He stares down at me, and I think I’ve caught him off guard. After a moment, however, his lips curl in a sneer. “Whatever,” he growls. “But just so you know, we’re not finished. I’ll be back, Mallory.”
I scoff, even as my treacherous heart flutters. “Joy,” I say, giving him a sarcastic golf clap.
His perfectly sculpted jaw clenches, but he pivots toward the door. He pauses long enough to give the dark-haired guy a withering look before he storms into the hall, slamming the door so hard that my walls seem to shake. Once he’s gone, I stare at the door for a long time, chewing on the tip of my thumb, before turning back to my surprise guest.
“Okay, who are you?”
He shrugs. “Told you already, your momma sent me.”
“That’s not an answer.” I slip my phone from my pocket and hold it up. “Start talking, or I’m calling the cops.”
Faster than I can clock, he moves forward and snatches my phone from my hand.
My heart leaps into my throat, but then he smirks, tosses the device to my bed, and mutters, “Never fuck over the messenger, little girl.”
He doesn’t make another move to touch me, and even leaves space between us. Is he intentionally trying to make me feel more comfortable?
I relax a little and think about the reason he’s come here.
What is my mom up to? She’s never gone to such lengths just to contact me before.
“Is Jenn in California?” And how the hell does a small-town meth dealer have messengers?”
She’s not a kingpin.
Is she?
Honestly, I wouldn’t put it past her. Even in her sloppiest moments, Jenn has managed to surprise me with just how genius she can be. The guy just continues to grin at me, as if I’m amusing him.
“You need to meet Jenn on Sunday night. I’ll text you the details later.”
This is feeling more and more surreal. My mom sent a mysterious messenger to set up a secret rendezvous with her. What the fuck is this? Blacklist?
“How do I know this isn’t all bullshit? How do I know Jenn really sent you?” I can’t shake the suspicion that this is all just another elaborate scheme to embarrass me. Laurel’s probably waiting out in the hall right now with her lemmings, waiting to laugh in my stupid face.
“Yeahhh, she said you’d say some shit like that,” the guy explains, laughing softly as he shakes his head. “She sent this along.”
He drags something from the back pocket of his jeans and dangles it off the tips of his fingers toward me. It’s an envelope.
I cautiously take it from his hand. Casting him an uncertain glance, I open it and pull out the folded piece of paper inside.
Glancing over the page, I instantly recognize my mom’s handwriting. I’d studied it carefully as a kid so I could forge her signature on permission slips and report cards whenever Jenn was too out of it to do it herself. Plus, she’s added her usual flare to my name—the M that looks like a lowercase N and the smiley face inside the O. I don’t know whether to be relieved or worried as I read the few short words that she’s left for me.
Mallory,
Stop asking so many questions and trust Ghost. Don’t waste time.
Xo
J
It’s a very Jenn thing to say.
Crinkling my nose, I blurt out, “Ghost? What kind of name is that?”
He slants me with a brutal look. “You talk too fucking much, you know that?”
“So I’ve heard.” Exhaling, I crumble the note and blink up at him. “All right, fine. Looks like you’re not bullshitting me, so what happens next?”
“Sunday night. Wait for my instructions.”
Yeah, this definitely seems like an episode of Blacklist. Hesitantly, I nod. “All right, Sunday night it is then.”
He gives me a lingering, bemused look before turning and walking out of my room. I stare after him as the door shuts, and wonder what fuckery my mom is dragging me into now?
The next morning, my mind is awhirl as I continue to ponder what Jenn could possibly want. Why does she want to meet in secret? Why did she send Ghost, and just not call or text me directly?
And when the hell did she get to California?
It’s all so weird and screwed up, and I honestly don’t need one more piece of drama piled on top of me, but I do need answers. And then there’s that little piece of me that just wants to see her, in spite of everything.
I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts as I enter the dining building that I don’t see Saint until he snatches my arm and drags me away before I can enter the busy hall.
“Seriously, Saint?” I sputter, but he doesn’t answer me.
He stops in front of a utility closet, opens the door, and shoves me inside, following after me.
I round on him as the door shuts behind us and he flips the light switch.
“What now?”
He crowds me up against the shelves behind me, trapping me with his hands on either side of my head. If he thinks I’m going to cower, the bastard is sadly mistaken. I roll my shoulders back and lift my chin in defiance.
“What is it, Saint?”
“Who the hell was that last night?” he demands in a deep growl that seems to vibrate through my body. “And why didn’t I see him leave the building?”
That’s news to me. Ghost definitely left my room and didn’t come back, so I don’t know what the hell happened to him once he was gone. I open my mouth to tell Saint just that, but then I pause and study him more closely. He’s livid. Is he jealous? Does the idea of another guy alone with me in my room upset him this much?
An evil little voice in my head tells me to poke at this nerve he’s exposed. To punish him for everything he’s done to me. Drive him crazy with the idea that I slept with someone else and moved on from him.
Racing my tongue over my teeth, I tip my head to one side. “Didn’t you see that guy? What do you think happened?”
His arms tense around me, and a thrill shoots through me as his eyes blaze. “Did you fuck him?”
“That’s not your business. You lost the right to have any say in who I do or don’t fuck.”
I’m pushing him to a dangerous point, I can see it in the tight lines forming around his eyes. He’s incensed, and it’s satisfying to see. I feel savage. My heartbeat speeds out of control and my blood is pumping, and I don’t know what I want more. To fight, or fuck.
Maybe both.
But not with him. Never again.
Yet, even as I tell myself that, I feel that terrible, familiar feeling between my thighs.
“I’m not playing around, Mallory,” he hisses through his teeth. “Answer me. Did. You. Fuck. Him?”
“Screw you,” I mutter instead. Why does he deserve the truth? After all, I have to endure seeing him with his new girlfriend. Why shouldn’t he have to suffer knowing I’m hooking up with other guys? I try to push around him, but his hand is suddenly around my throat, holding me back. I grasp his wrist, but don’t try to push him away. My body reacts to his touch, and I despise how much I love the feel of his fingers holding me in place.
I hate him almost as much as I hate myself. I almost tell him so, but he silences me with a brutal kiss that makes me cry out in surprise. My mind goes blank for a moment, and my body goes soft, remembering the feel of him. His tongue invades my mouth, reclaiming every inch of it as his own. I moan, my brain coming back online, but it’s already too late.