Page 179 of Bad Blood

When I reach the door for the stairs, footsteps sound behind me, and I steal a glance over my shoulder. It confirms my worst fear. I grab the handle and slip through, hoping I’ve gone unseen, and watch as Kline continues toward the door leading to our offices without glancing in my direction.

I tilt my head upward, saying a silent thank you as I slide to the floor, my back pressed against the door. And imagine a smear of blood from where I heard Carrie slump against the wall. The sound of my pulse racing through my ears slows as I focus on the in-and-out rhythm of my lungs.

Five.

Ten.

Fifteen seconds pass.

I can’t make myself move.

What was I thinking? I pinch my eyes closed.

Pretend it didn’t happen. Pretend it didn’t happen.

I rotate, pressing my forehead against the cool metal of the door as I continue to repeat the words until I gain control of my breath.

Kline had Dax’s file in his office. I thought it was to prove a point, to make me think I was losing my mind. But he had it because of the swab.

A quick scan of the pages confirms the unimaginable.

He knew about the results and didn’t tell me—Liam and Dax aren’t brothers.

I need to get back to the computer and re-read what I skimmed. The DNA, the blood test—it all makes sense now.

My phone vibrates, scaring the living shit out of me. The name that appears on the screen sends a chill down my spine as dread washes over me. I glance out the small rectangular window on the door but don’t see Kline anywhere. The phone continues to vibrate, and I swipe my finger across the screen.

“Hello?”

“I took the liberty of talking to HR after seeing Liam. I’ll see you next Monday.”

My temper flares. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You could use some time off. To think.”

I stand, face pressed against the glass, looking for him, my hand balled at my side. “You can’t do that. You can’t just—”

“Yes, I can. And I did. Don’t make me regret only suggesting a week. You need to step back and evaluate if what you’re doing is worth it.”

I’m sick of Kline thinking he can control me. I’ve dealt with him for longer than I should have, and I’m not dealing with his shit anymore. Who cares if my character comes into question? I’m not a puppet. I don’t have strings. But I do have limits. And they’ve been reached.

I grab the handle, ready to give Kline a piece of my mind, think better of it, and turn to head downstairs. I bite back the threatening nausea and turn my head to avoid looking at where I presume there would have been smears of blood along the wall.

Kline is messing with the wrong person.

But payback’s a bitch.

And revenge is best served with a side of fuck you.

51

Better Left Unsaid

Brighton

Monday, June 12 th

10:19 a.m.

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