“Fuck that.”
The bag lands with a loud thump as I throw it back into the locker.
I’m about to slam the door and get the hell out of here when something stops me in my tracks.
A feeling. That same incessant nagging from earlier.
Any second now, someone could walk in, I’m aware.
Still, as I curse under my breath, I listen to my instincts and go through the pile of clothes.
What I find there is a pair of pink cotton panties, folded into a neat little square.
Just the sight of it, and the pressure in my jeans becomes unbearable. Because protecting her modesty like that, I can only assume she hasn’t let anyone else see them. Some part of her has been untouched, I can sense it.
Maybe all of her.
Maybe she never let anyone touch her because she was waiting for me.
Ridiculous. She stopped caring a long time ago.
It shouldn’t matter either way.
Except…
My heart pumps even more blood to my groin. Precum dampens the tip of my cock.
I pocket the panties that I’ll put to good use tonight, slip out of the hospital, then slide into my black SUV and peel out of the parking lot.
Blending through the light traffic, I head toward the highway. Toward the home I moved into right after Barclay’s trial. Thirty minutes up the road, there’s an old estate that offersa view of the Hudson River. Of the people who killed the boy I once was.
While I drive, thoughts filter in. The worst kind. Like how I don’t really give a fuck about her panties. How I worry about how lonely she is. How lifeless.
The need to shield her and forget that anything bad ever happened between us isn’t just strong anymore. It’s destructive. It’ll ruin my plans.
I drag a hand through my hair, rough enough to hurt.
Confusion and anger swirl in my chest and…seriously, what the fuck?
Damn her. Damn the universe for making my heart beat twice as fast for her.
I’m fucking spiraling, and I can’t afford that. Not before I get what I’m owed.
Time to speed things up. Give Elowyn the shove she doesn’t want, but needs.
I thumb my county’s contact number and dial.
He answers on the second ring.
“Hold on.” In the background, old floorboards creak as he must step out of his bedroom to take the call. “Hello?”
“Raymond,” I say, voice calm.
“The Restorer.” He recognizes me instantly, even though my number comes up as unknown.
“Need a favor.”
“Anything,” he blurts out. “Say the word, and I’ll make it happen.”
