She laughs, and it sounds so natural that you’d never guess she’d literally been crying over spilled perfume last night.
She presses a hand to her heart. “Thanks for all the love, fam! I’m okay, but you know what they say,” she shrugs, “When life gives you lemons, you make margaritas, right? So…” A mischievous grin lights up her face. “Today, I’m doing a ‘create a full face with only five products’ challenge! That’s right, guys. Today I’m going to show you how to look fabulous with just the basics.”
I pour my coffee, but I don’t return to the bed. I stay leaning against the counter, watching her work. There’s something mesmerizing about it—not the makeup, she looks better without all that shit, but the way she comes to life. The passion in her voice when she explains why, whatever the fuck it is she’s doing, works better than something else.
She’s in her element, and it’s a sight to behold.
Something shifts in my chest when it hits me how wrong I’ve been about her. There’s a hell of a lot more to June Callowaythan I realized. Way fucking more than the superficial Barbie I thought she was. She’s a survivor. I see it now. The toxic shit with her mom last night, how she didn’t crumble in the face of disaster, she’s a warrior. A girl who rolls with the punches life dishes out.
I rub at the back of my neck, feeling like a fucking idiot for judging her.
I’m still deep in thought when another notification pings on her laptop screen, visible from where I’m standing. June doesn’t notice it, too absorbed in the gunk she’s smearing on her cheek.
But I see it, and my blood runs cold.
user7284591: How could you let him in your bed?
“Stop the stream,” I say, already on the move. “June, stop it now.”
She glances up with big eyes, a warning for me to shut up.
“I mean it, June. Stop the fucking stream!”
“What? I can’t stop, I’m in the middle of?—”
I reach past her and hit the END button on her laptop, killing the feed.
“Hey!” She jumps up from her chair, eyes blazing. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Look.” I point at the message on the screen.
All the color drains from her face as she reads it. “Oh my God.”
“He knows I’m here,” I say, walking over to the window and pulling back the edge of the blinds. “Which means he can see us.”
I glance around the room. There has to be a camera somewhere in here. Grabbing her arm, I pull her away from the windows. “Get dressed. Put on something you can move in.”
“What? Where are we going?” She stumbles after me, still holding her makeup brush.
“Somewhere safe.” I pull out my phone and dial Tacoma.
He answers on the first ring. “Yo.”
“We’ve got a problem,” I tell him, getting straight to the point. “June’s stalker knows I’m here. He’s got cameras in the apartment.”
“Fuck.” Tacoma’s voice is hard. “We need to get you both out of there. I’ll send Gator and Bash to escort you back to the clubhouse.”
“We’ll be ready.” I end the call and turn back to June, who’s standing frozen in the middle of the room with a makeup brush still clutched in her hand.
“June,” I say sharply, snapping her out of it. “Get dressed. Now.”
“You killed my stream,” she whispers, and for a second I start to think she’s going into shock, but then I see the fire in her eyes. “That is my job, Journey. You can’t just take over my life!”
“Not trying to take over shit, princess. I’m trying to keep you alive,” I counter, grabbing the bag Tacoma sent over and pulling out a shirt. “Your content isn’t going to mean shit if this psycho gets his hands on you.”
She throws the makeup brush across the room. “You don’t understand! I need that money to replace all my stuff this asshole destroyed!”
“I’ll buy you new shit,” I snap, yanking the shirt over my head.
