Page 3 of The Chaos She Brings
“Thanks, Cari.” I let out a breath of relief that someone is coming to help me.
“I’m coming over too, it’s all going to be fine.”
Carina was my best friend growing up, though when I knew her, she was called Naomi. Then, she disappeared. Poof. I never heard from her again.
That is, until I saw her in Starbucks last year. She was some badass woman in a pink suit, but I recognised her instantly. We got chatting, and our friendship has re-solidified.
A few months ago, after a different boyfriend got a bit handsy with me, we’d been having a wine night and she’d said, “If you ever find yourself in real trouble—call me. No questions asked.” I’d laughed it off then, thinking she was being dramatic. But now, with Jake's blood pooling around his head, those words feel like a lifeline.
I don’t know if this is the kind of situation she was implying at the time, but I really didn’t have anyone else to turn to.
Looks like I made the right call, even if it does leave me with more questions.
We hang up after I promise to keep her in the loop.
Now what? I just wait?
Jake’s lifeless form mocks me from the other side of the room. It’s always the J names, isn’t it?
I haven’t found the strength to move from my position where my back is pressed to the wall furthest away from him. My flat isn’t exactly big—this is London, after all—but my landlord letsme pay less rent if, in return, I fix the many, many maintenance issues myself.
Oh. My. God.
There’s no way I’m getting my security deposit back.
Are there bigger things I should be worrying about? Maybe how I just killed a man? How I’ll never be able to get the smell of his rotten body out of my nostrils? Perhaps. But honestly, I don’t think like I’m very shaken up about that. Which is concerning, but I’m trying not to dwell on that strange turn of events.
I’m more annoyed that his blood is seeping into my very expensive Persian rug that’s now going to have to go in the bin. Goodbye, four hundred pounds I’m never getting back. I only bought it last week as well.
Other than the blood and brains splattering my living room floor the rest of the place looks pretty much like normal. My cream sofa only has a few crimson splotches, and my coffee table somehow came away unscathed.
A knock at the door has me jumping about ten feet in the air.
Right. The mysterious cleaner.
I step around the body of my late lover and throw the door open like I’m welcoming the entire building to witness my disaster.
On the other side stands a man who looks like he just stepped out of a photoshoot for the World's Sexiest Man. The tight fitted black top and grey joggers give off this relaxed, casual man—someone who’d be completely chill being dragged out of bed at God knows what hour to dispose of a body.
I rake my gaze down his form and take in every glorious inch.The gods took their time with this one.He’s got the whole intentionally messy hair thing down to a T, and bluish-green eyes that are currently looking at me like I just killed his mother.
I didn’t. Just putting it out there.
Yeah, those eyes are not relaxed. In fact, now I’m looking more closely, I see his jaw locked tight, his fists clenched. I swallow.
His expression is intimidating alone.
And then there’s the sheer size of him.
This is fine. Carina trusts him. He must be nice.
I force a bright smile. “Kai?”
“You’d be pretty fucked if I wasn’t.”
“Excuse me?” I stammer, taken aback by his bluntness.
“Did you even check the peephole?”
