Page 64 of To Catch A Rook

His eyes held an apology, but no words of reassurance were spoken. I didn’t want false comfort; I needed this to be done, whatever the outcome.

I jutted out my chin and injected steel into my spine.

“May the best fighter win.”

Something was very wrong in the universe tonight.

My pumps had worn a circular track in the grooves of the wooden plank floor, as I tried to ease the riotous energy working its way into my bones.

I wasn’t a spiritual person. I didn’t believe in a higher power orchestrating my every move or that we were destined to follow certain paths. The nature versus nurture philosophy was the one I most subscribed to; had I been born into a humble home on the other side of the planet, I would not be who I was today—full stop.

Circumstances and choices, that’s what built our mountain of opportunities and molded our destinies.

Yet I couldn’t control the adrenaline coursing through my system tonight, as if my subconscious was fighting for its own life against a torrent of invisible forces.

Aaron hadn’t called today. He had failed to put my heightened senses at ease after yesterday’s tryst in his office, and his absence had taken up space in my thoughts all day.

I’d slept with Aaron many times; countless times; but the connection we’d shared on his office carpet yesterday had been different. It was raw; a level of vulnerability we’d never shared before. An awakening.

He hadn’t called me today, just as he didn’t stay to have breakfast with me. Aaron always had a reason that was really an excuse, but today’s absence held a dark undercurrent.

When I received the text, the simple message with the words ‘Te amo, Mi Reina,’ I knew he was in trouble; permanent, irrevocable trouble.

I stormed to the small closet on the other side of my office, grabbed a tracksuit and a pair of sneakers, and headed into the attached washroom to dress.

“Siri, call Blackbird,” I barked to my phone on the vanity, and pulled the tight leggings on over my calves.

I rarely called her late at night, only in an emergency; thousands of years of evolved hind-brain biology was telling me this qualified as one.

“What’s up, boss?”

I yanked the dark tank over my head.

“Can you track Aaron’s phone for me?”

Unlike Kellan, I rarely checked on Aaron. His whereabouts were predictable and monotonous, rarely warranting a second glance. But I still had Blackbird hack into his GPS years ago as a ‘just in case.’

I’d debate my status as a control freak later.

“Sure.”

Muffled sounds and the clacks of a keyboard filled my speakers in the absence of words. Thank the universe she’d been at home when I called. Someone else might have been out late on a Tuesday night.

“His phone is at that warehouse in the Crocks. Do you want the address?”

“Yes!” I spit out, zipping up my hoodie and pulling on my trainers.

“Sending now. Oh”—I winced as the shuffle of her phone screeched like nails on a chalkboard in the echoing space—“this is interesting. Kellan’s signature is there with him.”

I froze my frantic ministrations to get my clothes on.

What in the actual fuck?

Kellan and Aaron didn’t play in the same sandbox—ever. Their only connection was their involvement with Antonio’s—

Shit.

I didn’t have the clairvoyance to understand what was going on, but if Kellan was involved in official Cartel business, this was very, very bad.

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