The bad guys are obviously really bad and probably haven’t just given up on losing out on the nearly three quarters of a million dollars I took. Not to mention the embarrassment to my ex of me taking off. And that other thing that was in the bag. I can’t even think about that other thing that I found in the bottom of that bag without bile rising up the back of my throat. The only thing as scary as that other thing are the threats Thad made to me before I took off. That’s why I can’t be found.
Have they caught up with me and sent someone to kill me on their behalf? Will I be taken and tortured until I not only give all the money and that vile thing back, but also so that I also know what happens to stupid girls who screw over bad guys? Then, will Thad make me watch as he hurts everyone I care about, or will he just make sure I know that it’s going to happen?
Thad warned me. He warned me and then had his dirty-cop friend test me and show me the images of what would happen to me. I did what I had to do. Got outta Dodge.
I took some self-defense classes in Baltimore, but I’m not convinced that’ll help me if those guys or their thugs are here with guns.
Will it be Thad or Jonah in there? Both of them? If it’s just Thad, will he take what he made clear he wanted from me before he brutally ends me? If it’s Jonah, will I feel anything looking into those gray eyes one more time before he likely ends me with a bullet? Those gorgeous but lying gray eyes. I don’t let thoughts of Jonah Steele penetrate because I have to make a snap decision here.
Go in and take my chances or try to bolt, knowing that if someone’s in there, they’ll chase me, or they won’t need to because I not only can’t run fast but also can’t outrun a bullet.
Might as well face the music. Even though it’s the last thing I want.
I open the door just a smidgeon. I’m expecting to see my apartment trashed or the barrel of a gun, but I don’t. Instead, I spot big, scuffed motorcycle boots crossed at the ankles on the coffee table.
I know those boots.
As the recognition sinks in, I don’t know how to feel about it.
It’s not the Steele brothers here to punish me for running away, to kill me for stealing their big bag of money and the vile thing in that bag. It’s not the dirty cop in Thad’s pocket who was obviously working with a mandate of finding some reason for Thad to find me guilty, so he’d have a reason to kill me (likely after taking what he wants from me).
Nope. It’s Jude Novak, man of my dreams and bane of my existence. And right now it almost feels worse. Almost.
That’s silly, right? Nothing about Jude suggests he’s a murderer. The fact that he’s here doesn’t mean I’m dead meat, so that’s good, right?
So the jig isn’t up. Yet. Alyssa McQueen gets to live another day as Ally Kingston. But right now, I have to deal with Jude, and I really, really do not want to deal with Jude. I let out a heavy sigh as I push the door the rest of the way open.
Even though the trip away for Carly’s wedding was just three days, I feel like I’ll need a week to recover.
Carly and Aiden, whose relationship I take at least partial credit for, had a super short engagement and decided to do things lickety-split, and though it was a great weekend watching my best friend get her happy ending in the most beautiful way and I got to catch up with Meryl, my former roommate who also has her little slice of happy, I’m tired. I’m tired and want my bed. What I don’t want is to deal with the man of my dreams Jude Novak.
I should’ve stayed in paradise. Or run off with Meryl. I think that’s where I’d consider going to get lost again if I caught wind the Steele brothers figured out where I am. Somewhere in The Philippines. Not near Meryl because I wouldn’t want to bring drama and danger to her, but maybe somewhere accessible to her so I don’t have to be 100% alone.
God, I do not need this tonight.
I’m exhausted and a little hung over from the wedding. I’m also of the mindset that this guy right here has to be avoided at all costs. And I don’t have the energy for the confrontation that’s about to happen.
It’s my own damn fault for instigating that booty call last weekend. I did it to cure him of his intrigue with me. And cure me of the burning desire to have sex with him. So, why is he here? Clearly, the booty call was no miracle cure because I’m not over him either. But he can never, ever know that.