The director arrives a minute later, looks around, and grunts. “Guess he left.”
“You guess heleft?” I stand and face him as he shrugs and drinks his espresso. “You narcissistic, psychopathic, monstrous piece of trash. What the fuck happened here?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been babysitting him.” He tightens his lips. “I was late with his dose this morning though, come to think of it, and actually, I didn’t stop by last night—”
“Oh, god,” I groan, shaking my head. “He went out to score.”
“Cowan, how the hell could you? Wasn’t this the whole plan?”
“I’m a busy man,” he says, glaring from Blair to me. “I told you, we’re at a critical moment and—”
“Yeah, I fucking know, tree and withering and all that bullshit.” I approach Cowan with my hands balled into fists. The old bastard must see the hate in my eyes and know what I’m planning because he backs off toward the door. “Where did he go?”
“I don’t know,” he says and quickly adds, “but I have a guess.”
“Tell me.”
“There’s a camp near the highway. Underneath the road, built up around the pillars. Dozens and dozens of homeless people and tents. I found him there the first time, and I think that’s where he’ll go if he needs to score.”
“Right. Blair, you stay here.”
“No way,” she says quickly as I shove past Cowan. He stares at me and I slam him against the wall, snarling.
“You’d better hope he’s there,” I say and there’s something excited in the old man’s eyes, like he wants me to hit him.
I shove him one more time and leave the hotel room. I seethe in the hallway, body a trembling mass of rage. Blair catches up with me as I stride to the elevators but decide to take the stairs, too impatient and with too much pent-up anger to wait around.
“Baptist, stop.”
“Stay here, Webb. I don’t want you getting in my way.”
“Baptist.”
I look back over my shoulder, gripping the cold metal railing. “This is going to be dangerous. Rodrick’s likely dopesick and desperate, and who knows what sort of trouble he’s in. I need you to be somewhere safe.”
“I’m not sitting around while you go storming off to get yourself hurt.”
“Webb—”
“I mean it. I’m coming. You wanted to do this together, right? Then you’re stuck with me.”
I snarl at her and move up the steps. She backs off until she runs into the wall behind her. We’re along on a landing in the concrete stairwell, and my mind slips back to the wedding when I kissed her as she descended toward the supply closet.
This is different. There’s no giddy excitement, only burning, fire-fueled rage.
I pin her against the wall and pull her hair.
“You’re a distraction. You’ve been in too much danger lately already, and I won’t let you get hurt. Stay. Here.”
“Stay here with Cowan? You really think I’m safe with that psycho?”
I grunt and shake my head. “Then go home. I don’t care. You’re not coming.”
“I’m coming.” She stares into my eyes, fierce and defiant, and my body blazes for her. This is the Blair I want—the Blair I need. The strong, willful, independent woman with not a single ounce of fear in her heart.
She’s so beautiful it nearly breaks me.
But I kiss her. I bury her lips with mine and she moans into that kiss, half a yelp of surprise, half a groan of excitement. It stokes the fire in me into an inferno and I need her right now so badly I could rip her to shreds and fuck her into submission right here in this stairwell. Instead, I bite her lip and linger close, breathing her scent deep and seething with need.