Seriously, what is my life that this has become a normal question?
“It’s eight p.m. on Wednesday night,” Prek offers, finally breaking his silence, and relief filters through me that I haven’t lost another day, just a handful of hours.
“I need to call my family,” I repeat simply, unsure if this is going to be allowed or not.
I feel as though I’m calling the Major’s bluff. This could go a couple of ways. She could deflect and try to distract me from what I’m asking. Flat out refuse to let me. Or she could hand me a phone. I’m not sure which direction she’ll take. We both know there is more to this than my protection, but I don’t know if she’ll show her hand this soon. Not when they want something from me, or at least I’m assuming that’s why I’m really here.
We watch each other for a moment, and then she nods once. “I’ll arrange for one to be sent up immediately. Prek, with me.” And with that, both Major Griego and Prek leave, the door shutting quietly behind them.
I almost expected Rogan to be out there, waiting to barge back in to threaten Prek some more and hurry along whatever is going on, but the hallway is empty. Annoyingly, there’s a part of me that’s relieved by that and a part of me that’s not. I release a weary breath and look around my new quarters. I start to pick up everything I haphazardly tossed around when I assumed this was someone else’s home. The lights from the bustling city all around me bleed into the apartment, and it’s a far cry from the trees and fresh air of Tennessee.
Traffic moves like choreographed ants far below me, and I stand and watch it as the knot of feelings in my chest tries to untangle itself. The nightmare, or warning or whatever it was, still sits in the forefront of my mind, but so does the hurt and betrayal I feel. It’s like I’m stranded in the middle of an ocean without a life raft or trustworthy person in sight.
I can still smell Rogan, feel his shirt pressed against my cheek, my tears staining it one by one as he carried me against my will away from his aunt’s house. I can feel his arms around me as his actions shattered what we had, what we were. How can I be tethered to someone who would do that to me? His aunt said that everything happens for a reason, that maybe the connection was written in the stars, but how couldthisbe what fate has in store?
I look around me, at the foreign home in a foreign city. I’m more lost than I ever have been in my life. If my dream is a warning, I can’t kill Rogan, and what’s worse is that I don’t even know if I want to. I want him to hurt, and I want him away from me...forever. Unfortunately, I don’t think I can run from him or from the Order. I doubt I’d be allowed to get away, but I also don’t know how I’m supposed to be in the same room with him. I don’t think I can interact with him or get past what he did.
A knock at the door startles me. I jump, jolted from my melancholic imaginings and move to open it. Conveniently, there’s no peephole. I hope it’s just a messenger with a phone in their hand for me, and no one else. But as I crack the door hesitantly, I’m forced to huff out an irritated sigh. Themessengerwith a phone in his taunting hold is Prek.
I open the door wider and try to reach out and pluck the device from his grasp, but he uses that opportunity to push his way into my quarters.
“Hey! I didn’t invite you in,” I snap as he moves past me and parks his unwelcome ass on a low-back stool he pulls out from the eat-in nook in the kitchen.
“I’m your protective detail, I don’t need permission,” he announces evenly, sliding the phone across the counter toward me. I move to catch it, his entitled, blasé attitude grating on my last nerve. I glare at him, taking in his cocky countenance. He’s not much older than I am, decked out in an all-black military-style uniform with yellow embroidery that I think indicates his rank in the Order, but I’m not sure. The onyx of the uniform against his dark skin, bald head, and short neat beard makes him appear shadow-like and lethal. He clearly thinks entirely too much of himself, and I suddenly feel as though it’smyduty to correct that.
“Well, go stand outside and shine your head or something. You’re sure as hell not welcome in here.”
Yeah, I’ll have to work on better material than that.
“No can do,Leni,” he quips. “The Major gave me strict orders to get that back when you’re done with it and to not leave you alone while you have it,” he informs me, his chin tilting to indicate the phone in my hand. He looks like some brownnoser who’s been put in charge, and you know he’s justlovingthe power that’s been bestowed on him.
Heat burns in my cheeks, and anger boils in my stomach. “Who the fuck does she think I’m going to call? Why on earth wouldmyconversation need to be monitored?” I demand, power welling in my chest, ready and waiting to be called on. I work to internally calm down, no use showing that I’m not as affected as I’m supposed to be by their security measures. I need to save that surprise for when I can take firm advantage of it.
Prek shrugs arrogantly in response, and we stare at each other for a beat. I get the distinct impression that he wants me to argue, to try and fight this or maybe him in some way. I’m not sure what he has up his sleeve to level the playing field this go-round, but I’m not interested in finding out.Fucking weasel.
I pull in a deep breath in an effort to keep from doing something I might regret. My eyes never leave Prek’s cocky stare, and I silently replay in my head what he looked like the night I almost killed him on the side of the road. He can smirk at me all he wants, thinking he has the upper hand, but we both know who won when we went head-to-head. It should probably concern me that such a morbid thought offers me comfort and reassurance, but I don’t question it. I’ve done enough questioning in my lifetime, and look where I ended up anyway. No. Now it’s time to become what was always written in the stars. Now it’s time to embrace everything that’s happening to me.
“Fine,” I concede, looking down at the phone and opening it. I punch in Tad’s number, grateful for the night he forced me to memorize itjust in case.
“Leni, is that you?” he greets me, and a calm washes over me at the sound of my cousin’s voice.
“It’s me,” I confirm, my shoulders sagging as if my body wants to fold in on itself with sorrow.
“Lynyrd Skynyrd, where in goat balls have you been?” Tad demands frantically.
I bark out a weary laugh. “Goat balls?” I tease, melancholy and relief dancing together in my chest. “Is Hillen there?”
“No, she’s at Uncle Glen’s, helping with Jill. Don’t be jealous of my creative swearing skills, and don’t change the subject. Where have you been? I’ve only tried to get a hold of you a kabillion times in the past couple days,” he informs me, and my relief is quickly replaced by worry.
“Why, what happened?” I ask as my mind starts whipping up worst case scenarios like Julia Child whips up egg whites.
“What? Nothing,” Tad reassures me. “I mean, other than my gaydar is still intact and active, oh, and someone broke into Grammy Ruby’s shop, well, your shop now—”
“What? Do they know who? Did they take anything?”
“Not that we can tell. You have the grimoire and the bones, right?” I look around me as though I expect them to be right there, but then I remember that I left everything at Rogan’s house. An itch to summon my bones just to make sure I can starts just beneath my skin, but I’m not sure if that’s something I should be able to do with the wards they’ve set around this place. I debate if I should go into the bathroom and try, but I figure that will just make Prek even more suspicious.
Shit.
