Page 231 of Love Me Stalk Me
The hair on my arms prickles.
Something isn't right.
A third presence appears behind me and suddenly a bag comes down over my head, rough fabric blocking out the light, the world going dark in an instant.
Before I can react, before I can scream or fight or run, a blow lands heavy against my ribs, stealing the breath from my lungs. The pain explodes through me, radiating outward from the point of impact, stealing my ability to think, to move, to breathe.
Pain like nothing I've ever felt before.
My body collapses, knees giving way, lungs refusing to work, every nerve ending screaming in protest.
And my world goes dark, consciousness slipping away as the floor rushes up to meet me.
AMANDA HAS A GLOCK IN HER GUCCI
CAL
All I wantto do is take her upstairs, press her against the nearest wall, and finally,finallygive her what she's been begging me for.
But that's not what I need to focus on.
Not right now.
Because tonight, I'm telling her.
About Caleb.
About all of it.
This lie—or whatever the hell you want to call it—has to end. Our relationship is getting too intense for me to keep pretending.
I rake a hand through my hair, exhaling, and scan the floor. Izzy handles the VIP clients with grace, despite their entitled bullshit.
"Callahan!"
One of my guys calls for me through the comms.
"Commotion at the front. Some guy losing his shit at one of the sales clerks."
Fuck.
I grit my teeth. I don't have time for this, but I'm the one who handles this shit. So, with a final glance at Izzy—perfect, composed, beautiful in her element—I head to the front. By the time I round the corner, I can already hear it. A man's voice—loud, belligerent, cutting through the store.
The second I see him, I know exactly the type of asshole I'm dealing with. Middle-aged, a too-tight suit, like he refuses to acknowledge he's gained weight in the last decade, and a red face, spittle flying with every accusation he hurls at the poor girl behind the counter.
She's young. Maybe early twenties, shoulders hunched, face pale as she struggles to keep up with his demands. I move in fast,stepping between them, positioning myself as a physical barrier between her and him.
"Sir," I say, voice even, steady, controlled. "What seems to be the issue?"
He snaps his attention to me, nostrils flaring.
"My order is missing!" he barks, waving a crumpled receipt in my face like a goddamn warrant. "This incompetent little?—"
Nope. Not happening.
"Sir," I say again, calmer, but firmer. "Let's take a breath, yeah? I'm sure we can get this sorted out."
His eyes blaze, like he's looking for a fight, but I don't take the bait. People like him want a reaction. They feed off chaos. But I don't give him what he wants.
