“I see that,” I retort tightly, taking a step back. “Sorry I cared. It won’t happen again.”
Tacky and juvenile as that sounds, it’s a bitter girl’s prerogative right now.
I turn and start walking away, but he follows, grabbing my arm. I rip it free from his grip.
“You don’t understand,” he whispers, looking over at a camera. “He could be watching. We don’t know what he’s capable of right now, and his past is mostly a mystery.”
“You put me in a bubble, and I gave you peace of mind. You cared. I’d do anything to ease your mind so that you didn’t worry.” I swallow down the knot in my throat, refusing to get emotional, disallowing my weakness or vulnerability to shine. “I worry too, Logan. Duke got the call your team was hit, and you were all at the hospital. You wouldn’t even answer your phone. Or send a text. Or respond to my hundreds of texts. I can handle a lot of things, but I won’t let you walk all over me, then refuse to offer me the same peace of mind. And then get pissed at me? Talk down to me? Who the hell do you think I am?”
I turn and walk away, and he lets me, because he can’t follow. He can’t make a scene.
The Boogeyman could be watching.
Let the sick bastard come.
I need something to stab.
“Stay with her. I’ll be there as soon as I can get free,” I hear Logan saying, probably to Duke as I keep walking. “And someone find me a fucking phone charger!”
The first tear falls as I step into the open elevator and stab the Lobby button fiercely. I ran up three flights of stairs, worried out of my mind that Logan was hurt when I couldn’t get him to answer my million and one calls or texts.
Turns out, I’m just someone he didn’t bother to think of when I was going out of my mind with all the worst case scenarios.
Dead phone is not a good excuse. Not when everyone on the team is here with their phones he could have used.
Duke slides into the elevators just before the doors close, and he leans against the wall.
He doesn’t say a word, and I toss him the keys the second we hit the lobby. Silently, we make it to the car, and make the long drive home. I don’t speak. The radio is silent. The only noise is the sound of my V8 Mustang vrooming down the street.
My phone lights up with a text from Logan—guess he got that charger—but I don’t bother reading it. Just like he didn’t bother with me.
When we finally reach my house, I take the keys from Duke, but I cross over to the driver’s seat.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Giving you time to get out of my house. I don’t want to be around people right now. All of you better be off my property before I return.”
His eyes widen. “Look, Lana, I get that you’re pissed right now. He’s an overbearing douchebag who just acted like a thoughtless prick, but don’t risk your own safety to punish him. Let us stay and protect you.”
I hold the door open, one foot inside the car. Duke’s a good guy, but it’s hard not to take this out on him, since he’s the only one around right now.
“You have no legal right to be here. Just as you said. I can’t stop you from loitering on the street, but you’re officially trespassing if you stay on my property. Be gone before I get back, or, ironically enough, I’ll call the cops.”
He groans and curses, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. “Where are you going?”
“Wherever the fuck I want to,” I say, flipping him off as I get into the car. “If Logan has a problem with that, remind him it’s a free country,” I add before shutting the door.
Without giving him more time to argue, I crank the car and slam it into first gear, spinning on a dime in my driveway, feeling my rear swing around as I start barreling out. I don’t glance back as I drive to the warehouse in town that Jake rented out. I also drive with my knees as I turn off my phone and pull the battery out.
When I get there, I leave my car in the warehouse before grabbing the keys to the Altima. We have several cars I use when I go to collect the debts. No cameras are out this way, meaning no one ever sees me do this.
The warehouse has the best security, and even if someone breaks in, they won’t know who it belongs to. Well, unless my pretty little Mustang is in here when they hit.
Not likely enough to be concerned.
The cars are disposed of after they serve their purpose.
I leave the warehouse, turning on a burner phone in the car, and call Jake.