Page 8 of Hotline
There’s softness in her eyes — showing the benevolent nature I was lucky enough to witness, but there’s also that sharp ferocity — the thing I saw cut down that huge threatening guy.
But I’m not taking any chances with that kind of thing ever again. With me by her side, no one is going to even think about messing with her. And I’ll slash the tires on any bus she tries to board.
When I can finally tear my eyes away from her perfect image, I flip the folder open and look for a phone number. I take myphone from my pocket and dial it, my heart pounding and my temples plumping with a hint of sweat. I can’t wait to talk to her.
It doesn’t even ring. It goes straight to voicemail.
I look down at her file again. Her address is in some shitty part of town. My jaw clenches. She will not be going back there.
A possessive feeling fills my chest, so hot and intense that I’d swear I’m drowning in a pool of lava. This same blind possessiveness is telling me to go to her apartment and identify myself as her protector. But if I did that, what would happen? I’d probably get a face full of pepper spray or a knee to the balls. And I’d deserve it.
I don’t care about getting my ass handed to me, but I don’t want to scare her away.
I text her address to one of my guards. He’ll make sure no one messes with her.
"What is it that you do here?" I say to the woman behind the desk as I look around. It's grimy and gross. I'm already making plans to buy it so I can tear it down. "What is this place?"
She clicks her tongue and tents her fingers in front of her, tilting her head to the side.
“We provide a service.”
My blood freezes.
"What exactly is this service?" I manage to grit out through clenched teeth.
"Whatever you want it to be," she replies, plucking a business card from a stack on her desk and handing it to me. "Some men call for a simple conversation. Others want... more."
The way she says "more" makes my blood simmer.
I look down at the card and my heart stops for a moment. I understand what's going on here.
I crush the card in my hand, its sharp corners digging into my palm. There's a moment where I can't speak, can't breathe. All I can see is red. I want to destroy every man she’s spoken to.
The jealousy is a living thing now, clawing up my throat, making my vision pulse at the edges. I imagine her beautiful voice floating through the phone, into the ears of men who don’t deserve her.
"I want her," I say to the woman behind the desk.
Truer words have never been spoken.
"If you want her, you can have her,” the woman says, “Take her off my hands. Girls like her are a dime a dozen.”
Not to me.
I’ve never seen a woman as beautiful and special as her.
I own half the city, but now it all feels empty. This girl has grabbed me by the heart and shaken me right to my very soul.
“I’d like to wait here,” I say to the woman whose office I’ve invaded.
“Whatever,” she says. “I’m going out for a smoke break.”
Opal deserves better than to breathe in this stale air. She should be breathing in the scent of crystal-clear water in Seychelles. The rarified air in my private jet.
My head whips to the door when someone passes by, thinking it might be Opal. My heart deflates when it’s not her.
I’ll see her again soon. It’s going to be an agonizing wait, but it will be worth it.
Then we’re leaving together.
