Page 45 of Eight Second Hearts

“And you should fuck off,” I say. “I told you I’m not taking it.”

“I can’t return without some sort of news?—”

“Then tell my dad if he really wanted to get ahold of me, he should have made better fucking choices,” I snarl. “He made his choice. He has to live with it. Not me.”

The man nods and presses the envelope against Ram’s chest. “I can’t return with that either.” He nods his head to me. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Indie Chen.”

And then he turns away and leaves. As if nothing ever happened. I don’t know how he even got in here without a badge.

“What the hell was that about?” Ram asks, the envelope in his hand.

“Don’t worry about it,” I grunt. “You can throw that away.”

“What do you mean don’t worry about it?” he growls. “Indie, some mafia-looking motherfucker just came in here as a point of contact for your dad. I don’t think?—”

“It’s none of your business,” I sneer.

He tenses, his eyes tracing my face. “You in some trouble?”

“My life isn’t your concern.”

He raises his brow. “I see.”

The tension skyrockets between us, the silence stretching out until I take a step back. “Don’t worry about taking me back to the room. I’ll find my own way.”

“Fine,” he says, his voice cold.

“Fine.”

And then I spin, not able to look into his face and see the blankness there. Ramiro Mondragon rarely looks anything but happy, and I’d just stolen that from him. But I can’t talk about it. I can’t, not because I don’t want to tell him, but because there’s no way I can even get through an explanation.

It’s too much.

Too painful.

And I’m a fucking asshole for not just explaining that, but I’ve never claimed to be a great person.

Chapter 27

Ram

Istare after her, the envelope clutched in my hand. There’d been so many emotions in her eyes, I’m not sure which to focus on first. The fear? The panic? The sheer desperation to get away from the conversation?

She’s spent all this time asking us questions, none of us thought to ask her any in return. Not ones that matter. Who the hell sends someone like that to deliver a message?

I look at the envelope. I could open it, read what’s there, figure it out. But fuck, that feels dirty. Then again, what if this envelope holds something that threatens our safety? It would be wise to check it if she won’t tell us.

Beau and Tripp return a minute later, their brows furrowed when they don’t see Indie. “Where did she go?” Beau asks.

“She’s finding her own way to the hotel,” I comment, before pulling out my phone.

“Somethin’ happen?” Tripp asks, watching me carefully.

“Yeah,” I nod. “But fuck if I know what.” I unlock my phone and open the browser. “Either one of you actually looked up Indie before?”

“Just some of her articles,” Beau comments. “Tripp has too, but we didn’t dig into anything personal. Why?”

“I think she’s in some sort of trouble,” I say.

---