Page 20 of One Love

Chapter Seven

J

An hour ago, I was feeling the weight of the day on my shoulders but as soon as that text hit my phone, it was like getting a shot of adrenaline straight to the brain.

Game on, you fucking stalker. Game fucking on.

The chill of the April night whips around my body like a breathing, living thing, slapping every inch of me as I ride my bike to the pinned location, my GPS guiding me down the streets of New York. I recognize the destination but I can’t trust that it’s safe. When I sent the pin to Glitch, I told him he had twenty minutes, thirty tops, to get me answers before I reached my target.

I’m excited but I’m not a fucking idiot. My logical brain reminds me of the times this guy has been on my side, but what if he’s playing the long game? What if he’s the cat and he truly believes I’m a mouse frozen in his orbit?

I may be going alone but the Reapers now know exactly where I am and if I know Crank, and I fucking do, he’s already getting the crew together to drive out here and wait for any signal I give.

My gut, though, tells me I’m safe. Mostly, it tells me I’m about to get some much-needed answers.

Pulling up to a warehouse in the Bronx, I stop the bike, taking in my surroundings. Rows and rows of containers line the premises, all waiting to be sent out on the docked cargo ship. The place is organized, signs at every corner, for better worker efficiency. When my gaze returns to the warehouse, I see the crack in one of the sliding doors, a faint light splashing out into the night.

As I swing my leg around the back of the bike, I pull my helmet off and shake away the strands sticking to my forehead. The rest of my hair is in twin braids on either side of my head. That too, is more efficient.

Unlike in the movies, wearing a helmet with loose hair beneath it only results in a nest of knots and hours spent trying to untangle the mess. Pulling off a helmet to then shake your hair out like a sexy vixen is the greatest myth Hollywood ever told.

My phone vibrates in my hand.

Glitch: Location belongs to Zavier Galanos. Legit shipping company, primarily used for import/export of Greek trade products.

Zavier? But he wasn’t the guy texting me, though. I’d watched him that night at the casino. Unless he has some Houdini skills, I’m being punked right now.

Fuck it, I need answers and, to be honest, knowing this is linked to Zavier has a calming effect. I don’t know why but I almost—almost—trust him. At the very least, he has caused me to chuckle, albeit despite myself, a few times, which is more than I can say for the rest of the human population.

Wiping the sweat from my forehead, I carefully rest my helmet on the back footrest and whip out both my gun and my blade.

Trust or no trust, a girl can’t be too careful.

The door easily slides open, only needing a one-footed push to give myself enough space to slink inside. Where the exterior seemed nice and neat, organized, inside it’s just a mess of shit strung around all over the place. Dirty tarps hanging like sheets on a laundry line, ropes stacked high enough to block the view beyond them, and I frown at the clutter creating a sort of labyrinth.

“I’m here, fucker. Show your face.” It’s not like I’m trying to be discreet, I’m here so I can leave a little wiser than when I arrived.

No answer.

Christ, this guy likes playing games, doesn’t he?

That’s when I notice the lone table, completely out of place among the clusterfuck of shit lying around. It’s clean, no dust, and devoid of anything on top except for a sheet of paper held down by a vase with one black long-stem rose.

I roll my eyes. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

As I get closer, I look down at the paper and scoff.

Do I feel like playing at all hours of the night? No.

But do I want to walk away? Fuck no.

So, I decide to answer with my own choice.

Scribbling my words on the bottom of the paper, I’m about to fold it up and put it in my pocket when something grabs my attention.

It’s signed. It’s just one letter, but that’s not what’s niggling at my brain. Searching out my memories, I try to remember where I saw that letter like that before.

A contract? A letter when I was a kid?

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