I glance at Willa, who’s already following Hayami, signalling with her eyes that she’s got this, though I doubt she does—not by my standards, anyway.
“Make sure you go in with her,” I say into my cuff mic.
“I’m not going into the cubicle with her.She doesn’t need me to wipe her ass,” Willa replies.
“But he’s in there waiting for her.”This isn’t the first time she’s pulled this stunt—asked some guy to go into the bathroom to wait for her in a cubicle.
As we arrive outside the women’s bathroom, anger rumbles through me like the tremors of an impending earthquake at the thought of what that scumbag could be doing to her right now.
“You’ve gotta cut her some slack,” Willa says, placing her hand on the door before turning to me.
“Like fuck I do.Do you not remember the time she asked a guy to meet her in the cubicle, and he tried to slip her those pills?If anyone is going to kill her, that would be the easiest way.”
She rolls her eyes.She knows I’m right.
“Okay, I’ll check on her.”
She pushes open the bathroom door just as a horde of women flood out, lips thick with freshly applied gloss, hair tousled and smoothed, ready to flock back into the thick of the club.They clock Willa, pay her no attention, then lock eyes with me.Their reaction is like it always is in dark places.They see my size, take in the muscles, notice the dark hair, the perfect side of my face that showcases my good looks, and they giggle, elbowing one another, getting ready to say something flirtatious—until I turn my head and they gasp, lean into one another, and scurry off.
I hold the door open and watch Willa disappear through another internal door, which swings shut behind her, leaving me blind to the situation.
Fuck.
“What’s going on?I have no visual,” I ask.
“It’s fine.She’s fine.”
“Is he in there with her?”My skin starts to prickle as my mind begins to create images, and they’re always of the worst-possible scenario.Hayami being strangled.Hayami being beaten.Hayami being molested.
There’s no answer.It means that fucker is in there with her.
Fuck.
Willa is too soft.She doesn’t see the danger.She tries to give Hayami her space, tries to let her live as normal a life as possible, where women get touched up by strange men in clubs, but I can’t picture anything other than his fucking hands on her.All I want to do is charge into the bathroom and rip his fucking head off, but that’d be extremely unprofessional.
Adrenaline floods my veins.
What is he doing to her?Why is she letting a slimeball like him touch her?When will she realise that she’s worth more than him?She’s worth more than all of us.
My feet are over the threshold, and I imagine Willa already berating me for overstepping the mark, which stops me.I’ve no just cause to barge in there and kill that guy with my bare hands.I have to let Hayami live her life.
Sweat coats my back.Rage boils beneath my skin.Then, just when I think all is lost, my earpiece crackles as Markus’s voice travels through the airwaves.I hear two words that normally strike the fear of God in me, but right now, they’re music to my ears.
“Code red.I repeat, we have a code red.”
FOUR
HAYAMI
FIVE MONTHS AGO
The shopping centreis bustling with late-night shoppers all getting their retail thrill at the end of a boring day at work.I’ve been at university, Bastian babysitting me for that little stint, and now it’s the Hellhound’s turn to watch over me.
He’s been on my security team for a few weeks now—despite my insistence that my father get rid of him.I’m still reeling from him pulling me from the clutches of the water I believed was the answer to everything.But the Beast decided otherwise.
No one’s told me he used to be a Hellhound, but it doesn’t take a fucking genius to work it out.He’s not your average businessman—not with a face like that.But fuck me, I never would have thought my father would let a Hellhound onto our estate, let alone in our house.
The day I took that swim now feels surreal.The conversation with my father the night before had been the start of it, the beginning of the nightmare that doesn’t feel like it’ll ever end.
