Page 57 of Night Shift

He paused the game and turned to me with a grin. “I have to eat a lot to keep up my size. I work out every day,” he explained, flexing an arm in a mock show of strength.

Curious, I ventured a question that had been on my mind since we met. “Is Conan really your name though?”

He gave a deep, hearty laugh. “No, my real name is Constantine.”

The revelation sent me into a fit of laughter. “You definitely don’t look like a Constantine,” I managed to say between giggles.

“Yeah, I got the nickname Conan in high school when I first started bulking up, and it’s just stuck ever since.”

We continued playing for a few minutes, and then he turned to me again with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Braxton and I call Atticus ‘Atti’ because we know he hates it so much. We tease him about it being his feminine alter ego. We joke that he never gets into relationships with women because he actually swings the other way,” Conan said, trying to keep a straight face.

The image of Atticus, who saw himself as a sexual connoisseur, the answer to every woman’s wildest fantasy, being sensitive about a slightly girly nickname, was too much. I laughed so hard my sides ached. “I’ve called him ‘Atti’ a bunch of times, thinking it was just a shortened version of his name. He never seemed to mind.”

“Oh, he minds. Trust me. The thought of him having to control his reactions and not get mad over the nickname with you must drive him crazy.”

We turned back to the game, and for a few hours, the incident at the gala, the tension with Atticus, and the earlier awkwardness with Conan faded into the background.

At 3:07 a.m., the shrill ring of my phone cut through the noise of the game, instantly drawing my attention. I fumbled for the device. I hardly ever received calls at such an ungodly hour, since most people were asleep and I was often at work. Alex’s name appeared on the screen.

“What on earth could he want? I only gave him my number when I first moved in and needed help to receive a delivery,” I murmured, more to myself than to Conan, who had paused the game and turned his attention to me.

“Alex?” I answered, placing the phone on speaker so Conan could hear.

“Sam! Shit, I’m glad you’re okay,” Alex blurted out. “Listen, I just called the cops—some thugs are tearing up your apartment!”

The words hit me like a physical blow. “What? My apartment?” My voice shook slightly as I struggled to process what he had just said.

“Yeah, they’re beating the shit out of everything. Those bastards don’t give a damn about waking up the whole building. Sounds like mobsters doing a full-on shakedown or something. Your place is getting destroyed.” I could make out the faint wail of sirens in the background, and it sent a shiver down my spine.

Panic fluttered in my chest. “I’m on my way,” I managed to say. “Thanks for calling the cops, Alex. Really, thank you.”

After I hung up, I stared at the phone for a moment, stunned.

“Let’s go,” Conan said firmly, grabbing his keys and stuffing his feet into a pair of tennis shoes. I jerked on my heels—because they were the only shoes I had—as Conan handed me a hoodie. We dashed out of the hotel room, through the lobby, and out to his car.

I wondered how much of my life would be left intact when we arrived. The drive to my apartment was tense, the silence filled with unspoken worries about what we’d find.

The thought of someone invading my personal space and destroying my belongings sent waves of anger and fear through me. First the kidnapping attempt and now this. What in the world was going on?

Chapter fifteen

Ireturned home just after midnight. The silence of my kitchen hummed in my ears after the festivities at the St. John’s holiday gala. The event, meant to celebrate employees and benefactors alike, had left a sour taste in my mouth, not because of the event itself but because of the fuckery of my brother Conan. The memory of him and Sam together gnawed at me like a persistent itch. Unable to find rest, I paced the length of my kitchen, my discontent escalating with each step.

Seeing Conan’s hands on Sam had ignited an unexpected firestorm of jealousy within my gut. The image replayed in my mind, a relentless loop that fueled my agitation. Why did her choice to attend the gala with Conan distress me so? How could she just ignore me after our weekend together? The trip had been a revelation, an intense connection…or so I’d thought.

I recalled her soft skin pressed against mine, the wetness of her folds, the taste of her. She was a perfect partner, designed for me—naive, submissive, responsive, and beautiful. I’d not been able to stop thinking about her fiery mane tangled in my fingers, those captivating stormy blue eyes, and those goddamn freckles. We had fit together so perfectly, and yet it seemed as if she’d slammed the door on any future possibilities without a second thought.

That weekend, she’d shared everything with me—not just her body but her deepest secrets, her fears. The way she had responded to me was intoxicating. Her trust, her eagerness—they were unlike anything I’d ever experienced. She had matched every move and reciprocated every touch with innocence and enthusiasm that had affirmed everything I’d guided her to feel.

Why hadn’t she called or texted? Was it my age? Sure, she was quite a bit younger than I was, but I still had the grit and the grip. Was it fear that our coworkers would find out about us? Conan and Braxton barging in? Or was she simply curious about the rumors of my sexual prowess? The cold dismissal stung like a slap to the face. I’d never experienced such rejection before.

I stopped pacing and leaned against the cold marble of the kitchen counter, the chill seeping into my palms. The thought that she might have regretted our time together, that perhaps it really had been only an experiment for her, a curiosity, pricked at my pride and sent a wave of frustration through me. I’d never been one to lack confidence, especially when it came to women. Yet, here I was, second-guessing every moment, every touch.

With a huff, I pushed off from the counter. “Atticus,” I muttered to myself, “get a grip. Stop being such a damn fool.” I took a deep breath, trying to calm the rage within me. But just as I began to regain some semblance of control, my phone buzzed with an incoming text.

Conan’s name flashed onto the screen, accompanied by a message that sent a jolt of adrenaline through my veins.

Sam’s place got hit by…I’m guessing the thugs who tried to kidnap her. Neighbor saw it all. Place is trashed. Cops headed there now. Get here ASAP.

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