Page 88 of Vicious Intentions

Then a second one.

We need to talk. Please, baby.

I’d been tempted to text him back. In fact, I’d almost done so three times. He’d known I’d read it, which meant he also knew I was ignoring him on purpose. We both carried iPhones. I couldn’t talk to any of them until I found out everything I could. Even then, I wasn’t entirely certain what I was going to say. The ache continued, my stomach in knots. Nothing seemed real any longer, yet I felt danger. I felt sadness. Most of all I felt loneliness.

I missed them. All three of them.

During the flight, I’d shove aside the unwanted memories, replacing them with images of their faces and the times we’d shared. Laughter. Passion. What it had made me realize was that I’d felt it before. With all three of them. I was certain of it. The chemistry was too intense. Even now, electricity coursed through every vein and muscle.

The third text was… terrifying.

We’re coming…

As in more than one person.

I fingered my phone even now, anxiety creating a breathless feeling. Were they watching me, us? What kind of sick game were they playing?

Perhaps I’d been impetuous taking the first flight out of Chicago. At least it had been nonstop, but four hours had been too long to sit and think about everything I’d read. Even though I’d tried to shove aside the fleeting memories, they’d come pouring in. I wasn’t just thinking they were the reason that I’d been targeted not once but twice. I was certain of it.

In finding out from my useless manager that Jillian had instigated the trip to Chicago, I wasn’t entirely certain who I could trust any longer. It certainly wasn’t my memory. The worst feeling of all was questioning whether or not I trust the men I’d fallen in love with.

I was sick inside, my heart aching. I’d wanted to run to their arms for safety, but in the back of my mind, I couldn’t get away from the thought that one or all three had killed someone. It was crazy. Muddled. Even now, I could barely breathe.

I was home in a place I wasn’t certain I even knew. There were no pictures, no vivid images of celebrations or holidays. I’d never really thought about it before now.

The light inside the expansive room had cast a beautiful glow on the artistic pieces my mother had selected. I loved this house, although I knew they were considering selling and moving elsewhere. The location I’d yet to be told. With dad retiring, maybe they wanted a fresh start. I’d miss the gorgeous pool that I never spent any time in, the bright sun that San Diego always seemed to have, and the ocean. That was laughable. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone to the beach in any state.

I was always working.

That’s what I loved.

Then the three men had come along, and I’d realized how much of life I’d been missing.

I heard my mother return to the room, and when I pulled away from the window, I was certain what I’d find in her hands. Refreshments. She’d gone to find my father after getting over her initial shock of seeing me standing on her doorstep. I’d been here almost twenty minutes, and he hadn’t shown his face.

They had to know why I was here, or at least suspect.

“I thought you’d like some lemonade,” she said as she proceeded to pour a large glass from a stunning pitcher that seemed more like an art piece.

“What I want is the truth.”

She kept a smile plastered on her face, acting as if this was a typical visit. I’d planned a tight trip and would need to leave within thirty minutes to make my flight. I would return to Chicago where the storytelling would continue. But in doing so, I’d need to control my heart. I couldn’t allow Cain, Hunter, and Cristiano to weasel their way back into my system. If I did, I’d never learn the details.

“Sit down, honey.”

I shook my head, realizing I wasn’t going to get anywhere with her alone. After easing onto the chair, she pushed one of the glasses across the table. I noticed her hand was shaking.

“Who am I, Mother?”

“What do you mean? You’re our daughter. You’re a beautiful girl. You’re famous.”

I heard my father’s footsteps and took a chance. “Is my name Sage?”

My father stopped in the doorway, remaining silent. I lifted my head, almost taken aback by his haggard appearance. I hadn’t seen them in almost a full year. In that time, he’d aged significantly, although he would still be considered a virile man by anyone’s standards. He’d kept himself in shape, working out with a vengeance. If it was true and he was an assassin, then of course he’d need to be big and strong.

I was ready to burst into laughter, chastising myself for being ridiculous, except the signs had been there. The strange phone calls. The late-night flights out of the blue. The less than up front answers to questions when I’d bothered to ask. The security. The threats, although I’d never been privy to one. The money I knew they had in several bank accounts.

I’d chosen to ignore every sign, pretending my father was a regular guy.

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