“Over something as simple as salt,” I whispered to my reflection.
Tearing my eyes from the mirror, I grabbed a towel and walked out of the bathroom so I wouldn’t be tempted to look again.
Once I finished dressing, I walked over to my side of the bed to grab the towel where I’d left it after drying off, and paused. Peeking out of the bottom shelf of my nightstand was my mini iPad. I’d taken it out of my purse to charge last week sometime, and I knew that if Collin had known it was here, he would have taken it with him.
I must have spent half an hour holding it and weighing the options before pulling up the iMessage app and typing in Knox’s number, only to let another fifteen minutes pass as I tried to figure out what to say—and if I should say anything at all.
Collin had my phone. If he checked it, he would see it. But as far as I knew, he left my purse in his trunk. Then again, right now, after everything, I didn’t care. I’m sure in a couple of hours when I came to my senses I would, but at the moment I had so much excited adrenaline coursing through my veins, only one thing mattered.
Knox.
I could still feel his hands and lips on me—phantom touches from Tuesday that left me trembling. That left me needing more of him, more of us. But more than that, I needed his energy; I needed it to feel like I could make it another day with my new monster. So after typing out a message to him, I let my finger hover over the SEND button for only a second before tapping on the screen. Then I waited.
Chapter 15
Knox
Present Day—Richland
I WAS STOPPED at a light halfway home after my shift when my phone buzzed in the cup holder. I’d barely glanced at the screen, but did a double take and reached for the phone as fast as I could when I saw the last word in the text.
(509) 555-8643: I need to see the stars.
There were only two people who knew about stars and who could have Richland area codes: Harlow and Natalie. It was a statement that would fit the latter so much, but I doubted little Natalie had somehow conned a way into finding out my number, or could text at three years old. But I didn’t understand why Harlow would be texting me from a phone that wasn’t the one I’d bought her.
Tapping on the number, I hit CALL and waited while it rang and rang until it picked up and Harlow’s voice mail filled my ear.
“Shit,” I murmured, and ended the call.
I drummed my free hand on the steering wheel quickly as I thought about what this could mean, and what I should do. And when the light turned green, I flipped an illegal U, earning me a couple of horns, and sped off toward Harlow’s house.
Since she’d texted me, only to let an immediate call go unanswered, I was worried that her husband still had her phone. I was afraid he’d finally found the phone I’d given her—the only way he could know about the stars—but then it still didn’t make sense why he’d used her other phone to text me. Regardless, I was afraid to respond to her text or call her again, and I was afraid of what he could be doing to her.
I parked a couple of houses away and tried to walk up casually, but practically stalked up to the front door. The only comfort I took was that only her car was in the driveway. With a heavy exhale, I braced for anything and knocked on the door. Less than a minute later, the door was flung open, and Harlow’s eyes widened in surprise and relief.
“You’re here!”
“Where is he?” I demanded in a low tone, but the vibration in my body from nervous energy started lessening when tears started falling down her face. “Low,” I whispered, and reached out to touch her, but stopped and looked around.
“Come in, hurry,” she said, and stepped back. Once I was inside, she shut and locked the door and flung herself into my arms.
I pulled back enough that I could tilt her head up using my thumb under her jaw. “Babe, I need you to tell me where he is.”
Her eyes were still wet with tears, but they weren’t falling anymore. “He’s at work,” she said in a confused tone.
“Who texted me?”
“I . . . did.” She whispered the last word. She said my name, but I couldn’t respond to her. I couldn’t speak. I was shaking so hard I was afraid I was going to break her, and I knew I needed to let go of her before I hurt her—hurt her more than he already had.
“What . . . the fuck . . . is that?” I asked in a dark tone, my eyes stayed locked on her slim throat.
I didn’t have to be watching her face to know when she realized what I was seeing. Her body beneath my arm locked up and she muttered, “Oh God.”
“I will kill him. I’m going to kill him, I swear to God I will.”