and I make my way to the front of the jet to exit.
On the tarmac, I meet with Tristan’s driver to go over his route back one last time before standing back at the base of the jet stairs.
Tristan exits first, phone to his ear, not paying attention at all to the leggy blonde behind him that’s struggling to keep herself from swaying.
His woman’s a lush, not that I can blame her–being around these pricks all the time makes me want to drink, too.
I silently follow him to his car, opening the door for him and he slides in the back seat, followed by…what’s-her-fucking-name. I don’t know what it is, and I don’t give a shit. Soon enough, I’ll never see this asshole again and therefore I don't need to know it.
“God you’re such a fucking–” Tristan’s voice is cut off by me slamming the back door shut, then taking my place in the passenger seat. My jaw clenches and my teeth grind to dust when I hear her start to cry, and the partition closes between us.
I can’t kill him…yet.
It’s a thirty-minute ride back to Tristan’s home.
After ensuring the property was clear and payment has been sent for my time, I haul ass before my last bit of control snaps.
A week with that prick was far too long.
Walk by Pantera blasts through the Camaro’s speakers as I speed down the road back toward my apartment.
I’m on edge, and nothing good ever comes from me being on edge.
I need a drink.
As if answering my prayers, I round a sharp turn and an old, run down, brown building comes into view.
There’s a dirty white sign on the side of the road that reads DOC’S and the glowing neon signs in the window call my name.
Downshifting quickly so that I don’t pass the entrance, I pull into the parking lot and find a spot.
There are a total of five cars in the parking lot, which is perfect, I’ve had my fill of people this week.
Exiting the car as the sun starts the set behind the building, I lean against the trunk for a much needed cigarette before going inside.
One quick drink to take the edge off and quiet my mind, then I’ll go meet with Elias since Mav isn’t back for another day or two from his most recent job.
Flicking the cancer stick into the road, I walk across the parking lot and pull open the door to the building. Four people sit at the bar, one of which is an older man in the corner practically slumped over the counter.
This place is the very definition of a dive bar, and I love it. I don't go out much, and I drink even less–I work meticulously to keep myself in check. One too many drinks and all that hard work that I’ve done–that Maverick and Elias have helped me do–goes down the drain.
Removing my jacket, I find a place at the bar and sit.
Angel by Theory of a Deadman plays softly in the space.
The bartender says something to the gentleman in the corner, and he perks up.
She slides him what looks like a cup of black coffee, which he takes it graciously.
She checks in with another patron before turning to face me fully, and it feels like I’ve been hit by a freight train.
She stiffens instantly, and her soft expression is quickly turned into something different, a mixture of shock and hurt.
But I’m too stunned to say or do anything.
The bluest eyes I’ve ever seen, eyes I thought for sure I’d never see again, glare at me.
Her cheeks heat, highlighting the freckles that line under her eyes and across her nose.
She steps hesitantly toward me, and every memory of her crashes into me at once–including our final day together, where I left her crying, begging me not to leave her.
To take her with me, and me telling her I’d be back.
Except I never did make it back. I have spent years kicking myself in the ass for that day.
For being too young and fucking stupid to figure out how to find her.
When she finally stops in front of me, I look up at her and watch as the hurt in her eyes turns to pure hatred–the blues turning darker and the light from them dimming slightly.
Say something, Karson you dumb fuck.
But she beats me to it.
“Get out,” she says quietly but firmly, so only I can hear her. And I’m not sure why but the venom in her tone makes me smirk. The rage in her gaze grows, and I laugh.
“Miss me?”