Page 26 of Wrecked By You
My scar itched, a sure sign my anxiety levels were spiking. Best to get rid of some of this excess adrenaline before confronting Ella.
I dressed in athletic gear and made my way to the gym I’d had installed in the basement of my home. Running ten miles while wearing a high-necked sweater in the LA heat was only something a crazy man would do, and while I’d occupied that state of mind for a while after my attack, I wasn’t in that headspace any longer.
Apart from the nightmares. When they came to me in the dead of night, I found myself right back there, on that fateful evening, searching for something I could have done that would have changed the outcome.
I caught sight of the vicious, jagged scar that ran three-quarters of the way across my neck. If the knife had sunk even one millimeter deeper, I wouldn’t have made it. I ran the tip of my forefinger over the bumpy skin. I hated this thing. Hated what it signified. That I was weak, stupid, gullible. Taken in by a pretty face and a warm pussy. And all along she’d been plotting to rob me. The consequences of her actions were something I’d have to live with for the rest of my life.
And the worst scars weren’t even on the outside.
I put on some lively music and jumped onto the treadmill. Five miles passed, then ten, then fifteen before my legs gave out and I stopped the machine. My body glistened with sweat, but the voices in my mind had quieted, and that sense of ants crawling over my skin had fucked off, too.
After showering, I dressed in what I called my “uniform.” Black slacks, black turtleneck sweater, black Italian loafers. Before Sadie, I’d loved wearing colors. Reds, greens, blues. They complemented my dark hair and pale coloring. But wearing all black weirdly made me feel in command. I hadn’t a clue why, but I wasn’t about to fuck around with something that worked.
Getting jumped by a bunch of grown men, wrestled to the ground, kicked until my kidneys bled and I pissed blood for a solid two months, and then the pièce de résistance of having my throat slashed and almost bleeding to death kind of took away any sense of control. Now, everything I did was about maintaining control of every thread of my life.
At seven o’clock, with the sun just peeking over the horizon, I locked up my house and drove to my favorite coffee shop. Sitting outside, I drank a banana and passionfruit smoothie and pulled apart a croissant while the sun climbed higher in the sky. At seven thirty, I set off for Ella’s, pulling up outside her house just after eight.
I climbed out, slammed the door, and made my way up the narrow path. I rapped on the door. There were sounds of someone moving around inside. When the door opened, I took a step back. A woman in her sixties with gray hair pulled back into a neat bun greeted me. Her blue eyes narrowed as she examined me from head to toe.
“Yes, young man?”
Maybe this was Ella’s mother? Or maybe she’d given the agency a false address. I didn’t know jack shit about her family or her background, and after the crap that had gone down with Douglas, I’d begun to regret not delving a little deeper, even if she was the most junior of employees.
Pretty face. Warm pussy. My downfall.
But that was then. This was now. And besides, Ella and Douglas were two completely different situations. Incomparable.
“Hi, Mrs…” I trailed off.
She offered me nothing other than a raised eyebrow. I prepared myself for a door slam, ready to shove my foot inside if that happened. I wasn’t leaving here until I’d spoken with Ella.
“I’m looking for Ella Reyes.”
A slight flare in her eyes, accompanied by a widening, told me I had the right address. That was something, at least.
“And who may I say is calling?”
Very proper.
“Johannes Kingcaid. Her boss,” I added for extra impact.
“Mr. Kingcaid.”
Ella appeared behind the woman. She ran a hand through hair that hadn’t seen a brush this morning. Dark circles, almost reminiscent of bruises, sat beneath her eyes, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say she hadn’t slept in a week.
Even so, my pulse quickened, and the hairs on the back of my neck lifted. Forget pretty. Ella Reyes was a beautiful woman, and in another lifetime, I’d be asking her on a date, not contemplating firing her.
“I-I… What are you doing here?”
I folded my arms across my chest. “Coming to see why you left your teammates shorthanded last night, and whether your excuse is valid enough for you to still have a job at the end of it.”
“Now hold on,” the elder woman exclaimed.
“It’s okay, Ginny. I’ve got this. You go for your walk.” Ella put her hand on the woman’s arm, easing her out of the way. “Please come in, Mr. Kingcaid.”
She turned around and trudged down the dimly lit hallway. I edged past Ginny, who still guarded the door, glaring at me with the heat of a blast furnace, and followed, emerging into a small kitchen with a table tucked in the corner and walls tiled in a bright yellow. The front door closed, I guessed with Ginny on the other side.
I had to admit that a part of me was relieved. She had that older-woman vibe going on that reminded me of my mother. The kind who never took any crap and had a knack for making you feel about twelve with nothing more than a sharp glance and a curt word.