Page 112 of Bad Blood

His eyes are sunken and bloodshot, his shirt untucked, and tie loosened.

“Is everything okay?”

“I think I’m losing my mind.” He yawns into a fisted hand as He lets himself in, shuffling past me and into the seat Hudson occupied earlier.

“I’m sorry to make you come all the way up here for nothing.” I try to think on my feet and hate to lie, but I don’t have any other options. “The USB is safe at my house. I can bring it to you first thing on Monday.”

He tilts his head toward my voice, but he doesn’t turn to look at me. “That works. I want you to know you’re doing the right thing.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” I take a minute to gather my bearings, make my way behind my desk, and take my time sitting. The remnants of vomit coat my teeth, and I grab my cup of water and take a swig.

“This,” Luca tilts his chin toward the books on my desk. I should have known he’d recognize them for what they are. “Is above and beyond what I could have asked of you.”

A dose of relief courses through me. If he knew I agreed to help Hudson, he’d mention it, right? Someone has to find something to put a stop to this. He lost my loyalty the second he included me.

“I’m proud of you for standing up for what’s right. Bring it by on Monday. You should go home.” He pushes the seat back and stands.

He makes it to the door and waves, pulling it behind him. That’s not the type of pep talk I would expect from Luca, but it’s the pep talk I need. The sound of his calm eases my fear.

I chew on my thumbnail—stupid habit—to occupy my hands; I pull open my top drawer and grab the bottle of Advil. There’s a headache building at the base of my skull I need to get in front of.

I have an idea.

But it could take all weekend.

31

Damage Control

Dax

Monday, June 5 th

9:12 a.m.

“You caved.” I yawn and stretch, grinning from ear to ear, failing to hide the excitement from my voice as I answer the phone.

And she does nothing to hide the worry from hers. “Dax?”

I spring up in bed, knocking off the sheets draped across my chest. “Brighton? Is everything okay?”

“Have you talked to Liam?”

My feet hit the floor, and I’m on the move before I get my bearings. I reach for my jeans, jamming my legs into them, hopping around until they’re on. “Not since yesterday.” What the fuck is going on? If something is wrong, why didn’t he call me himself? “What’s up?”

I tighten my belt and turn, finding the contents of my bag sprawled across the foot of the king-sized mattress, the sofa, and the desk.

If Brighton’s calling to talk to me about his chemo appointment over the phone—bile climbs my throat—it must be bad. I stuff my keys in my pocket and yank my T-shirt over my head.

“I waited. Figured there was a good excuse.” She clears her throat.

“Can I talk to him?” I knew he’d throw me under the bus because I didn’t make it to his appointment today. I grab my toothbrush and cover it in mint toothpaste, running it under the tap before I stuff it in my mouth. I yank my suit from the back of the chair, scoop my dress shoes off the floor, and shove them into the duffel flayed open on the edge of the coffee table. I can’t think straight with all my shit strewn across the room. My stomach churns with fear at what I’m about to hear. A sour taste coats my tongue, and I pull the toothbrush from my mouth to spit.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, refocusing my attention on the phone call. The silence on the other end causes a tightness in my chest. Why won’t she tell me already? “Hello?”

“He. Never . . . um.” She takes a deep breath and lets it out into the phone. “He’s not here.”

I hop on one foot while I slip on my shoe. “Did he go home? I’m leaving in ten. I can be there in like two hours.” I knew I shouldn’t have left him alone, whether or not he wanted me there. I race through the room, grabbing any remaining clothes from the desk and sofa, my toiletry bag, and my toothbrush.

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