Snatching up my phone and whipping the bathroom door open, I step into the hall in ankle boots, turning left and striding through my apartment until I reach the clutch I already tossed onto the counter.
Cato bounds up on the couch and spins on his knees, his elbows on the top of the cushions and his eyes narrowing to suspicious slits.
Ignoring him, I slide my phone into the clutch and carefully, discreetly, check for supplies.
As in, a blade.
“Where are you going?”
I grab my work bag and take out the box of pills Soph sent over. Opening the package and staring at the long line of trial meds they expect me to be the guinea pig for, I chew on my bottom lip and consider… stare… wonder…
“Doctor Cutie?” Cato climbs off the couch and comes around to stare down at me, the heat of his glare enough to warm the side of my face. “You’re dressed for a date.”
I select a single pill and tuck it into my clutch, zipping it into the tiny pocket sewn inside. Then, closing the box again, I toss it back into my bag and head toward the door.
“I’m going out for a couple of hours.” I wrap my palm around the doorknob and pull. “I’ll be back in a little?—”
Cato slams it closed again. Grabbing my shoulder, he pushes me around and shoves my back against the wall. “Unless you’reheading out on a date with my brother, I’m afraid I can’t allow you to leave this apartment tonight.” His eyes fire with potent rage. His lips firming into unhappy, flat lines. “He might be screwing everything up right now, but I’m not gonna stand here and allow you to compound the problems.”
“Move.” I jab my fist against his rock-hard belly, digging my knuckles in, and stun him enough to get the door open far enough to create a gap I can slip through. Before Harrison can push away from his post, I shake my head. “No. You’re staying here tonight.”
“Ma’am.” He follows me onto the stairs anyway. “If you’d like to go somewhere, I’m happy to drive you.”
“Iamgoing somewhere.” I peek over my shoulder and fake a grin, my feet moving quickly down the stairs, onto the third-floor landing, and then down some more. “But I don’t need you to drive me.”
“But I insis?—”
“Iinsist you respect my wishes.” I practically jog down the next flight, and the flight after that, so when I reach the bottom floor and the space my dear landlord would normally wait to greet me, I whip open the heavy glass door and study the shiny black town car pulling up at the curb.Right on time.Glancing back, I raise a single hand and bring Harrison to a skidding stop.
And behind him, a furious Cato.
“There has never been a point in all the time I’ve known the Malones that I’ve openly acceptedthis.” I gesture toward them both. “The security. The protection. The drivers.” I meet Cato’s eyes. “The brother who thinks he can control where I go and with whom I speak.”
“Come back upstairs,” he snarls. “You’re operating on flawed emotion right now, Mayet. You’re pissed, and my brother is a fucking idiot. But going out tonight helps no one.”
“Actually, that’s where you’re wrong. It helpsme.” I lower my gaze and glower as Harrison pulls his phone out of his pocket. “You’ll snitch, and I’ll do as I please anyway. Fortunately, I’ve never been afraid of the people you callBoss.” I drag the glass door fully open and step into the putrid evening heat. “I’ll be back later.”
“Minka!” Cato bounds down the stairs in baggy basketball shorts, a tank that shows offmostof his ribs and the sides of his pecs, and absolutely no shoes, so when he bursts onto the sidewalk and realizes the heat, he hops in place. “Mayet!”
I stalk toward the black car and slide into the back seat, pulling the door closed on my own as the driver—no clue who he is!—comes to the front and settles in. “Jennings, ma’am?”
“Yes, please.” I glance right just in time for the doors to lock and for Cato to grab the handle. “Quickly.”
“Minka Mayet!” He pounds the side of his fist against the window. “If I liked you less, I’d shoot you in your fuckin’ kneecaps to keep you here.”
“Moving quickly.” The driver pulls away from the curb with a fast drop of his foot on the gas pedal. “He seems overprotective.”
“He means well.”Crossing my legs and fixing my seatbelt, I reach into my clutch and take out my phone. Navigating to the text screen, I search for Archer’s first.
It’s a mistake I should know better than to make, because he hasn’t sent me a rock since Saturday, back when I was strappedto a stylist’s chair and forced through hours of beautifying rituals in preparation for Aubree’s wedding.
Back when we were still together… still strong… still happy.
Exhaling a shuddering breath, I exit our barren chat and move to the next.
Me:
You probably already know, but I’m in the car heading to the restaurant.
