Wretched (Never After Series)(48)

Rose wins.

I slip out of my room, using the back stairwell and hurrying down four flights until I reach the back exit.

Our apartment isn’t in this part of town, but it’s not too far, and I can be there within twenty minutes on foot. I know I should stay away, it isn’t smart and it definitely isn’t safe, but I can’t resist the temptation to check in while I’m here.

Just for a minute. Just to make sure.

When I’m about three blocks away, I find an old pay phone hidden in the back of the Gas ’N Go. I rush to it, glancing around before moving into the small glass stall and fishing out some change from my pocket.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” I mutter, jumping on my toes to keep my body from feeling the chilly Chicago air.

Her voice mail clicks on.

Damnit.

I try one more time and then give up, hanging the phone back on the receiver before making my way down the last three blocks, checking behind me every few feet. There’s no one around, but I can’t shake the eerie tingles occasionally creeping up my back.

The apartment building is tall and beige, a four-story shithole that has just enough working equipment to be considered “livable.” I skip over every other stair as I walk up the front steps and enter the door, my stomach tensing with nerves, although I’m not sure why I’m nervous. I haven’t seen her in a few months, but she’s still my sister.

The elevator to the right has caution tape slapped across the doors, the same way it has for the past two years, and I walk by it without a second thought, heading toward the stairwell that leads to our second-floor apartment.

My footsteps echo off the concrete walls as I hustle up the steps.

I reach our door, the large 4A gleaming against the muted red paint and I lift my hand to knock, rapping my knuckles until they ache.

Nobody answers.

Anxiety tightens my stomach.

It’s eleven at night, where the fuck could she be?

I knock again, this time pressing my ear to the door and jiggling the doorknob. I knew I should have brought my key, but I didn’t want anything on my person that could be taken. You never know when your items will end up in the wrong hands.

Still, no one answers.

Sighing, I rest my forehead against the door, sadness welling through my middle at the missed opportunity. I don’t know how much longer this case will last, but I’m halfway desperate to see Rose, hoping she’d get my head on straight.

Without her to ground me, I’m just a hollow, rusted shell, playing the part of a living, breathing man.

A noise from down the hall makes me raise my head, and before I can turn around click of a safety switch is in my ear, then the harsh press of metal against the back of my skull.

“Care to explain why the hell you’re here?”





25





EVELINE





It was a spur-of-the-moment decision to come to Chicago. I knew where they were staying; I was the one who made the reservations, and so I waited in the wings, ready to hunt down Brayden and either shoot him or cut his dick off.

But then I saw him leading my sister to her room. Pulling on her hair and pressing soft kisses to her cheek, and my stomach turned in on itself, nausea burning through my insides like battery acid.

I went to his hotel door afterward, but the sharp one-eighty of my emotions kept me from entering. I want to hold on to my rage when I see him, not feel like a sick puppy who watched its owners give them up and find another dog.

When he reappeared, his body radiating the worst type of anxious energy, I followed him. And now we’re here, with him looking defeated as my Desert Eagle presses against his head.

“You know,” I start. “You almost had me.”

His entire body stiffens and he turns around. I allow him to, moving my gun from his head down to his chest once we’re face to face. The muscles in my arms are already aching from the weight of the weapon and how tensely I’m holding it, but I don’t falter in my poise. And then, for the first time since I’ve met Brayden Walsh, I see emotion in his gaze. Genuine fear bleeds into his eyes, just a flash, and then it’s gone.

“And you call me the stalker,” he jokes. But there’s no humor in his tone.

“Shut up,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “Explain what you’re doing.”

He nods, placing his hands in his pockets and looking at where the barrel is pressed against his chest. “I didn’t know you were in Chicago.”

“Surprise.” I grin.

He glances behind him at the closed door and blows out a breath, his cheeks puffing slightly when he does. “If you’re planning to shoot me, I’d rather not bleed out all over my friend’s doorstep. It’s rude.”

I tilt my head. “What friend?”

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know about her, sweetheart. Just put the gun down and let’s go back outside.”

My hands shake, thick gusts of green whipping through me when he confirms it’s a woman, and then I want to kill myself for feeling any jealousy at all.

“I swear to god, Brayden, if you have a girlfriend…”

He smirks, those stupid fucking dimples lighting up his face and he steps into me, the end of my gun touching his chest. “Jealous?”

“Just not interested in community dick.”