“No idea. He was tall with dark hair.”
“That narrows it down.”
“Look, she was in his apartment for a while, so I thought you should know. It seems whatever they were talking about wasn’t nothing.”
I grit my teeth as the blood starts roaring in my ears. “Send me the address.”
Brennan hangs up the call, and a few seconds later my phone pings with a new message, but I don’t open it. Instead, I stare at the screen like it might offer up an explanation that doesn’t involve Ciara screwing around behind my back.
I know I should give her the benefit of the doubt, so before I can warp this narrative any further, I unlock my phone and dial her number.
“Hey.” Her tone is a little too casual. “Everything okay?”
“Just checking in. What have you been up to?”
There’s a pause. It’s brief but enough for me to catch the slight shift in her tone when she answers.
“I had lunch with Mila in the city. We tried that new little café down on 5th. It’s cute, I think you’d like it.”
I breathe through my nose, trying to stay calm, because she sure as hell wasn’t at a café with Mila today.
“Yeah? Sounds nice.”
“It was. We just sat and talked, nothing particularly exciting to report, I’m afraid.”
“Right.” My voice is clipped, but my rage is starting to boil over.
“Will you be home soon?”
The hopefulness in her voice hurts even more, considering she just outright lied to me.
“I have a few more things to do. I’ll see you later.” I hang up the call before I say something I’ll regret. “Fuck.” I toss the phone on the desk and run a hand down my face.
She flat-out lied, which can only mean one thing: she has something to hide.
Jealousy coils in my gut as I think of Ciara with another man.
I trust her, or at least Iwantto, but I could hear the hesitation in her voice. This wasn’t just some harmless lie. That was a cover story, so whoever this guy is, he clearly means something to her, because she knows what will happen to her if I find out the truth.
And that’s a truth I have every intention of finding.
I programthe address Brennan sent through into my GPS and follow it to a faded red-brick tenement building in the East Village. It looks shady as hell, with entire chunks missing from some of the bricks, and the rusted fire escape that snakes down the side is barely holding on.
The thought of Ciara being here completely unprotected turns my blood cold.
As I approach, I notice the lock to the main door is hanging off, so I easily slip inside and take the stairs two at a time to the second floor.
Swallowing my rage, I ball my hand into a tight fist and rap it against the chipped green door.
Footsteps sound on the other side, and I take one last deep breath before it swings open, revealing a man in his early twenties with sharp, angular features and messy dark hair that falls into his eyes.
He frowns as he looks up at me. “Can I help you?”
I don’t answer.
Instead, I grab the front of his shirt, shove him back into the apartment, and kick the door shut behind me.
“What the hell!” he yells, stumbling backward.
