Page 117 of The Faking Game
I shake my head in a tinyno.
He groans against my temple. “You get me hard at the most inconvenient times, sweetheart.”
“Really?” I glance down between us.
“Really. Fuck, don’t draw attention to it. And don’t sound so damned happy.”
I laugh. “Why wouldn’t I be? That’s cool.”
“I can’t believe you just used that word,” he mutters.
“What other word do you want me to use?” I rise up, brushing my lips against his ear, and whisper in French the things I wouldn’t tell him. That I think I like being his adored girlfriend.
He groans again, and his hands tighten around my waist. “I have to brush up on my French.”
Something vibrates against my hip. Insistent, incessant.It’s not a call. They must be texts. Once, twice. Then a third time. Like someone is texting me nonstop. “I’m sorry,” I say. “Someone’s trying to reach me, I think.”
I open my bag and pull out my phone. My mother sometimes has her episodes, when she demands my attention with all the fervor of a mosquito.Is this the right couch for my decoration projection? Blue or white? Tell me!
But it’s not Mom.
The texts are from an unknown number. Sevenhellos in a row, no punctuation, no capital letter.
Another text follows quickly.Good. I have your attention now.
My stomach drops, and I turn my phone to West. The three little dots appear, signaling that the person is typing.
I can’t look away.
You look beautiful in that black dress. But you shouldn’t let him touch you like that.
“Shit,” West growls beside me. His arm is around me in the next instant, and he waves our guards forward with a quick hand.
My hands are shaking, holding the phone. I keep staring at it, but the three dots don’t appear again. There’s no other text.
“Nora,” his deep voice urges by my ear. “Come. We’re leaving. Hand me the phone.”
My eyes flick from face to face in the room as we walk. From person to person. The stalker is here. Inside. There’s no other explanation.
How many people are there in here? A hundred? Two hundred?
Amos and Sam are there too, walking behind me. West gives orders in a low voice. He taps something on my phone and then hands it to someone and tells them to trace it.
And then I’m in the back of the car with Arthur in the front seat and West beside me, and it feels like I can finally take a breath again.
“Home,” West tells the driver, and it’s the most beautiful word I’ve ever heard.
CHAPTER33
WEST
Nora is quiet the whole way home. It’s not a short drive, but she keeps to herself and gives few answers. It’s past midnight in Europe, but Rafe is awake and calls us both within the span of five minutes.
I listen to her talking to her brother in low, consoling tones, reminding him of how good her security guards are and how safe she was all night.
It makes my knuckles whiten.
She’s taking care ofotherswhen she’s the one whose evening was ruined. I’m the one responsible, and it was my team who got an opportunity to catch him tonight. Half of them stayed there to keep scoping out the place.
