I didn’t actually listen to a word he said, but I let him think his speech convinced me. It was pricey. Though fully worth it if it makes it easier to conceal biological evidence.
We get the biker on the gurney in what Cormac calls his “intake room,” and I start backing toward the door.
“You’ve got it from here, right?” I say with a hopeful lilt to my tone.
“Not even close.” Cormac turns to a cabinet and opens the top drawer, pulling out an elbow-long pair of black gloves. “Did you pat him down? Does he have a cell phone or wallet? Did you check him for a tracker? What medication did you give him and at what dosage? I need to know how long he’s going to be out for, if possible.”
I rock on my heels, shrugging. “No and no idea. I was more focused on getting the hell out of there before the cops showed up. No idea about a tracker, and Trent dosed him, so it could be anything…”
Cormac’s lashes flutter behind his glasses, like he can’t believe he got stuck with a Neanderthal for a brother. “Just go. I’ll handle it.”
I barely hold back the smile. That’s exactly what I was planning to do, anyway.
After disposing of my clothes in Cormac’s workshop, I have to take the creepy-ass tunnel back to the basement of the house inonly my boots and a towel. It’s cold as fuck, and there are likely spiders, but I’m a grown-ass man.
I deal with that shit, and once I’m inside, I take a scalding shower to clean any cobwebs out of my hair and dress in sweats.
It’s late enough that I could call it a night and it wouldn’t look weird, but I’m sure Patrick wants a status update. I head out into the hallway, intending to go downstairs to check the living room and his office.
Only, I find myself lingering in front of Charlotte’s door.
Jesus.
I’ve got a real problem.
Even knowing she’s right on the other side of the door makes me twitchy. If I had known she was going to come into our lives, I would have put cameras in every room of the house. That way, I could watch her on my phone, reassure myself that she’s okay, and not scare her off in the process.
Is that an invasion of privacy?
Probably.
Okay, it is.
I’m fucking losing it.
Swiping a hand over my face, I shake my head, and I try to force one foot in front of the other.
It’s not fucking working.
She had nightmares last night.
What if she’s in there, trapped in a horrible memory that she can’t escape?
Not that I did much last night.
Wow. I’m legitimately losing my shit over a woman who is likely only here because we kidnapped her and told her she wouldn’t be safe if she left.
Then again, I did just assist in blowing up three bikers for her. I wouldn’t have helped Callum out if it didn’t succeed in keeping Charlotte safe. I’m sure the fourth will be waking up atany time, wishing he had made it into the motel with his mates. Come to think of it, Callum probably won’t like to hear that I didn’t finish the job.
That’s too damn bad.
We’ll dispose of the final biker once Cormac verifies whether he has any helpful information.
I try the door handle to Charlotte’s room before I can talk myself out of the action. I’m shocked she hasn’t locked it, but maybe she feels like she can’t because this isn’t her house?
Her room and the one next door share the same attached bathroom. If it came down to it, I could have let myself in through there.
Lucky is once again spread across the majority of the bed, and I chuckle as I close the door behind me. For being so damn small, he sure takes up a lot of space.
