Page 127 of King of Pain
I sigh and pull out my phone, considering if I should text him my number.
But when I open my messages, my eyes land on something unexpected.
A text.
From my phone.
To a number with no contact name.
I stare at the screen, my pulse pounding as I read the message:
I had your phone in my hand. I couldn’t not text myself from your number. Let me explain, Beautiful.
I let out a breath and drop my head back against the seat.
“Motherfucker.”
TRACK FORTY•SIX
I Won’t Hold You Back
Chance
My muscles pull tight as I blink against the morning light filtering in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The bed beneath me is absurdly comfortable, the sheets crisp and cool—because of course they are. This place is luxury, through and through.
The Doves really went all out.
After three years of isolation in that rickety cabin with barely functional plumbing and no modern amenities, they figured I deserved something nice. And Murph? He made damn sure it was top tier.
But the location? That was all me.
I already knew where Ant worked. Cutting ties wasn’t enough to keep him safe while I was gone. I needed to have eyes on him. I had to know he was alive and well, with regular updates coming to the burner phone. It’s not my fault he chose to work in a building surrounded by new condo developments. That was practically an invitation to find a luxury unit for sale right next door.
Really, it couldn’t be helped.
I push myself upright, rubbing a hand over my face before letting my gaze wander around the sleek, modern bedroom. Everything is polished, high-end. Expensive. But all I see is how empty it is. Particularly the space next to me in this bed.
With a deep breath, I swing my legs over the side of the bed, standing and stretching again before tugging on a pair of boxer briefs. The hardwood is cool beneath my feet as I pad out intothe main living space, the open floor plan sprawling out before me.
The kitchen, with its marble countertops and stainless-steel appliances, gleams in the morning light. I head straight for the fancy coffee machine sitting on the counter and pop in a pod, pressing the button to start the brew.
As I wait, I lean against the counter, arms crossed, and huff a soft laugh.
Mornings used to be beautifully chaotic.
Ant whirling around the kitchen, making breakfast like he was single-handedly fueling the entire city with his energy. Little G weaving between our feet, waiting for scraps. The way Ant would hum under his breath, completely unaware of how much I loved watching him exist.
My chest hollows the way it always does when I think about living without them.
I have missed them more than I have the capability to process.
And now, to be this close?
It’s fucking torture.
If Ant won’t give me the chance to explain, I hope he’ll at least let me see Guinness. That little guy had no idea why I just… disappeared.
I wish they both knew the reasons I had to.
