Page 55 of Illicit

That lasted longer than I planned. They didn’t wait for the code word. I’ve never needed it. Hell, I wasn’t close tonight.

Once I cut the figurative noose off my neck.

Taylor doesn’t waste any time. I’m in my car and speeding out of the warehouse district that’s seen better days when my phone rings over the Bluetooth.

I connect the call as I check my rearview mirror.

“Did you hear a code word?” I bite.

“Dude, you went silent for way too long. You know I get antsy. The code word is not a hard and fast rule. It’s a stop sign in a parking lot. That shit is just a suggestion. We were about to come in and get you.”

“The code word is a code word for a reason,” I grit. “I assume you got all that. They’re international mules. You’re welcome. I’m definitely handing you this case on a silver platter.”

“Africa. I think I need to go over there to personally investigate. You think I can scam Uncle Sam out of a work trip? I’ve always wanted to go on a safari.”

I take a quick left. “That was definitely my last hurrah in NOLA.”

“You did it up big, my man. You coming to the office or handing me the reins now?”

As I merge onto the interstate, the pain starts to seep in. I hold my arm up the way I’ve done so many times since I got this damn scar when I was eighteen years old.

That feels like a lifetime ago. Hell, that feels like an alternate universe.

I ditched the sport coat tonight and am only in a light blue dress shirt, so there’s no missing it.

Blood.

I don’t think he got me deep, but the cut in my shirt is at least eight inches.

“Fuck,” I mutter and press my forearm to my chest to stop the bleeding.

“You okay?” Taylor asks. “I know you’re going to miss me, but it’ll be okay. We always have FaceTime.”

“I’m going home.” It’s close to midnight. I need to see how bad this cut is and maybe sleep a few hours before I have to deal with the next drama that seems to be nonstop since Teagan barged back into my life.

Technically, I barged into hers. She’ll thank me someday.

“Did you lose your glass slipper running out of that warehouse? Don’t turn into a pumpkin, princess. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“I feel sorry for your next partner,” I mutter.

“Cut me some slack. You’re going to replace me with Brax fucking Cruz. How do you think I feel right now? I’m like the goth girlfriend you dumped for Miss America.”

It’s all I can do to keep the wince out of my words. “Wait until Brax hears that you called him Miss America.”

“No-no-no,” he whispers. “Don’t fucking do that to me. It was a metaphor. Please. I need the king to like me in case I ever need a favor. I mean, I guess there’s the actual King, as in Jennings, but you know what I mean. You’re going to be the godfather to his kid. You’re my only connection to the fab three.”

I glance down at my arm and decide I don’t have time for this shit. The bleeding hasn’t let up. This night will never end if I have to get stitches.

“I’ll touch base tomorrow, Tay-Tay.”

“Ah. See there? Now I know we’re all good. Enjoy your beauty sleep.”

Sleep, my ass. The war between needing a good night’s sleep and the desire to touch Teagan is raging inside me.

And I really fucking love my sleep, so that’s saying something.

I guess we’ll see which one is the victor when I get home.

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