Pink looks hot on you. But you already know that, don’t you? That little tank top you’ve got on... I like it.
The café tilts. The chatter, the espresso machine, Brooklyn’s voice—it all goes muffled and distant, like someone shoved my head underwater.
I glance down at the pink tank top I’m wearing, then to the picture windows. Anyone could be out there. Anyone could be looking at me, right this second, and I’d never know.
“June?” Brooklyn’s voice cuts through my racing thoughts. “Are you okay?”
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Stella adds, her brows knitting together. “And I mean that literally. Your face iswhite.”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I turn my phone around and hold it up so they can see the screen.
I watch their expressions change. Brooklyn shifts her gaze to the biker standing outside the coffee shop door. Stella’s eyes go wide, then narrow, then dart to the windows just like mine did.
“How long has this been going on?” Brooklyn asks, her voice shaky.
“This is the third message,” I manage. “Well, fourth, counting the one from earlier today.”
“Four?” Stella leans across the table. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I thought if I ignored them, they’d stop. I blocked the accounts, but they just keep making new ones.”
Brooklyn glances around like she’s expecting someone to jump out and yellBOO. “We should go upstairs,” she says, already getting to her feet. “Take our coffee up to your place.”
“Agreed.” Stella grabs her cup and loops her arm through mine. “Let’s go.”
I don’t argue. My legs feel like jelly as I stand, clutching my iced latte with both hands to keep them from shaking.
We file out of the Sugar Shack, and Bax peels himself off the wall the second Stella appears.
“Where you going?” He rumbles.
Stella flips him the bird over her shoulder. “Upstairs.”
Growling under his breath about bratty little girls needing their asses spanked, he falls in step behind us.
Did he just…I glance over at Stella and see a bright shade of crimson on her cheeks. My brows go up. Well, okay then.
Someone’s got some splanin’ to do.
Mr. McAbee eyes us as we walk by, but he doesn’t say a word. “You can stay out here.” Stella snipes over her shoulder to the baby biker as we start up the steps.
“Not on your life, brat.” Bax growls, his heavy boots thudding behind us.
Brooklyn’s wide eyes meet mine as we round the corner to my door?—
“What the—” I stop in my tracks.
My door is open.
Not kicked in. Not broken. Just... open.
It’s cracked open about six inches, like someone let themselves in and didn’t bother closing it behind them.
“IknowI locked it, I always lock it. I checked twice before I left because that’s what I do now, ever since the first message.”
“Move,” Bax growls, shouldering past us. He takes in the open door, then points a tattooed finger at Stella. “Stay here.”
She narrows her eyes, but doesn’t argue.
