“I—”
“What the fuck, Adam?” she shouts and runs toward him.
I grab her waist arm and yank her back. He won’t hit her, but the last thing I need her to do is hurt herself. She just had fucking surgery and is still recovering. My wife should be in bed right now. Not dealing with this shit.
“You were pretending to pimp yourself out,” he yells at her. “You were working for me and killing grown-ass men in a run-down motel.” His eyes meet mine before returning to hers. “I couldn’t take that chance. I couldn’t allow anything to happen to you.”
“You should have told me,” I grind out. “I would have?—”
“Removed it,” he interrupts me.
“Absolutely,” I snap. “Having a tracker on my wife is fucked up, but you knew she was in danger. That she had done a job that wasn’t an actual job. I called you…I told you I was looking for her, and all the while, you knew where she was. That is unacceptable.” My heart is racing; my skin is heated. I’m so hot right now I’m sweating. “Where the fuck is it?” I demand.
He sighs and the little pause makes me snap. I rush him, wrapping my arms around his waist and picking his feet up off the floor. The momentum has me ramming his back into the cabinets lined across the back wall, bringing us both to an abrupt stop with a grunt. “I asked you a fucking question,” I grind out, pulling him from the wall and punching him in the face before he even has a chance to answer.
Adam fights back. Good. I don’t want an easy win. I want to fucking smash his face in. I kick out my legs, taking him to the floor, and punch him again. He gets in a couple of hits, but then he goes into defensive mode and uses his arms and hands to shield his face after I get in another good hit.
I’m yanked off him and shoved to the side, and Hooke grabs a hold of me. Tyson comes to stand between us, arms out. I take a second to catch my breath and Hooke steps back knowing I’m not going to jump Adam again.
“Where the fuck is the tracker?” Tyson yells at Adam who still lies on the floor with blood covering his busted face.
“Left…hip.” He rolls to his side and spits blood onto the concrete floor. “Her left hip.”
I turn and grab my wife’s hand, pulling her through the basement and to the elevator. She yanks her hand from mine and crosses her arms over her chest. “I didn’t know,” she whispers.
I can’t talk right now. Not because I’m mad at her but because of how stupid I was. Everything makes sense now. How he knew it wasn’t Eve that I had spoken to that night at Blackout. He tried to tell me that he had spoken to her and knew she was at the motel. But that wasn’t it at all. It’s because he tracked her. How he knew where she lived when she passed out in my arms at her house. Maybe he had been there before, but now I’m not so sure.
I’m so fucking stupid.
“Kash—”
I can’t… “Not right now, Eve.”
“Are you mad at me?” she snaps, grabbing my arm. “It’s not my?—”
“Fault?” I growl, interrupting her and pinning her to the side wall. “Maybe if you hadn’t lied to me.”
“Lied to you about what?” she demands, glaring up at me.
“What you were doing. Working for Adam.” Did she ever really lie, though? She just continued to live her life; I was the one who took it over.
“I—”
“I told you not right now.” It’s not going to be a productive conversation, so it’s pointless.
She huffs and the elevator door opens. I take her hand, and she lets me pull her toward the hospital wing. “Devin?” I call out. “Devin?” I bark.
“Yes?” He runs out of a door and comes to a quick stop. He looks Eve up and down. “What’s wrong?”
“She has a tracker. I need it removed. Now.”
He frowns. “Where is it?”
“Left hip,” I answer.
Nodding, he says. “Of course. Room one.”
I pull her into it and grab her shirt, but she pulls back. “Did you fuck her?”
