Demand (Careless Whispers #2)(27)

The door shuts behind me and a moment later Kayden steps beside me, speaking to Carlo in clipped, thick Italian, but it is not his words that I cannot understand. It’s how, without trying, he sucks all the energy from the massive castle foyer, leaving none of it for Carlo to claim as his own. Kayden has become The Hawk. He is always The Hawk, but I’m in awe of his control when he chooses to radiate that persona. Carlo’s words sharpen and Kayden stares at him, seconds ticking by before without looking at me, he orders, “Wait on me in the tower, Ella.”

I’d rebel against that order if he weren’t The Hawk, who I’ve vowed to battle behind closed doors, and if I weren’t certain Carlo had just challenged him over me. Which makes me want to stay and fight my own battle, and his too, but he is The Hawk, and I can’t risk working against his leadership. Knowing my show of respect is critical right now, I force myself to turn and walk to the door dividing me from our tower, jabbing the code into the keypad.

The door begins to lift, and for once, my impatience does not win as I wait for it to rise all the way up, hoping to overhear the conversation sure to take place between Kayden and Carlo. But they start talking in Italian, driving home how important it is for me to learn the language—and then Adriel’s and Matteo’s voices join the conversation, surprising me. Giving the door my profile, I bring the foursome into view to find Matteo standing next to Carlo, and Adriel next to Kayden. Perhaps the choice of positions is simply convenience, but I have this odd sense of a division that I do not like.

Too soon, considering I know nothing more, the door has fully lifted, and I’m forced to enter our tower, pressing the button on the other side to close the door. I rush up the stairs and go straight to our room, shutting the door behind me. Leaning against the hard surface, I stare at the bed now cast in shadows, ignoring the light switch, but I do not truly see it. Instead I think of Gallo’s implication that someone is leaking information to him. And while Carlo seems an obvious choice, I’m just not sure. Someone who’s a rebel and an * rarely finds safe haven with a police officer. And I have a flickering image of a man in a suit whose face I cannot see, saying those exact words to me.

I press my hands to my face. “My God. What is wrong with me?” I drop my hands and lean my head back against the door. “Why can’t I remember? I’m not a scared person. Or do I just not remember the fear?” It’s a horrible thought, and it doesn’t matter anyway. I have to remember, or Kayden and I will always wonder about those triggers he mentioned. We will never truly have trust, and I will never really be at home here. The word home seems to be one of those triggers, for suddenly I’m seeing myself on a stage, dancing to an empty auditorium, and my mother and my father are watching. My father didn’t approve of my dancing. My chest aches with the heaviness of the emotion now stirred, and I think my mind is telling me that dancing will take me places that will hurt, but I have to visit.

Ready to change clothes and go upstairs to the room Kayden has made my dance studio, I shove off of the door and make my way through the bathroom to the massive closet. What if we’re enemies? I inhale, and reject the ridiculous notion that didn’t exist at the coffee bar today. It is not possible that I could be Kayden’s enemy.

Suddenly suffocating in my coat, I dig my phone out of its pocket, and then hang it up. Sitting down on the bench in the center of the closet, I have a memory of Kayden and me having sex right here, on top of it, and it’s a good memory that curves my lips. We are not enemies. I pull my purse off and set it beside me, unzipping it to put my phone inside. Just for good measure I touch Charlie, which is one part a gift from Kayden, and another from my father, who taught me to use it. I want to say the only two men who have ever fully earned my respect and trust, but I can’t know that for certain. Yet . . . I do.

The sound of the bedroom door opening and shutting has me zipping my purse and facing the door at the same moment Kayden appears, his biker jacket telling me he’s not staying. He is so damn powerfully male that he consumes the small space, and me with it.

“That was about me, right?” I ask.

“Yes, but it’s handled, as is Carlo’s attitude.” He holds up the piece of paper Gallo left for me. “Tell me about this.”

“I told you all there is to tell,” I say, pressing my hands to the back of my jean-clad hips.

“Tell me again.”

“Gallo took *ness to a whole new level, and I told him we were done talking. He left, I thought, and I didn’t want to be on the street with him, so I went to the bathroom. I’d barely locked the door when it was slipped underneath.”

“He left?”

“He walked toward the door, but it was behind me, so he must not have.”

“So you don’t know that Gallo put this under the door?”

“It’s logical.”

“But you don’t know.”

“I guess not.”

“What did Gallo say to you?”

I fold my arms in front of me, dreading this part of the conversation. “He all but told me one of your men was running his mouth. That’s how he knew you’d be gone today.”

Kayden slips the note inside his jacket pocket, his jaw hard. “I met with the police chief this morning about that favor he wants.”

“And Gallo knew.”