Page 9 of Nemesis

“Ugh.”

“Yeah. Sounds about right.” He leans over me, a pen light suddenly glaring into my eyes. “You might have a concussion.”

I lick my lips. “What happened?”

“Fainted,” Mel says, somewhere near my feet. “One of the customers helped me get you into the back, but you were coming to and he left.”

Reese?

My breathing hitches, and I automatically reach for Antonio’s hand.

“What is it?” he asks.

I shake my head. Not in front of Mel. Not in front of anyone. He glances over his shoulder at my employee and dismisses her. The door closes behind her, and I rise back up on my elbows. I sigh when it registers where we are.

We’re in my freaking apartment, the one tucked away in Bow & Arrow. It makes sense that we didn’t leave the building, but…

“He carried me all the way here?” I squeak.

“Who ishe?”

My mouth dries.

I sit up and swing my legs off the couch. This place underwent aserioussterilization after my brother stayed here. I even got a whole new freaking couch because I didn’t trust him.

And then he snickered and said I should’ve bought a new dining table, too.

Fucker.

Anyway.

“I just, um, recognized him.” I avoid Antonio’s gaze.

“From where?”

I clear my throat. “You know where.”

He goes quiet. Then, without warning, he jumps up and rushes out of the apartment.

Well, that’s not good…

“Seemslike you’re the one who needs to be watched now.”

My shoulders automatically creep up. “Can’t a girl make it all the way into her own condo without being accosted?”

I should’ve expected this. Antonio called and said he was going to take care of it. He told me to stay at the apartment, seeming to forget that I have the equivalent of a pet at home. So I grabbed my jacket from my office and drove back to the high-rise in downtown Sterling Falls, and now I’m home.

But I should’ve remembered that thispetlikes to bite.

“You don’t give me much of a choice most days,” he says. “Figured you’d like a taste of your own medicine.”

I flip the lock and slowly turn to face Saint Hart. Dead best friend’s… whatever he was to her. Lover, partner, boyfriend. Although that latter one seems too shallow a word to describe their relationship.

Soul mate?

He sits at the breakfast bar in workout gear. A tight white shirt that’s nearly translucent, stuck to his skin with sweat and showing off his myriad of tattoos. He literally has almost no real estate left, minus his face. And under his shorts, probably. Is his ass tattooed? His dick?

Something I’ve only questioned a few times in my life. But luckily, I’ve never seen either one.

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