Page 72 of Desire Me
A bright-ass light hit Rae full in the face, bringing her to an abrupt halt. Her hands went up automatically to block her eyes despite being stuck halfway between the past and present.
The light bobbed as a dark, rectangular blob of a figure ran in their direction. Saint shifted closer, his body angled marginally ahead of hers, one hand along his thigh and slightly behind to rest on a holster whoever was approaching couldn’t see.
Finally the light lowered to focus on the ground and the running figure coalesced into a man. His dark uniform had a name tag Rae couldn’t read from where she stood, so she focused on the face that finally came into view in the dim light. Dark hair, regular features, clean-shaven. Not someone she recognized.
“Who are you?” the man barked.
She sensed more than heard her companions spreading out behind her.Remember, you’re the boss,King had said, and she did, finally pulling her mind fully from the memories. A single step brought her right side in contact with Saint’s left, leaving his gun hand unobstructed. “I’m Raegan Conté, the owner. Who are you?”
The man brought his flashlight up again, shining it directly in her face. Saint growled, his body tensing to fight, but then the light clicked off.
“Ms. Conté, I apologize.” The man slid his flashlight into a loop on his belt, then raised his hand as he stepped forward. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here. I’m Terrell Harper, the new security guard for the Warehouse.”
She grasped his hand before the wordsnew security guardregistered. A face flashed in her mind’s eye: a redhead with green eyes wide open in shock, skin stark as a ghost. Rae choked back a gasp, dropping the man’s hand abruptly.
“Rae?”
Saint, his hand on her arm, his grip steadying her. But she couldn’t stop seeing that face.
“Ms. Conté, are you okay?”
Warmth hit her side opposite Saint—Elliot, moving up to assist. Rae swayed a bit but forced herself to focus on the man’s face. “Fine, I’m fine. Sorry.” She managed the smallest smile as memories raced through her head. “I, uh, came by to pick up a few things; that’s all.”
Terrell observed her carefully, then Elliot, then the men surrounding them. His eyes widened when they came to rest on Luka looming over them all. “Right, sure.” Back to her, “Well, if you’re certain there’s nothing you need…”
“No, thank you. I’m just going to escort my friends to my office.” She squeezed Saint’s hand tight. “We won’t keep you.”
Terrell nodded. “I’ll continue on my rounds then.”
“Sure. Thanks again.”
Terrell turned, and the next minute disappeared around a corner in the gloom. Rae managed to hold on long enough for the man to get out of sight before she fell to her knees on the cold concrete floor.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The voices were loud—a group of men, it sounded like. What the hell was Vinny watching?
Rae walked in the direction of the noise. She couldn’t make out the words, but something about it was so familiar. Something she’d watched before? She couldn’t place it, but then…
No, that was Uncle Francis. That’s why it sounded familiar. Her uncle was talking to Vinny and… Who else was that?
She rounded the corner of a stack of crates that had been delivered just today off a coastal trader, arranged near the central loading dock for pickup tomorrow. There, just near one of the massive rolling doors that gave access outside—this particular rolling door being currently raised, though it shouldn’t be—stood her uncle, Francis, the night security guard, and a small knot of men she didn’t recognize at first. Francis and Vinny were in their regular dark blue uniforms, but the rest were in dark suits, several with sunglasses on despite the late hour, almost as if they thought they were rock stars or gangsters. She hated to tell them, but no one around here wore sunglasses at night, no matter what the song said.
“Uncle Francis?”
Her words had the entire group turning suddenly to face her, several of the men she didn’t recognize sliding something from their jackets or pockets.
Guns. Those were guns. And they were pointed at her.
She froze.
“Raegan? What the hell are you doing here?” her uncle yelled, his face flushing red with familiar anger. He was always angry, it seemed, especially lately.
And then the man who’d been obstructed from view stepped out from behind her uncle, and Rae felt her knees go weak.
Manuele Di Angelo. Head of the infamous, at least around here, Di Angelo cartel. The smuggling cartel.
Standing in her shipping warehouse.
