Page 34 of My Craving

That finally changes his expression. “Then why did you leave him in the car like that?”

“He admitted to having me followed, so I got away from the tail.”

I wait for the obvious reaction. Outrage would be nice. Maybe a he did what? followed by some acknowledgment that secretly having people follow me around Philadelphia is a little fucking insane. Declan only looks confused.

“You ran because he had you followed?”

“Yes. That’s generally what people do when they find out someone has been secretly tracking them.”

He keeps staring at me as if I’m the one saying something ridiculous, and it slowly dawns on me that the problem isn’t that he doesn’t understand what Duncan did. Declan doesn’t think the following is weird.

“Oh, my God. You don’t think having someone followed is weird.”

“Of course it’s weird. He admitted it way too soon.”

I close my eyes for a second. “What is wrong with you people?” Apparently, the problem isn’t Duncan having me followed. His poor stalking etiquette is the real issue.

“I didn’t know anyone took a picture of us, and I didn’t know your family owned this place. Whatever you think happened last night, I didn’t set your father up.” I step around him, but Declan moves with me and blocks my path again.

“You’re just going to walk away?”

“What do you want me to do? Apologize because someone took a picture neither of us knew about?”

“You embarrassed my dad.”

“There’s a difference between me deliberately embarrassing Duncan and Duncan ending up in an embarrassing situation. I’ll take responsibility for tying him up and leaving him in that limo. I’m not taking responsibility for a photographer being outside when I opened the door.”

Declan still looks like he wants to argue, but I’ve had enough. Justin is getting farther away while I stand here defending myself over a fucking tabloid picture. “I’m done, Declan. You’ve already fucked up enough of my night. Move.”

He finally lets me pass, and I immediately look toward Justin’s table to find it empty. “Fuckity fuck fuck.” I push through the crowd and head outside, the humid night air hitting me as I search the parking lot, checking the pickup area and the line of rideshares along the curb. There are plenty of drunk concertgoers stumbling around, including one guy bent over a trash can regretting every decision that brought him here, but Justin is already gone.

By the time I make it home, I’m exhausted and pissed off enough to consider skipping my skincare routine, although the thought lasts about half a second. I may have spent my evening planning a felony and arguing with a Murphy, but I’m not a fucking savage. I kick off my shoes and head into the bathroom, and washing the club off me helps, although not nearly enough. Justin is still out there, Declan ruined the best opportunity I’ve had to get him alone, and I have no idea when I’ll get another one.

Once I’m clean, I change into a silk cami and matching shorts before collapsing face-first onto my bed. I should be thinking about Justin and figuring out what the hell I’m going to do next, but Duncan creeps right back into my head. Apparently, escaping the man is a hell of a lot easier than getting him out of my thoughts, and I’m too tired to fight with myself about it tonight. Within minutes, sleep finally takes over.

Something pulls me awake, and I stay completely still beneath the covers as I listen. My pulse is already racing, but the apartment is quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and a car passing somewhere outside. Nothing sounds wrong, yet whatever dragged me out of sleep refuses to let me settle again.

Morning light filters through the blinds, giving me enough visibility to check the bedroom without moving. The corner near the closet is empty, and so is the doorway. I checked the locks before bed. I always check the fucking locks. Keeping my movements quiet, I reach beneath my pillow and curl my fingers around the grip of the pistol I keep there before sliding out of bed, pulling on my robe, and easing the bedroom door open.

I move through the apartment slowly, gun held ready as I check each room. Nothing looks disturbed. The windows are closed, the locks are intact, and no stranger is waiting around a corner. Everything appears exactly the way I left it until I reach the kitchen and stop dead in the doorway.

Glossy photographs cover the countertops. More are taped across the cabinets, refrigerator, and walls, enough of them that I can’t take everything in at once. My hand tightens around the pistol as I step farther into the room because there’s no question what I’m looking at or what it means. Someone was inside my fucking apartment while I slept.

The first photograph shows me outside The Velvet Collar. Another catches me talking to Duncan, followed by one of us disappearing down the hallway toward the private room. The pictures from Obsidian are worse. Whoever took them followed me through the club, catching me in the crowd, talking to Declan, and eventually leaving. This wasn’t someone getting lucky with a camera outside a nightclub. Whoever did this has been watching me long enough to know where I go, who I talk to, and apparently where I fucking live.

My attention catches on the largest photograph, taped to the center cabinet at eye level. Duncan is sitting in the back of the limousine while I stand in the open doorway, my face hidden by the angle that left him completely exposed. Duncan already admitted to having me followed, Declan confronted me last night because he thought I deliberately embarrassed his father, and now I wake up to photographs covering my kitchen. It’s easy to see where my mind goes first.

Anger burns through the last of my sleepiness as I look around the room again. Whoever came in here stood in my home while I slept a few rooms away and took their time arranging every photograph where I would see it. Following me was bad enough, but breaking into my apartment crosses a whole different fucking line, and if Duncan or anyone in his family had something to do with this, they’re going to explain exactly what the hell they thought they were doing.

I look at the pictures from The Velvet Collar, Obsidian, and the limousine one more time before heading back toward my bedroom to get dressed. Murphy Enterprises just moved to the top of my to-do list, and Duncan Murphy is going to tell me what the fuck is going on. If he did this, I’m going to make tying him up with his own belt look like foreplay.

Chapter 19 Duncan

I stare at Justin Mills’s picture on my computer screen, surrounded by everything Ronan uncovered after Declan told me Nash spent the evening at Club Perfection watching him. Within an hour, Ronan had Justin’s financial records, employment history, social media accounts, civil lawsuits, and information that was never meant to be public organized into a report. I’ve been through most of it already, but nothing explains why Nash spent two nights watching the same man. Justin was at Obsidian, and last night Nash followed him to Perfection. There’s a connection between them. I just haven’t found it yet.

I study Justin’s photograph again. He’s closer to Nash’s age, attractive, and exactly the kind of man who could walk into a club and get almost anyone’s attention. The possibility that Nash’s interest in him is personal has been pissing me off since Declan told me about it. I’m jealous. I already admitted as much to Nash, and apparently knowing exactly what the feeling is does nothing to make it less irritating.

A knock sounds against my open office door, and I look up to find Alessia standing there. She studies me for a moment before her attention shifts to my computer screen, and the instant she sees Justin’s photograph, her expression changes.