Page 56 of Any Means Necessary

“I don’t believe you.” I can’t. But even as I deny it, my stomach begins to sink. A dark luxury SUV pulls into the parking garage, rounding the corner and turning expertly into a parking space. My hand closes around the bag, crumpling it tightly in my fist.

“You think I’m lying?” Callum challenges angrily. “Roscoe was there. Ask him.” His words are punctuated by the sound of a car door closing. Roscoe steps out from around the driver’s side, his eyes darting between us as he gauges the situation he’s walking in on. He stops to stand warily a few feet from me and Callum, the third point in a triangle.

“Roscoe, what did you find in Eric’s wallet?” I ask, my voice shaking. Roscoe looks at me for a moment before turning to his boss. Callum nods to him.

“Tell her.” With permission, Roscoe’s eyes cut to me again hesitantly.

“Date rape drugs,” he states finally. “Roofies.” The air leaves my lungs harshly, my brows coming together as I stare first at Roscoe then at Callum. Meeting his hazel gaze, I blink—once, twice, three times—as I process the realization of what might have happened to me tonight.

Eric had seemed so kind, the conversation was fun and flirty. In the years I’ve been on dating apps, I thought I’d mastered how to weed out the crazies and predators. How could I have gotten him so wrong? The man was married with a child, for god’s sake. Sleeping with him wasn’t the goal for tonight, the plan was to meet him and see where the night would take me. Apparently it would’ve taken me to be drugged. Roofied.

Raped.

Taking the few steps to close the gap between us, I slap the bag of roofies against Callum’s chest. “You’re right, I sure know how to pick ’em.” Stepping back, he catches the baggie before it falls to the ground. A line appears between Callum’s brows as I turn to Roscoe.

“I don’t want to be here. Can you please take me to Harlem?” I ask him, struggling to remain calm.

“Lexie…” I ignore Callum’s warning, gazing at Roscoe expectantly. Roscoe looks between me and his employer, the muscle ticking in his jaw.

“If you don’t drive me, I’ll take an uber.” My tone makes it very clear that I’m not asking permission to leave, just looking for a ride. One way or another, I’m getting the fuck out of here. Keeping my eyes on Roscoe, I watch him have a silent conversation with his boss. After a long moment, I get tired of waiting and turn on my heel to start walking towards the exit.

“Come back, Lexie. I’ll drive you,” Roscoe calls, making me stop half away to the street entrance. I turn to look at him, ignoring the other pair of eyes fixed on me as I try to decide if I believe it. He jerks his head towards the car, his expression serious. If he’s lying to get me back over there, I’m gonna lose my shit.

Relenting, I walk back towards the men, giving them a wide radius as I head straight to the car. Callum and Roscoe exchange a few more hushed words before Roscoe meets me at the car.

Climbing into the passenger seat, I sit stiffly while I wait for the car to start. Even when the engine is started, we don’t move. A large figure approaches my side and the window is being rolled down without permission. Callum stands on the other side of the door staring me down, tension coming off him in waves. I meet his gaze head on, not even trying to hide my anger and contempt. He runs a hand over his beard, leaning into the open window to speak through clenched teeth.

“If you’re not back by morning, I’m coming to get you,” he states tersely.

“You got it, boss,” I say coldly, pulling my eyes from his to sit back in my seat and stare straight ahead. Callum doesn’t budge for what feels like an hour, then finally pushes off the window and takes a step back. Roscoe backs the car out of the spot and navigates us out into the city traffic.

“He admitted it, you know. Eric.” Roscoe speaks up after twenty minutes of silence. “He told us what he was going to do to you.” His announcement has my head turning to look at him. I knit my brows, my gut wrenching at the mere thought of it. His knuckles turn white with his death grip on the steering wheel, jaw clenched tight.

“Was that before or after Callum started torturing him?” We both know the answer, Roscoe’s silence only confirms it. Callum might have stopped me from getting raped, but he’s no hero. “That’s what I thought.”

Chapter Nineteen: Callum

I fucked up. I let Eric live. I’ve never let a loose end go unfinished before. It goes against everything I am and how I’ve built my reputation. Callum Russo never had so much as a wrinkle in his plans. I was the Fixer who never has loose ends.

Until now, because I fucked up.

Letting that date-rapist go isn’t the problem. It’s her. I’m not an assassin or a serial killer, but there’s plenty of blood on my hands. I don’t hesitate to eliminate threats when the situation calls for it. It’s the cost of doing business, a necessary step to effective problem solving. And my work is impeccable.

How many times have I been begged for mercy when my gun was pointed at someone’s head or my knife pressed against their neck? And I never batted a fucking eye. I pulled the trigger without hesitation or remorse.

Until she asked me not to.

Lexie looked up at me with those bright blue eyes pleading, and I broke my own goddam rules like I would do anything to please her. I’m fucking pissed. Because in that moment, while lowering the knife and seeing the relief on her pretty face, I realized it’s true. I will do anything to please her, give her anything that makes her happy.

Going after the son-of-a-bitch from the dating app was bad enough. He wasn’t part of a job, I’d found him for personal reasons. Finding out he’d been flirting with my pretty pink nurse, that he thought she could ever be his, sent me into a jealous rage. Tracking him down was an action born solely from an emotional impulse—something I thought I’d gotten a handle of a long time ago. I wasn’t planning on hurting Eric, the idea was to threaten the cheating bastard and make an example of him for Lexie. But then I found the little baggie of pills in his wallet—pills meant for Lexie—and I’d seen red. When he admitted what he wanted to do to her, my knife was suddenly pressing against his throat.

I won’t lie, it felt good to slice him open for what he planned for Lexie. My Lexie. Even now I’d do it all over again. But this time I’d finish the fucking job, instead of letting him live to see another day. Allowing him to survive is a threat to everything I’ve built.

But I did it for her.

Hurling my tumbler, it shatters in an explosion of glass and whiskey. Lexie. Just the thought of her name has my head spinning with messy emotions, my body buzzing with hormones. She is good, and decent, and simple. She’s also stubborn, judgmental, and guarded. She thanks me for protecting her, and lectures me about violence against her attackers in the same breath. She’s beautiful, and fun, and emotionally unavailable. She’s complicated and wrong for me, and I’m completely obsessed.

The anger surging in me shifts towards panic, the realization unsettling every part of me. Lexie has me, and she has no idea. She’s taken me without even trying, without meaning to. But she doesn’t want me, doesn’t need me. That’s going to change, it has to. Because I need her to need me.

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