At least he replaced the Band-Aid on his eyebrow...
My hands were clammy as I watched him approach. I forgot how tall he was up close as my eyes slowly lifted to his height until he stood directly in front of me. Only two feet away.
“You shouldn’t be here.” Frustration laced every syllable as he kept his voice low enough for only me to hear, tucking his hands into the pockets of his shorts while blocking the other men from view. Not my view, I realized but their own. They were beginning to eavesdrop as they passed by, sniggering and muttering things under their breath to one another as they watched.
The urge to scoff in response to what Romeo said caught in the back of my throat. My confidence waned as I pulled out his phone again and lifted it between us. I settled for a sharper than I had meant to, “You’re welcome, by the way.”
“I never asked you to bring it back,” he hissed, snatching the phone from my fingers and shoving it into the pocket of his shorts.
Forget returning it to him or handing it to the police, I should’ve thrown the phone into the dumpster I rolled into him.
“I was being courteous—”
The door to the corridor opened with a click and whine, bringing our attention to who had entered the basement. Meanwhile, the other men in the room quickly returned to their workouts, making themselves look busy instead of eavesdropping in on our conversation.
From looking through the doorway in the dividing wall, I saw two people had entered the basement, both in casual conversation.
One was a woman with long and wavy raven-colored hair. She was fiercely beautiful and knew it, walking with confidence in a black pair of skin-tight jeans, heels, and a white crop top as she held a clipboard in her red nail-polished fingertips.
The other person was the white-haired man from Saturday night. He was dressed sharply in a business suit, with his white hair styled in an old-fashioned quiff. A cane supported the limp in his right leg as he walked.
Dean suddenly stepped in front of me, blocking me from view again but standing much closer. Close enough for me to see the details of the moth tattooed across his throat. The little skull in the design sat right over his Adam’s apple.
“What are you doing?” I breathed. My throat bobbed dryly as I looked down at where he gently grabbed my arm. His touch was lighter than yesterday morning when he pushed me into the wall, hands warm and calloused against my skin.
There weren’t any hidden motives in this hold. It was a simple gesture to grab my attention, which it had. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I had frozen to the spot and momentarily held my breath, anticipating the moment Romeo did something worse.
But he didn’t.
“You’ve gotta go,” he whispered. The urgency in his deep voice made my heart skip. “Use the back door—”
The voice that cut him off was calm and that of an old Italian New Yorker. The white-haired man said, “Dean. Just the man I wanted to see.”
Dean closed his eyes as his jaw clenched before he turned his back to me.
“Boss,” he acknowledged curtly.
Boss, as in this man wasn’t just a wealthy trainer, or fight benefactor. He employed these fighters illegally.
I paused behind Dean, torn between waiting out the conversation or making a hasty and awkward walk to the back door.
"It's been handled," the white-haired man continued. This time with an air of authority in his voice. "Be careful next time, hm?"
My eyes widened slightly.
It’s been handled.
Did he have something to do with Marcus Woods’ disappearance?
"Yes, Boss," Dean said solemnly.
"Good… Are you going to introduce me to your young lady friend?"
My body tensed as I became too aware of myself, suddenly feeling vulnerable when Dean stepped aside.
The woman raised a perfectly sculpted dark brow as her almost golden, brown eyes flicked between Dean and me. Eventually settling on Dean, she crossed her arms and cocked her head to one side, an unspoken question on her face.
"I don't know her," Dean shrugged simply, acting like he hadn't just told me off. It was difficult to know who he answered.
