She swaps out a needle and clicks something into place.
“So—” she begins, tone shifting, “this design… the shield knot.”
The sound picks up again. The buzz is low, rhythmic, almost soothing.
“Protection from anything specific?” she asks, casual.
A breath leaves my lungs, dark and bitter.
“Yeah,” I mutter, eyes still closed, jaw tense. “Protection from a little thing that’s driving me fucking insane.”
Chapter Ten
Autumn
I’m never leaving my house again. Why the hell was he there? Viviana knew—she fucking knew.
I grab my phone and open our chat. The last message shows nothing about Flynn being at that hotel.
Me:Hey Vi, quick question. Did you happen to forget to tell me Flynn was at the hotel?
The message delivers, and she sees it almost instantly. The typing dots appear, disappear, appear again.
Viviana:Well, there was a meeting there with Declan and the guys. I thought I told you ??
Me:No, you didn’t.
Viviana:And did you see Flynn? Did you tell him?
I roll my eyes.
Me:No. He doesn’t need to know.
I toss the phone onto the couch and head downstairs to grab my mail. Bills. A plain envelope. No sender, no stamp. My stomach drops as I climb the stairs, tearing it open.
You know who you belong to, and it’s not that fucker. Stop playing with me, Autumn, or face the consequences.
My heart stops cold. The door slams shut behind me before I even think. I lock it, twisting the bolt twice, eyes darting around the apartment like the bastard might step out from a shadow.
Did he follow me to the hotel? Of course he did. Stupid fucking question.
But how did he know Flynn was there? Did he see him walk in? Did he think I was meeting him?
The thought pulls a smile I can’t control. Meeting Flynn at a hotel… that bed. The size of it. The way he looked at me that night, I could barely see him through the dark, both of us half dressed, breathless. I wonder what his body looks like beneath all that control.
My gaze drops to the letter again. Right. That bastard. He’s still watching me. Doesn’t he have a life? Is he just sitting across the street every damn day, waiting?
Rage spikes through my veins. I storm to my desk, grab a sheet of paper, and scrawl the words in thick black marker.
I FUCK WHO I WANT.
Tape in hand, I slap the note to the front window facing the street. If he’s out there, he’ll see it. He’ll fucking choke on it.
I’m done playing nice.
Part of me wants to pack my things, run again, hide again. The other part burns too hot for that. That part wants to fight back, to show him I’m not his.
Taking a deep breath, I try to stay calm and fail miserably. So I do what always works when my head feels too loud, I deep clean.
