“There, I figured out who’s trying to get into my apartment for you,” she breathes. “I did your fucking job. Now, do yours and find out who they are becauseI. Can’t. Remember.”
She sniffs back a sob, her voice gasping when she goes on.
“I can’t remember.I can’t remember.I don’t know what they did to me. All I remember is the floor and their voices and… I don’t… Just find them.Please.”
I’m scared.
I’m scared.
I’m scared.
Her texts repeat in my head, and I wonder if she felt like this the other night when she texted me, if she was sitting in her room crying at the thought of them coming near her once more.
“Okay,” I whisper.
Bonnie blows out an audible breath as if relieved that I didn’t say anything else. Her gaze lifts to the ceiling, and when she looks at me again, seconds later, she nods.
“Thank you,” she breathes.
I sink my hip against the countertop and watch her pull a cat onesie out of her bag, her breaths slowly evening. Relief fills me that she finally said something, even if I wish to fuck it didn’t cause her so much pain to say it out loud.
Guilt pools in my abdomen, and I know it’ll fester there until I have Trevor and Rad’s dicks as trophies.
It’s another few minutes until she peers my way.
“I thought that confession would have you running for the hills,” she says softly. “Not to mention the phone call… But you already knew about me being attacked, didn’t you?”
My heart plummets for a beat.
“James,” she says. “He told you.”
I try not to show my relief on my face.
“James said you told him some men attacked you and that your stalker saved you,” I say. “He didn’t know the entire story, even if he had his suspicions.”
She nods. “If you’re not considering running, maybe you should,” she says. “I think the guys would understand if you quit. You shouldn’t have to put up with this.”
“Bonnie, I’m not going anywhere,” I tell her. “I’m not going to abandon you.”
“Why?” she asks, coming around the bed. “Why stay? This isn’t what you signed up for.”
“What makes you think that?” I ask.
“No one wants this,” she says. “No one wants someone this fucked up. You should run.”
“Stop pushing me away,” I say breathlessly, my eyes closing.
“I’m not,” she says. “I’m just stating the facts—”
“Yes, you are,” I say, unwrapping my arms from my chest. “You think I actually believe that the argument you were trying to have with me before that call wasn’t some attempt to push me out? You think you’re not telling me to run right now in thehopes that I’ll believe what you want me to believe? That you actually think Ionlysee you as a client?”
She stares at me, that same pain stretching over her features. “You should,” she whispers. “You shouldn’t want me.”
“That’s too fucking bad because I do,” I tell her. “The last week has been torture not talking to you. It hurts being near you and not smiling and laughing like we werejust doinglast week. Every time you walk into a fucking room and avoid looking at me, I want to hurl myself into a wall. When I wake up, all I’m thinking about is what I can do that day to help you let me in. When I go to bed, I’m reliving every second with you. I’m holding on to every touch you’ve allowed me to take. And as far as your stalker? God, any time you talk about her and how much she knows about you, how you share this connection—even hearing that bastard on the phone is looking for her—I want her to show herself so I can rip her fucking throat out because maybe if I get rid of her, you’ll see me.”
My chest is heaving. I barely feel like I’m making any sense.
And she’s staring at me as if she can’t take a breath either.
