“You haven’t heard from her? She said she’d call you.” Zayn scuffed his shoe on the floor.
“Would I be fucking asking you if I’d talked to her? She didn’t even leave a message when she called.” Anger filled me. I turned and kicked the trash can across the room. My heart pounded and the first signs of panic clutched me. No way, I shut that down—I was done with panic attacks.
She knows the rules, call, leave a message.
I flicked my phone and brought up her number, calling again as I stared at the two guys. “Straight to voicemail.” I waited for the beep. “Best fucking call me, Red, now.”
The door jingled and I pointed at Rock. He hurried up to the front and brought the client back. I buried my anger and shoved my phone in my pocket so I could focus, nothing cleared my head like working.
Mason wanted those stupid angel wings on his back, but it wasn’t my back. I prepped his skin and laid the transfer down before I began with the needle and ink. I focused on how the wings fluttered and the tattered edges of feathers. I checked my phone during the break, but nothing from Red. Anger and worry mixed in a sour sludge in my gut. Was she okay? And why hadn’t she asked me to go with her? I hated thinking of her out there alone dealing with all her baggage and her sister. She needed someone to have her back.
Rock took care of checking Mason out while I paced the workroom, but the walls started to close in on me. “I’m headed up to her place. Call me if you hear from her.”
I paced the living room, debating what to do. If I knew the hospital, the sister’s name, something, then I could go to her, but even then, not for hours. Jericho was on the road, and he’d have to direct me in, even if I knew where the hell she was.
This was exactly the reason I didn’t do people, you couldn’t count on them. That Red’s inconsiderate ass still hadn’t called pissed me off and reminded me how weak I really was. A hole had formed where my stomach should be from the gnawing fear trying to spread.
Heading to the kitchen for a pop, I saw her phone charger on the counter and her bag on the floor.
Motherfucker, no charger. I bet her phone is dead. How could she be so irresponsible?
I threw the charger into the wall. It cracked and fell to the floor in pieces, but it didn’t satisfy me, just made me more furious since this proved I wouldn’t be able to reach her anytime soon.
A knock sounded and Rock walked in looking like he’d rather be gutted than be here.
“She called the shop just now, I tried to—”
I moved toward the door, needing to get to the phone—to Red.
“She hung up before Zayn could even call you.” Rock stood braced for a punch.
He thought I would hit him. I wanted to, because the rage made me want to fight, to hurt, to burn the world down.
“She made it, is safe. That’s all I got before she hung up.”
“Did she even fucking ask for me?” I hated asking that question.
“Her sister interrupted her, the doctor came in and she was gone almost before she’d said hello.” Rock looked away from me.
I nodded, holding tight to my rage. “Go on, I’ll see you Monday. If she fucking calls again, remind her I’m alive and would like to be called.”
He hurried out of the apartment, slamming the door closed behind him. I stomped out after him, remembering to lock the door. I revved the bike’s motor and sped away, pushing it past its normal limits. I needed the speed to blow away the anger, but it didn’t work. At the club, I grabbed bottles of whiskey and headed for my room. I left a message for Jericho, telling him we wouldn’t be there, and then I opened the first bottle of whiskey.
Somewhere near the third bottle, I started thinking of all the things that could go wrong. Her car could quit, her sister could screw with her, she could get carjacked, she could be in a damn accident—the list of dangers was endless. Normally I loved danger, but not when I couldn’t be there, be sure everything worked out. I stumbled out into the empty hall and pounded my head against the wall, trying to shut out the visions of Red hurt and bloody.
“Fear is for fucking losers,” I shouted, and threw the whiskey bottle down the hall, but the shattering sound of glass hitting the floor did nothing to satisfy the nasty mix of shit churning inside me.
What right did she have making me depend on her, want her, and then disappear without a word?
* * *
Monday morning, Jericho kicked down my door, waking me up. I’d spent the whole weekend drinking until I passed out. The dark oblivion had been the only time my fucking mind didn’t try to turn me weak.
“Damn this room stinks,” he complained. “Get your ass up and in the shower. You have clients in two hours and your girl is headed home. You shouldn’t look this damn pathetic.”