Flipping my turn signal on, I wait for traffic to clear to take the final left into my apartment complex. My attention slices to my rearview mirror, snagging on the moronic driver behind me, who sped between two crowded lanes and landed a wheelie moments ago.
Without a freaking care in the world, Maddox revs the engine of his black-and-silver MV Agusta Brutale 1000 RR—a high-performance, hyper-naked street bike. She’s stunning. I have a thing for motorcycles. It’s the owner who’s the issue.
After his galling and flirtatious texts, I was plagued with anxiety for the rest of my shift. I pierced two sets of nipples, a belly button, and five ears. I inked nontraditional marriage vows down a couple’s spines and a Mardi Gras mask onto the hip of a twenty-something girl who divulged far more about her life than she should have. And since we had an extra artist on the schedule today, when things slowed, my co-workers let me take some downtime, so I completed a sketch for my upcoming project.
That should have made it a good day.
But instead, Maddox’s suggestive messages kept drifting through my mind. They were unsettling—or I’d like to believe they were. Part of me was having a blast, waiting with bated breath to see what he’d come up with next. I was even momentarily enamored by the picture he painted. It’s been a long time since someone has made meforget my nameorwalk crooked.
Not that he’s the man to do it, but the texting confused things. Until I reminded myself that this was all some sort of power play for Maddox. His behavior is likely a cover for something worse. That’s when trepidation snaked around me like a boa constrictor.
I added several entries to my Things That Piss Me Off list, which is my go-to stress-relieving method.
Autocorrect gone rogue; buffets; long lines, especially for stupid reasons, like the freaking self-checkout not recognizing an item; establishments that prohibit lids and straws; newsboy hats.
That did nothing to take the edge off.
It’s not as if he’s never come on to me before. He flirts with everyone. It’s who he is. But he usually keeps his distance from me, which I appreciate. It’s impossible to forget that I’m under his thumb, but tolerable when I don’t have him shoving it in my face. Or shoving weapons at me for that matter.
He’s done that before too, but this felt different. When he’d given me the knife last fall, he’d claimed he wanted me to take extra precautions because a member had breached the bylaws and harmed someone. That doesn’t happen often. The Noires don’t tell employees how they handle those infractions. But we know. If a member breaks Noire rules, they don’t leave. They also don’t live. Since there is always a small chance someone might seek retribution on behalf of the member who brokethe bylaws and was thus punished, security measures were tightened afterward. So, his concern nettled me, but it made sense.
This time, he didn’t offer an explanation, and there’s been no breach of bylaws. Which means he’s either hiding things or … I don’t even know what the other option is. My gut roils.
Pulling into my spot, I cut the ignition and gather my stuff. After I stash my small purse inside my work bag, I sling it over my shoulder and hop out of my car. Maddox parks his motorcycle right beside me, despite the sign prohibiting it. Boundaries never seem to apply to him.
“You escorted me home for God knows what reason.” I shoot a dagger of warning at him as he removes his helmet, and I shut my door with my hip. “No need to park. You’re not staying.”
“Didn’t your mama raise you with better manners than that?” he mocks, and I cringe at him talking about my family, even in jest. “You’re not going to invite me in? Offer me some sweet tea?”
He’s dressed in a form-fitted black T-shirt, jeans, and a light leather jacket. It’s rare that he’s clad in something so casual, and it’s messing with my head. I have the uncanny urge to lean in and smell him. Of course that’s followed by a vision of kneeing him in the balls, so I’m not too far gone.
“I’ve got nothing even remotely sweet to offer, so if that’s what you’re looking for, you came to the wrong place.”
“I doubt that.” He mutters that sentence, which only enhances the tantalizing nature of it.
Is he hitting on me? For real? That’s the last thing I need. My pulse gallops, my chest tightening from the stampede on my rib cage.
After I flit my eyes around the parking lot, assuring myself that no one’s around, I plant them on him. “Are you bored? Did you just need to annoy someone today? Or am I missingsomething? Does someone …” I swallow a lump of fear that enrages me. I refuse to feel weak. “Am I in danger?”
How could that even be? It’s been years. My subconscious is jumping to conclusions.
That night will never stop haunting me.
He scans me for a minute, those wintry irises searing into me with depths of emotion I can’t discern. That’s not entirely new, I suppose. His gaze raking over me is always a perplexing sensation of razor blades and cashmere sweaters. It cuts and caresses.
He glances at my apartment complex. “I thought it was a good time to check the safety of your living situation.”
“That’s bullshit, Maddox.” I clutch the strap of my bag, adjusting it on my shoulder with a heavy breath. “What are you, the La Lune Noire neighborhood watch committee now?”
“At your service.” He winks, and my traitorous stomach flutters.
An unbidden threatening snarl springs from me. I’m close to losing it. Tension claws at my arms, so I take off for the entrance, cursing my favorite black boots because the spiked heel is making it impossible to outrun his mammoth strides.
Why the hell is he following me?
As I swipe my key card to unlock the lobby door, I block the entrance and summon every morsel of strength and maturity I have in my bones to get to the point, cordially. “If there’s something going on or something I should know … Is my family in danger?”
His shoulders sag a bit, as if my question disappoints him. “I’ll always make sure you and your family are safe, Tess.”
