The tears that I’m barely holding in check threaten to spill, so I refuse to do a mental inventory of everything I’m currently missing. It’s too much, and nothing money can fix anyway.
Not until I get this finished. I’m so close.
I’m sure he wants to scream in frustration, but he simply rolls with it.You’re doing amazing. A few more days at this rate and we might be ready to integrate over the new functions.
With a weak smile, I set my phone aside, getting back to it. While I’m aware of the next knock on my door, I don’t get up this time. The new visitor has my hackles raised for a very different reason, and as soon as I make the mental comparison, realizing it's a visceral reaction to one of myhusbands,I lose my appetite. Working through dinner, I keep pushing, line after line, my anxiety fading away a little more with every passing minute that no one breaks into my apartment.
I’m useful beyond what I was born as. I can do this. It doesn’t matter that I’m broken, I refuse to be dead weight. I’m more than a mate or broodmare. I exist for a reason, and it isn’t as a reward for someone else’s suffering. I’m not some mythical gift, I’m as cursed as the men watching my every move.
I can make a difference in this shitty world, even if it’s only with something as stupid as an operating system, and I don’t need some wolf to do it. What the hell would anyone evendowith that besides run fast and bite people? They have fucking guns; much more effective to murder someone, and with half the effort. You'd think since they probably know forty-seven ways to kill a man and make it look like an accident, the prospect of shifting wouldn't even be something worth fighting over.
***
The hairs on the backof my neck stand on end, goosebumps pebbling across my arms with the ominous sensation of being watched. All traces of grogginess vanish in an instant, and reluctantly, heart lodged in my throat, I crack open my eyelids.
With the curtains drawn, everything is cast in shadow, yet I can't miss the figure looming over me, reaching out a hand. Scrambling upright on the couch, I come up swinging. My fist is caught far too easily, and I quickly run through my options, searching for the most likely to succeed. Out the front door and onto the street to reach whoever’s on watch? Snatch my phone, lock myself in the bathroom? If a deadbolt didn't stop this guy, that pathetic lock won't.
This close to sundown, if I can break the window, they should be able to hear me scream.
"Easy now, mon soleil, it's only me. You’re alright." Slade's calming timbre is an instantaneous balm to my nerves, but my heart still threatens to leap right out of my chest.
Rising to my feet, I tear my hand from his grip, swatting his arm. "What in the actual hell? You gave me a fucking heart attack!" Bending over to clutch my knees, I suck down air, nauseous and skin prickling from the adrenaline overload without an outlet.
"You?" He scoffs. "You haven't answered any of our messages, or brought in the food we've left. We were beginning to worry if we missed an entry point and you slipped out under our noses, or worse, someone found a way in without us knowing."
Frowning at the hostility in his voice, I straighten up, my vision beginning to adjust to the dark. "Reid literally said it was probably poisoned. I was waiting until breakfast to be safe, but I got so caught up in work, I must've missed the knock."
His annoyance fades away instantly, morphing into genuine concern. "That was three days ago, Sabrina."
The statement is more jarring than waking up to someone in my apartment. Tunnel vision is one thing, so I get missing a knock or two, but that many? Taking a better look at him, he's several days overdue for a shave, the worry lines around the corners of his eyes drawing attention to the dark shadows beneath.
Gesturing lamely at the computer on the coffee table, guilt bleeds into my tone. "I finally finished. And after running so manic this past week or so, I must've crashed. Hard, apparently. I honestly wasn't trying to make you worry; I'm sorry."
His expression softens. "I'm glad you finally burned out enough to catch up on some much needed rest." He offers a plastic grocery bag hanging from his free hand. "Eat something to celebrate? Please."
Taking it, I scoot my computer aside and set the bag on the table. “So, which one of you stalkers stole my keys to make a copy?”
Snorting, he backs up a step to give me space. “I picked the lock. It’s incredibly basic, Sabrina, hence why we're on such high alert.” He stares at me expectantly, so I sit down and pull out the container.
“So you drew the short straw to do a welfare check?” I pop a french fry in my mouth. “In case I freaked out and murdered whoever broke in? For all you know, I sleep with a gun under my pillow.”
Gesturing to my burger, he waits until I take a bite to speak. “Not at all, I had to pull rank. The others were ready to storm in here two days ago, and I convinced them it was likely a test to see how much we respected your freedom before attempting to take it away from you.” His lip twitches as he ticks off on his fingers. “One, we know that you don’t; Bo checked your security measures when he stayed over. And two, it wouldn’t be the first time I was shot, so I was prepared to take that risk.”
“Yet you still broke in?”
He shrugs a single shoulder, glancing around my chaotic living room with a frown. “Call me a hypocrite if you like. It’s more important to me to make sure that you’re alright, even if you hate me for it. Par for the course as the head of the family; I’m used to bearing that burden. Cinjin and Boden aren’t, though. It’s hard enough on them right now without adding a fresh blow, so if you were going to be pissed off at any of us, I’d rather it be me. But I had to make sure that you didn’t slip in the shower and drown in the bathtub or something.”
The food turns to lead in my gut, but I take another few bites anyway. It’s just... sad that he’s so used to people hating him, shouldering all of the blame and responsibility, that he accepts it as his due. Yet he takes it all in stride like it’s his birthright, ensuring everyone else is taken care of at the expense of himself.
Reaching for my water bottle, I clear my throat. “Nope, just shitty time management. Thanks for making sure I didn’t starve to death this last week, by the way. I admit I’d likely have lived off of crackers or whatever was convenient in the cupboards otherwise. We’re down to the integration of new functions and bug testing, though, so I can breathe a little easier for a while.” When he doesn’t respond, I murmur, “I’m sorry for making you worry.”
With one last weighted look my way that I can’t interpret, he turns away. Striding across the room and into the kitchen, he opens the fridge and cupboards, promptly closing them again without a word, like he’s taking inventory. Gathering up the overflowing trash, he switches it out for a new bag before heading for the door, taking it with him on his way out.
“Let me know if you need anything.” Then he’s simply gone, setting the doorhandle to lock behind him and shutting it with a resounding click that echoes in his wake.
Despite the drone of the television, his absence makes the background noise practically cease to exist, as if he took something in the room with him when he left. My bubble of denial is officially popped, even the persistent ache in my chest absent, leaving me completely and utterly alone. Finishing off my food, I go latch the deadbolt, though if it was that easy for Slade to pick, I doubt it would stop someone else. Hell, I didn’t even hear him.
And my internal radar was in sleep mode too, not tipping me off until he was a foot away from me.
