Page 94 of Cavaliere

WREN

There are a few drunk girls leaving the bathroom, unaware of the events that just occurred as I sprint toward the office.

I’ll probably go to hell for this, but I didn’t bother to stop and tell them to get back inside the bathroom and lock the door. I don’t know them, and I sure as hell do not have time to try to talk to a grown-ass adult like a toddler and explain what just happened. It’s probably from working in a bar for so long, but my patience for drunk people when I’m sober and not on shift is basically non-existent.

Once I reach the office, I quickly shut and lock the door. Slamming my back into it in relief as I slide down until my ass hits the cool tile.

God, I hope Matteo is okay.

I’m starting to think I’m the bad luck charm in this whole scenario. This is the second time we’ve been shot at. That can’t be a coincidence.

I sit on the floor for a long time. It isn’t until my ass has that cold, numbing feeling that I finally get up. Just as I get to my feet, there’s a loud knock on the door.

“Who is it?” I call through the door. If I make it out alive, I’m telling Cain he needs to put one of those little peepholes in this door. It would really make these types of situations a little more convenient.

Silence.

The hairs on my arms are starting to stand up because something doesn’t feel right.

Matteo or any of the guys would have answered me.

“Hello?” I try again, proud of myself for not letting the fear that's coursing through my veins be known.

Silence.

My heart is loudly pounding in my ears as the door handle starts to jiggle. It jiggles faster and faster until whoever is on the other side starts body-slamming into it.

I made myself a sitting fucking duck.

Great.

Another big slam against the door, and it starts to crack.

I dart around the desk, frantically moving various items and papers around the desk, trying to find something, anything, to use to defend myself if it comes to that. I know Cain has to have a gun stashed in here somewhere. I yank open the top drawer, finding nothing but a fifth of Jameson that maybe has a swallow left. Of course he wouldn’t keep a gun in the obvious place.

Fuck my life, dude.

I jump as the person rams the door again. This time I can see into the hallway through the little slit between the frame and the edge of the door from the lock being bent now, not letting it close properly.

One more ram, and they’re in.

The door comes crashing in, splitting the rest of the way as soon as it hits the wall, falling to the floor in pieces.

I freeze as I come face to face with the same man who stalked me home, broke into my apartment, and tried to kill me.

“You’re a hard woman to get alone, Wren,” he says. A chill runs down my spine at the edge in his tone.

I swallow the lump that’s formed in my throat. “Why do you want me alone?”

“You’re a loose end.” He shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “As much as I would love to stay and have a nice chat, we can’t.”

I take a step back with every step he takes forward until my back hits the row of filing cabinets behind the desk.

My eyes quickly dart around the room, trying to find a way out, but I see nothing. I’m trapped.

“Why can’t we?” I never thought I would be trying to reason with a psychopath, but here we are. Anything to buy a little bit of time.

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” he snaps, slamming his fist on the desk. “You saw.”