Page 37 of His Passerotta

Quit being a coward.

I grind my teeth at that thought and creek open the door, peering down the hallway toward the kitchen table. Josh, one of Corey’s roommates spreads papers out as another guy gingerly pulls two metal contraptions from a box.

A sigh of relief rushes past my lips, and I take off toward the kitchen.

Josh jumps when he sees me and presses his back against the table, shielding whatever the hell they’re doing. I couldn’t care less. I’ve never felt so relieved.

“Bailey?”

My head snaps toward my brother’s voice where he’s leaned against the back of the couch.

“Corey!” I run to him and fling my arms around his chest, squeezing like a snake squeezes a mouse.

He pats my back. “Hey?”

Tears prick my eyes as I pull away, and it hits me just how terrified I’ve been. How much stress my body has taken on in a few short days.

Without me needing to say anything, Corey turns to his friends. “Give us a minute, will ya?”

All three of them leave, Josh tossing a what-the-fuck look over his shoulder, which Corey ignores.

As soon as the door shuts, his eyes narrow at me. “I’m fine. Now will you chill? Jesus Christ, I was gone for three days.”

I shake my head. “It’s not about you. I…”

Corey’s boyish face, marred with a stupid fucking tattoo of a mermaid and anchor on his cheekbone, softens.

“What happened?” he asks, looking worried as he straightens. “Are you okay?”

I nod. “I’m fine.” Well, not really. “But I fucked up. Bad.” I glance at the window, wondering if someone’s out there watching, waiting for me to leave, or worse for my loved one to return. “I think we need to go.”

“Tell me what happened.” The way he says it with such confidence, such authority makes him sound like the big sibling. I’m supposed to be his protector, not the other way around.

“When I was at La Divina, right after we talked, I heard people in the dining area. It was like a mob meeting they were having.”

The red in his eyes becomes more noticeable as they widen. “Do they know you were there?”

I nod. “One of them took me, but then let me go. He—he says no one is going to come after me, but I mean… We need to go.”

“How many men were there?”

“Enough,” I say with urgency. “And they all have reason to want me dead. So…” I gesture to the door and even step that way, but Corey doesn’t budge.

“What were they talking about?”

My jaw loosens. “Are you hearing me? We need to fucking?—”

“I’m not leaving,” Corey says, matter of fact. “You shouldn’t either. They’re all going to be taken care of soon enough anyway.”

My brow furrows while I try to make sense of that statement. “What?”

Instead of answering, Corey steps around me to walk to the fridge. I follow like a puppy and bat his hand away when he tries to hand me a beer.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

He pulls the tab on the can, eliciting the familiar hiss of bubbles spilling onto the surface, before shrugging. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry about it?” My jaw hangs to my feet in bewildered frustration.

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