Page 36 of Kept By the Loan Shark

As he tapped at both screens, I studied his face and breathed in the familiar smell of his cologne and aftershave. Just under the surface, I caught the scent of perfume, something sweet and heavy. It was a painful reminder of where he had been and that he hadn’t been alone.

“Someone changed my number in your phone.”

Drawn away from my troubled, jealous thoughts, I asked, “Who would do that?”

“Kyle,” he growled. “That slimy piece of shit.”

My stomach flip-flopped. “Oh my God. He had my phone the night I got hurt.” My memories of that night were fuzzy but I remembered the important parts. The pieces all fit into place. “He lied to me about calling you and Ronnie. He wanted to be the only one with me at the hospital.”

“I think it was more than that.”

“What do you mean?”

He grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. “I think he wanted me out of the way. He wanted you all for himself. After Ronnie called me and told me about the park, it all made sense.” Scowling, he added, “I never trusted him. He had a vibe—a psycho stalker vibe—and I should have said something earlier. None of this would have happened.”

A terrifying thought struck me. “Do you think Kyle attacked Travis?”

“Yes.” He seemed to be warring with himself about something. Finally, he said, “One of my contacts sent me a message earlier tonight. There was a body found a few weeks ago. The face was all bashed in so it took a while to make the ID.” He exhaled slowly. “It was Janine. They think she was killed the same night you ended up in the hospital. Maybe early the next morning.”

“Kyle,” I whispered, feeling certain that it was him. My blood ran cold as I considered how much danger I had unknowingly put myself in earlier. “What if I had been in his car when he made his move? When I rejected him?” I shuddered. “He had to let me walk away because there were witnesses at the park.”

“Jesus, Cassie,” Hagen said on a pained breath. In an instant, his arms were around me, and he hauled me closer, right up onto his lap. “I don’t even want to think about what he would have done.”

Fighting the desperate need to burrow into his familiar warmth, I pushed away from his chest and forced him to look at me. “I saw you tonight. With her. With Vicky.”

He seemed taken aback. “At the coffee place?”

“Yes.”

“Cassie, nothing happened. We met for a drink. We talked. She drove home in her car, and I went home in mine. Alone,” he emphasized. “It wasn’t serious.”

“Like the lap dance?” I forced him to meet my gaze and instantly saw the shame and regret.

“I was drunk, but I can’t blame it all on the alcohol. I should never have gone out with Besian and Kostya. I should have kept my dumb ass at home.” He exhaled roughly. “I was hurting, and I wanted to stop feeling that way,” he admitted. “I wanted to forget about our fight. I wanted to forget that look on your face right before I walked out like a coward.”

“And did you forget?”

“No.” He cupped my face in one big hand and held my gaze. “That whole night—the drinking, the dancers—it made me realize how much I had lost. It made me realize how much I loved you, but also how my actions—going after Travis and Janine like some alpha asshole—put you at risk. I didn’t kill Travis, but I do carry some responsibility for what happened to you. If I had let it go, if I’d never confronted them in the laundry room, Janine never would have suspected me of hurting him. She never would have attacked you.” He swallowed hard, and his eyes glimmered with guilty tears. “You were right, Cassie. It was my fault. I promised I would take care of you and protect you. I failed you. Completely.”

Overcome with emotion, I pressed my forehead to his. Silent tears dropped down our cheeks. “I don’t blame you.”

“You should.”

“But, I don’t.”

“I wish I could take it back—the strip club and coffee with Vicky. Even though nothing happened, it makes me feel like slime that I was that close to making the worst mistake of my life.”

“You thought we were over,” I reasoned, trying to be fair. Even though it had hurt me to see him at the strip club or with Vicky, I said, “It wasn’t cheating if we were over.”

Hagen stroked my cheek and seemed to be working up the courage to ask, “Are we over?”

“I don’t want to be,” I admitted tearfully.

“But?” Hagen studied my face, clearly afraid to hear my answer.

“But maybe this was for the best,” I said in a painful rush. “I’ll be leaving in a few months. I’ll be in grad school for at least six years—maybe longer if I do post-grad research or find a job. Your whole life is here—your house, your businesses, your friends. I can’t ask you to give all of that up for me.”

“You don’t have to ask, Cassie.” His thumb caressed my jaw, and I leaned into his touch. “I was already planning to go with you.”

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