Page 50 of Wicked Rockstar

Damn it.

I instructed Max to keep a discreet distance behind Trissa’s car as he followed her home. There was no fucking way I was letting her go off on her own. I needed to get my head on straight. I attributed this deep-seated need to keep her safe as the fallout for almost kissing her tonight and for believing for a second she might return my long-bottled-up feelings

She pulled into a parking lot of a tall building about eight stories high. The structure was older, its gray façade faded. Outside, I spotted overgrown bushes that could easily hide someone. This place was too open and way too accessible for my comfort level. Is this where she lived now?

My blood boiled. There were no security measures that I could see. No cameras at the door or anywhere else on the property, and the lighting in the parking lot was dim, thanks to most of the antiquated bulbs being burnt out. Tris wouldn’t know if someone hid in the shadows until she was practically on top of them.

Max looked at me via the rearview mirror.

“Stay until she’s inside,” I demanded.

I watched her exit her car, toss her work bag and purse over her shoulder, and march straight for the sidewalk that led to her building. She fumbled with her phone as she took it out of her handbag.

My phone rang.

“Hi, Killian. I’m home,” Trissa’s voice was muffled as she fished her keys out of the cavernous bag and squeezed the device between her chin and shoulder.

“I said homesafe.Meaninginyour apartment,” I barely pushed out the words between clenched teeth.

Tris’s eyes darted around the parking lot. “I am.”

“You suck at lying, Tink.”

She grunted into the phone and mumbled something about overprotective jerks and to stop following her.

My eyes lingered on her perfect curves as she approached the building and faded into the shadows. Just as she was about to insert her key into the door, a young woman opened it and let her inside.

While Tris smiled her thanks, I fumed. And with each second that passed, my fury with her living situation grew. She lived in a building that clearly didn’t have any safety protocols in place to keep her from harm. I struggled to extinguish the flames of anger licking at my skin, sluicing through my veins like lava.

What was she thinking choosing a place like this? Peter had to pay her enough to live in a more secure building. Didn’t she see what I did? Was she in trouble financially?

I had fans that did crazy shit, and I imagined there were people stupid enough to love Peter in the same fucked up way. They could go for Tris to get to Peter.

Maybe it was time I had a conversation with the bastard. Trissa’s safety should be his number one priority, the asshole.

Trissa stayed on the phone until she got to her apartment and abruptly hung up. I know she didn’t see my car, but she suspected I was nearby, and it irritated her.

I texted Trissa.

KILLIAN

We’ll meet tomorrow to discuss our strategy. I’ll text you where.

It didn’t surprise me when she didn’t answer right away.

As I waited for her reply, I imagined all the things that could happen to Tris from her car to her apartment. She could be chloroformed. Kidnapped. Attacked.

I dialed a familiar number.

“Killian.” My assistant, Oliver Smee, greeted me.

“I need you to look into who owns a building for me and purchase it.” I rattled off the address. If she wasn’t going to choose an apartment with better safety measures, then I would make damn sure this one was up to my standards.

“I’m sorry, what?” His typically joyful tone dropped in confusion.

“Do it. Offer a fair price, but I’m willing to pay whatever I need to so that it’s mine. Call me when it’s done.” I hung up.

Smee was used to my bullshit.

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