The moment I stepped inside the hairs on the back of my neck rose. The air felt too still, like the house was holding its breath.
My hand drifted toward the Glock in my purse, but I stopped, remembering I didn’t have a silencer. One shot and the cops would be all up and through here. I reached for the blade on my thigh instead.
I moved through the house slowly, flicking on lights as I went. The living room and kitchen were clear. Nothing in the guest rooms, but the tension in my body wouldn’t let up.
It was hot. I’d left the AC off all day and the heat clung to me, making my dress stick to my skin. I turned the thermostat down before heading toward the main bedroom.
Maybe I was being paranoid—insomniahadbeen beating my ass lately, but my father always told me not to ignore my intuition.
And right now, mine was screaming.
I crept toward the bedroom and tightened my grip around the knife handle. My eyes flicked to the armchair in the corner, and I let the blade fly.
“Damn! What the fuck?!”
My chest tightened the moment I heard the voice.
I cut the lights on.
Fontaine.
He sat there, jaw clenched, and grimaced as he pulled the knife from his arm. The blood ran down in slow trails.
I froze, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.
Please don’t let him see how rattled I am.
It’d been two months since I ghosted him in New York. Two months since I ruined everything and left him with nothing but questions. His face had been haunting me ever since, showing up in dreams like a punishment I knew I deserved.
I knew he’d find me eventually. Fontaine could find anybody, anywhere when he wanted to. Still, the sight of him in the bedroom knocked the wind out of me.
I licked my dry lips and took a deep breath, trying to pull myself together.
“You shouldn’t be sitting in the dark like a damn stalker,” I snapped.
He shot me a dirty look as he peeled off his shirt and pressed it against the wound.
I forced myself to look away before I could get distracted by the tattoos stretched across his torso and arms, before my memory reminded me how safe I’d felt against his solid frame.
I brushed past him and headed to the en-suite bathroom. He followed behind me and I slammed the door shut in his face.
“I need to pee,” I said through the door. “Use the bathroom down the hall.”
“For real, Nairobi?”
I didn’t answer.
After I finished, I stood at the sink and stared at my reflection.
“Bitch, you literally just killed a man an hour ago. Get your shit together,” I muttered.
I slipped out of the cream mini-dress I’d been wearing and stepped in the shower, letting the hot water ease the tension in my shoulders. I lathered my washcloth and tried to push the image of a bleeding Fontaine out my head. Maybe he’d be gone by the time I got out.
But the door creaked open like he’d heard my thoughts.
His presence filled the room, his energy shifting something in the air. When he stepped into the shower, I didn't turn around. His hand found my waist and my breath caught as he pulled me back against him.
“So you was just gon’ leave me out there to bleed?” he murmured, lips brushing my ear.
