Page 14 of Fool Me Twice
Hart pulled out his phone and fired off a text, waiting for a reply to come. Shockingly, Midas sent one back right away.
“Midas is close to where Wren is,” Hart said, typing a reply. “He’ll drive over to check up on him and make sure he’s eating and sleeping okay.”
“And…”
“And that nobody is messing with him.” Hart smiled. “I know. Now promise me you’ll sleep tonight?”
“Black…”
“Is an adult who can manage his own sleep schedule,” Hart said. “But if it helps, I’ll unplug his router so he’s bored into sleeping.”
He’d rather Fix get some rest. Hart could handle the lack of sleep.
“He’ll just come out to pester someone else,” Fix said, but there was a relieved little smile on his face, and the crease between his brows had eased up a bit, which settled the aching feeling of wrongness in Hart’s chest.
“You’re probably right about that,” Hart said as Fix pulled into a large parking lot next to a gigantic warehouse.
It was just as drab as everything else in the industrial circle of Slatehollow—shades of gray and rust wherever you turned. Hart had been so distracted he’d almost completely forgotten just where they were headed to.
Now he was faced with it, his heart began to race, fingers shaking in a familiar way.
Fix turned the truck off and hopped out, unaware of his turmoil and leaving Hart inside to collect his thoughts. Hart was grateful for it. He needed a second to get himself in order and make sure he was as professional as he could be.
He drummed his trembling fingers on his knees, taking deep breaths in through his nose and releasing them through his lips. He counted to fifty, then backward to zero, trying to steady himself. He closed his eyes, picturing all the new ties and pocket squares he had ordered to be made, hoping they’d be delivered soon so he could enjoy adding them to his wardrobe.
Happy thoughts.
Positive thoughts.
Calm thoughts.
Nothing that was edged in smoke or grime. Nothing that made his heart feel like it would break the walls of his chest. Nothing that felt like it was worming its fingers underneath his skin…
“I don’t bite, you know.”
Hart snapped his eyes open at that deep, rumbling voice, whipping his head to the side.
He found a vision he wasn’t ready for yet.
A half-shaved, tattooed head decorated with more metal than had been used to create the truck Hart was sitting in. The dark brown strands were slicked back off his face, covering some of the artwork toward the crown of his head. There were piercings in his eyebrows, the bridge of the nose, his septum, lips, and chin. They were everywhere. The earlobes were stretched out with small black disks, and Hart couldn’t even begin to tell where one tattoo ended and the other started.
Cane.
Leaning against the window dressed in a black tank top and jeans, with one muscled arm braced across the top. He was smirking at Hart, his dark eyes almost pitch black in color, looking like they knew all his secrets. Hart swallowed, refusing to get sucked into those black holes and consumed.
Cane knew nothing about him.
Hart grabbed the door handle and opened the door, satisfied with how Cane hopped back to avoid being hit by the door. Hart stepped out, smoothing his suit once he was upright again.
Fix was standing a distance away, looking apologetic and sheepish.
“Is disrespect of personal space a part of this curse?” Hart asked, trying to keep his voice even.
He watched as Cane stretched to his full height, just slightly taller than Hart, but broader, sturdier, firmer than Hart in every way. He was pure power. A magnetizing presence.
“Just part of my charm,” Cane drawled, extending his large, scarred hand toward Hart. “Hart. Always a pleasure.”
Hart stared at the hand, the need to always be proper fighting with the need to avoid touch at all costs. His hands were still shaking, and the smoke he could smell on Cane was making it worse. It always lingered around him like a cloud.