Page 16 of Wicked Duty
“Lucy!” Roaring through the door, I rear back to give it a good kick.
Before I can, it flies open and Lucy shoves the box into my hands, utter disgust contorting her features. “Take it away!”
The door shuts again, and the lock engages with a click.
With an irritated sigh, I tug the lid off the box and grimace at what’s inside.
A mutilated rat carcass accompanied by a single red rose. A gift for the ages.
A message is scrawled on the bottom.
You can’t escape your fate.
Every cell in my body shifts into high alert. I lift my gaze to the door.
What if one of Roguilin’s men is in there with her?
Chapter 5
Lucy
My body trembles, eyes prickling with moisture.
In about ten seconds, if I don’t get myself under control, I’m going to have another panic attack.
“Lucy, let me in. I need to check your apartment.”
I ignore his command, my anger pushing aside the fear. “No need. It’s just me in here. No more gifts.”
The last thing I want is Callum barging into my apartment and dominating the space with his overpowering presence. That motorcycle ride was horrible enough, with his sturdy chest snug against my back and his muscled thighs sandwiched outside my own. With his masculine hands pressed close to mine. My pulse beat like a drum the entire ride back. Honestly, I’m surprised he didn’t notice.
Trapped between his body and the handlebars, I should’ve felt claustrophobic. Instead, I think I almost felt…safe?
And a small part of me—okay, maybe not such a small part—enjoyed the sensation of snuggling up to him.
A disconcerting realization, to say the least.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Callum yells through the door.
I march deeper into the apartment. I won’t let the rat or Callum’s stubborn insistence ruin my evening.
This is the home Maya and I have shared together for the past several years. The place where we’ve been the most at ease.
The apartment is a very modest two-bedroom with one bath, a laundry closet, and a small balcony off the den where I maintain a container garden of herbs and edible flowers. The entire space overflows with plants, as well as Maya’s books and teaching materials. Posters cover the walls, supermodels from around the world and glamorous magazine spreads too iconic not to frame.
As soon as I enter my bedroom, I kick off my ugly work shoes, strip off the rest of my clothes, and grab a clean pair of yoga pants, a fitted t-shirt, a matching fuzzy cardigan, and the socks Maya bought me.
I wonder how she’s doing. If she were here, she’d roast me over the state of my room. The floor’s barely visible, the ancient hardwood covered in magazines and clean clothes I’ve lacked the motivation to put away.
Almost on cue, my phone blares Dean Martin’s “On an Evening in Roma,”Maya’s theme song.
I try to minimize the residual panic in my voice when I answer. “Hey, sis. I was just thinking about you?—”
“Lucy, let Callum in. This second.”
Jaw dropping in disbelief, I stare at my phone before stomping back into the main room to glare at my front door.
That bastardnarced on me? I’m not sure who the biggest rat is right now…
