“Can I help you?” he asked, a grin spreading across his face, showcasing the barbell in his tongue as he licked his lips.
“Yeah, why have you been parked outside my fucking house all night?” I growled, ignoring his undeniable beauty, remembering the last time I let my hormones cloud my judgment.
As I leaned closer to his car, I discreetly attached a tracker near the side mirror, hoping it would at least give me a clue of where he went when he left. If he found it after, fuck it. At least I’d have a lead.
"Isn't this a public place?" he countered, infuriating me.
"I don't give a damn if it's a public place. You're making me uncomfortable, and I want you to leave," I retorted, the anger rising within me as I found myself obsessively counting each breath I took.
The man's smirk never wavered as he reached for something in the passenger seat, holding it up for me to see. "Just delivering a package," he replied, but his words only fueled my suspicion.
"I don't believe you. Get lost before I call the fucking cops," I snapped, crossing my arms.
I knew he didn't believe I'd actually call them, and, frankly, I didn't believe the words that had just left my mouth either, but I maintained a stoic expression, refusing to show fear. The stranger's grin finally faded, and he rolled up the window without another word, driving away—never producing the alleged package.
As I watched the black Lexus disappear, the unease lingered. Turning on my heel, I went back inside to find Julian and Brady waiting for an explanation.
“Where did you go, Fallon?” Julian asked, rubbing his sleepy blue eyes.
“Outside to check on something. Why don’t you ever call me auntie?” I asked curiously, just realizing I’d never heard him say it.
He shrugged, avoiding my gaze, making me think he was hiding something, but I didn't push him. “I don’t know. I just don’t want to call you that,” he finally said, scooping a forkful of eggs into his mouth.
Brady gave me an odd look, but I waved him off and headed for the coffee, needing a jolt before I got to work plotting my revenge.
“Everything alright, Fallon?” Brady spoke softly, joining me on my walk to the coffee pot, making sure Julian didn’t overhear.
“I’m not sure. There’s been a car parked outside since War left last night, and the man just seems…shady; I don't like it,” I whispered, keeping my head down as I silently counted each breath out of habit. “Make sure Julian stays inside today. I don't want him being seen.”
He nodded, giving me a worried look. “You're freaking me out, sis,” he said, his voice full of concern.
“Yeah, I’m freaked out too. I think Foley found us…”
As I reached the counter—tapping seven times with the tip of my pinky—I paused, contemplating the mysterious car, and the chilling realization struck me: This wasn’t over. This was just the beginning. And I was the one who was going to uncover the truth, no matter what it took.
four
a killer obsession
War
Coming inside, I kicked off my snow-caked boots, leaving them to melt on the welcome mat. Ignoring my buzzing phone, I grabbed a beer, popped the top, and wandered through the house, relishing the icy chill as it slid down my throat. Thinking back to the close call with that woman, I knew I couldn't tell E, but damn, was she a fucking sight for sore eyes. I wondered what E wanted with her. Why was I staking out her place? What the hell could she have possibly done to him?
My phone rang again, and speaking of the devil, it was E. I answered, hoping he'd get the hint and make it quick.
"Yeah, E, what's up?" I asked, taking another swig.
"Was she home?" His voice was a tightrope of hope and resentment.
Gritting my teeth, I paused. I had to tell him something. "Yeah, she was," I admitted, collapsing onto my office couch and firing up the security monitors.
"Well, did you see her, talk to her, or get anything fucking useful, War?" He sounded as pissed as I felt.
"What am I supposed to be fucking looking for, E? You told me to watch her. That's it." I grumbled, eyes glued to the video feed.
"Does she have a kid? Is she alone? Shit like that, War. Do your fucking job, will you?" He spat the words, the sound of a drink being poured over the phone.
"Listen," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, "this whole fucking thing feels... off. I don't think I should be involved."
