Page 67 of Love Me Stalk Me

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Tweaks?

A little bit of work?

Like she's some fucking car he's taking to a body shop?

Monroe laughs.

Then he says something that makes my vision completely black out.

"I did something similar for my wife," Monroe says, swirling his drink. "Just be careful, though. Izzy's got a great ass on her. Wouldn't want to lose that grip, if you know what I mean."

My fist connects with the concrete wall beside me, a deep thud echoing through the narrow corridor.

I swear I feel it give. A small indent, maybe just dust settling around my knuckles, but enough to tell me I hit it hard.

Hard enough to make my arm throb.

Hard enough to remind myself that I still have control.

Barely.

Izzy doesn't move.

She just stands there.

Frozen.

Listening to these pathetic excuses for men talk about her like she's a goddamn investment piece.

Something to be maintained, trimmed, reshaped.

This is too much.

Way, way too much.

I gave her my word.

But fuck that.

Because what about her honor?

My hand is on the door.

I'm seconds from stepping onto the floor when I hear her voice through the headset.

"I'm really sorry," she says, tone perfectly neutral. "I'd love to go, but I have a meeting with Callahan to go over holiday security plans. I'll have to take a raincheck."

Something tightens in my chest.

It's not just that she said my name—it's the way she said it.

Like it's hers to use. Like she knows it means something.

Like she trusts that I'll be there.

My pulse kicks up, something possessive settling in my gut.

She called for me.

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