Redeemed (Dirty Air #4)(11)

He lets go with a string of curse words as he keels over.

No use checking out the damage. I run toward the direction of the main road, not bothering to look back at the psychopath who tried to call the cops on me and got a boner from the entire situation. I’ve watched a decent amount of horror movies. The girls who look back always get murdered first.

I don’t stop running until I’m at the entrance of my hotel. Sweat clings to my clothes as I take in large gulps of air. Leaning against the wall, I sift through my backpack for my phone. Brooke is probably freaking out after everything.

My search comes up empty. Like a cold shower, realization dawns on me.

Shit. Motherfucking shit. I forgot my phone by the tree after I fell.

I thought my experience with psychopaths ended once I left America. New country, same craziness. Except instead of running away from legal issues, I’m heading straight toward them.

But hey, breaking and entering is only considered a crime if I get caught.





5





Santiago





If it weren’t for the ringing cell phone on my nightstand, I would’ve considered last night the weirdest dream I’ve had in a long time. A dream starring a dark-haired trespasser who kneed me hard enough in the balls to leave a lasting impression a day later.

I’ve had a handful of people break in since I moved here a few years ago. Reporters and heartless paparazzi can’t resist sneaking in to get a peek at my reclusive life. They’re like sharks in bloody water, desperate for a taste.

The trespasser’s phone rings again for the third time in half an hour. Someone must be desperate to get in contact with her. At first I thought it was a worried boyfriend, but Brooke is the only person texting and calling the mysterious woman. When I answered her call, Brooke screamed into the phone about how torture is still legal in 141 countries and I better pray she doesn’t find me in one of them. At least after that phone call, she stopped calling me.

Hopefully, the woman returns for her phone and reveals her identity. I need her arrested and taken care of. Holding people like her accountable sends a proper message to everyone else who wants to attempt the same shit.

The ringing stops before starting up again. A random Italian number flashes across the screen, piquing my curiosity.

I answer. “Hello.”

A raspy voice releases a stream of curses away from the phone before returning. “You.”

Ah, we meet again. “It’s me.”

“I see you stole my phone.”

“You’re confusing the word stealing with saving.”

A mumbled fuck you on her end makes me smile like an idiot.

“You’re welcome,” I probe.

“While I’m being so uncharacteristically grateful, thank you for scaring me with your erection yesterday. As charming as it felt against my stomach, it’s a hard pass for me.”

“Blame the arousal on adrenaline from finding a criminal on my property.”

She scoffs. “Right. Let’s get two things straight. First, I’m not a criminal. Being detained isn’t the same as being arrested. And two, if that’s what you feel like from adrenaline, I’m afraid of you in the bedroom. That was...”

The ridiculousness of her comment has me laughing to the point of my lungs burning. “Are you seriously complimenting me right now?”

“Does it win me the points I desperately need to get my phone back? Guys love it when you hype up their dick size.”

My good mood is washed away with the reality of her goading me to get what she wants. Typical. “No. Finders, keepers.”

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“Not about this.”

“Why do you need a phone with a sparkly case?”

I place her on speaker and check out the clear case with glitter water and sequins inside. “It complements my eyes.”

Her scoff sounds more like a laugh. “You’re being impossible.”

“Better than being someone who’s already been arrested once. Ready to add a second stint to your record?” The unfiltered words leave my mouth in a rush.

“Cool. I was actually detained, not arrested. And to be honest, I’d rather be someone who got wrongly accused of a crime than an asshole who needs to steal shit to feel like a man. I hope you like my shitty five-year-old iPhone. Bye.” She ends the call.

Fuck. With my phone, I call the number back. Someone picks up the phone, asking what I would like to order from a random restaurant in town.

Damn. She’s smart, not leaving a trail for me to follow. I smile, captivated by her ingenuity. Somehow, I came across someone who doesn’t bother fitting the status quo of my life lately.

Instead of my usual moping, I grab my laptop and research how to hack someone’s cellphone. I hope to find out some information about my mysterious trespasser. Using someone’s detailed directions from a Reddit board, I attempt to unlock the phone. All I end up doing is forcing her phone to shut down after it takes a photo of me with the Face ID.

My phone buzzes from an incoming call, interrupting my next Reddit hack. I grab it and answer. “Hey.”

“So...don’t be mad,” my little sister coos into the phone like I’m a child.

I grunt in disapproval. “What did you do?”