Get your shit together. I shouldn’t be mooning over her like some pathetic bastard.
“She’s long gone by now.”
My head snaps up, and I have my gun in my hand, safety off, finger on the trigger in an instant. I scan the bathroom for the man’s voice only to come up empty. The clear shower curtain doesn’t hide anyone lurking there either. So, where the hell did the man’s voice come from?
Carefully, I pad into the room and scan it methodically. Nothing is out of place and no one is here. The fuck?
Something draws my attention back to the chair near the small desk, and that’s when it happens. A man materializes before my eyes.
Holy fucking shit. I keep my gun trained on him, because he’s the one who showed up uninvited in my motel room.
“How the hell’d you get in here?”
Pale blue eyes are fixed on me, and I get the weird impression he’s attempting to read my mind. His white-blond hair is in a buzz cut, and even though he’s seated, I can tell he’s tall. Wiry but lean, muscled.
His gaze is hardened, cold, as if he’s experienced death and emerged from it multiple times. “Let’s not bother with questions you won’t believe the answer to.”
He raises a brow. “If I wanted you dead, you would be. Now, put the gun down, Mr. Madrano.”
Every muscle in my body stiffens in alarm. “How the fuck do you know my name?”
He slowly exhales a long breath, as if I’m testing his patience. “You’re as aggravating as Mr. Cortez was during our first meeting.”
He knows Bronson? I cycle through my brain, trying to recall what Bronson might have mentioned. Did he ever say anything about a guy who can be invisible?
“I can see you’re thinking hard.” The barest trace of arrogance laces his tone. “I helped Georgia once.” His mouth tightens, and I’m not sure if it’s from irritation or to suppress a smile. Either way, the fucker looks like he’s battling constipation. “Or twice.”
“Yeah? So, you’re here to help me, then, is that it?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closing briefly, and mumbles something under his breath I can’t decipher. Once he opens his eyes, I’m pinned in place by that eerie pale blue stare.
“We don’t have much time, Mr. Madrano, and I’m already intervening again when I shouldn’t. Why don’t you start by putting on a shirt like a gentleman?”
“I’m not a fuckin’ gentleman.”
Tense lines frame his mouth. “Pretend you are.”
It’s a silent standoff, but I want to know why the hell he’s here. Especially if he actually helped Georgia. Fuck it. I grab my discarded shirt and tug it on, quickly buttoning it.
“Why don’t you have a seat.” He phrases this more as a command than a question, and when I remain standing, he simply says, “Or not. Your call.”
Shifting slightly in the chair, he studies me carefully. “What exactly are you hoping to accomplish here?”
Even though he has a placid expression, something in his tone has my hackles rising defensively.
“Perhaps you’re hoping to avenge your sister’s death.”
There’s no mistaking the trace of condescension in his voice. My fingers curl into fists. Motherfucker needs a good pistol-whipping right about now.
“That’s not going to happen, Mr. Madrano. Not avenging your sister’s death nor the pistol-whipping.”
My breath stutters in my lungs. How the fuck did he—
“Know what you were thinking?” One edge of the man’s mouth moves the slightest fraction. On anyone else, I’d assume they were attempting to stifle a smile. “It’s both a gift and a curse. But back to the point at hand…”
He moves casually, resting an ankle on his opposite knee. “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, and now you only have two options.
“The wisest and, perhaps, safest is, you return to Palm Cove and resume Scorpion business and forget about the circumstances surrounding your sister’s death.”
“What’s the other option?”
He peers at me for a long moment before releasing a sigh as if I’ve disappointed him. “I see you’ve already chosen.”
“Still wanna hear the other option.”
His lips thin. “The other one ends with you finding the truth…and likely meeting the same fate as your sister.”
The hell? Shock ricochets through me at his response.
His eyes seem to penetrate through me. “You won’t like what you find. That, I can guarantee. Your sister was—”
“Did you know her?” The words fall out before I can consider how pathetic I sound. So eager for any morsel of information.
Still as calm and placid as always, he answers smoothly, “I knew of her.”
I grind my teeth at his bullshit response.
“You have to realize that once you get mixed up in this”—he shakes his head slowly without breaking eye contact—“there’s no way out.”
Ominous finality coats his voice, but before I can demand answers and clarification, he whips his head around and stares at the window. He’s so laser-focused, I wonder if he can see through the curtains.
“What is it?”
The way he rises from the chair is both quick and flawless. Soundless. It’s freaky as fuck. Even more when that pale blue gaze bores into me. “We need to get out of here now.”
“What’s goin’ on?”
“No time for questions. You’ve already been pinpointed as a threat.” He glances around. “Anything here irreplaceable?”
I glance around. “No.”
“Then grab only what you need, because we need to go before they arrive for you.”
“Who—”
“No time!” he hisses before going transparent, disappearing before my eyes.
He materializes at the door while I hastily slide into my boots and grab my holster, shoving my gun in it, and fix it in place. I stuff my wallet, keys, and phone in my small duffle bag and stride toward him.
He opens the door and glances each way before tipping his head silently, gesturing for me to follow.
As we descend the stairs, I wonder how the hell he’s so soundless with every move. We reach the gravel parking lot as the night sky begins losing its darkness to the emerging sun.
He motions for me to follow him and picks up his pace, jogging soundlessly across the parking lot to where the concrete remains of a vacant building sit beside the motel.
A portion of yellow caution tape surrounds the bare bones of the building, no glass in any of the windows. It reminds me of a basic Lego construction—walls and a roof.
Once we turn the corner of the concrete building, the air shifts, and the man shoves me against the rough surface, covering my back with his body. He hisses, “Don’t move or speak.”
It goes against everything ingrained in me to obey him. I barely suppress the impulse to shove back and get some fucking answers already. But the sight I catch in my periphery has me going stock-still.
The man’s gone transparent once again, except now, where our clothing touches has made me follow suit, too. I watch it spread until I can’t see my own body.
This man has made me turn invisible.