I don’t know what I expected to find, but a folder full of emails and video files was not it. The icon tiles loaded into preview pictures painfully slowly, while my heart sped up, searching each and every one of them for a familiar face. Most of them showed a guy in his twenties. Wild blond hair, grey eyes and a cocky smirk creating an image of the bad boy he undoubtedly was. The last video, however... had a pair of perfect tits, barely covered by wavy curls on the preview picture. Curls that were awfully distinct. Haylee’s curls.
I blinked at the screen, dumbfounded, before my finger involuntarily double clicked on the image, and it popped open in VLC player. My heart thumped loudly in my ears, but my eyes locked on the mobile film clip following Haylee—my Haylee– through a packed party into an empty bedroom.
“Is this necessary?” she waved at the camera shyly before biting her lower lip the way she often did.
A guy chuckled behind the screen before it blacked out, then showed a wooden panel of a door accompanied with more laughter. Shit, I did not like where this was headed, but I was now along for the ride whether I wanted to see it unfold or not. Transfixed on the screen, I swallowed painfully as a rough hand pushed the door open to catch that blond asshole pulling Haylee’s shirt off.
Desire, shame, and pure fury fought for control in me, the last one winning when Haylee shrieked and raised her hands up protectively. The look on her face was the worst thing I’d ever seen, right before the jackass pulled her arms away from her chest and ripped her bra clean off. On cue, the boob shot just before the device went flying out of the filmmaker’s hands, and a very pissed off Glen shouted at the men before the video cut off.
I shouldn’t have seen that. I had no right to have witnessed that, but now the scene was fried to my brain as my knuckles itched to punch something. Preferably the blond man’s jaw.
I rubbed my fist as my gut recoiled.Leave it.I should have just left it, but after a long silent moment I clicked on the next video, then the one after that, and one after that. Fuck, I watched all of them.
They weren’t all as incriminating as the first. In fact, most of them were of the blond man talking. Jay... of Jay talking. The topic always being Haylee, although her name wasn’t uttered in any of them, pictures of her flashed on the screen several times, some of which should’ve stayed private, as he made whatever jokes he thought would amuse his crowd. By the time I’d gone through everything, I wanted to do more than just punch the guy. I wanted to suffocate him, make him drink his own piss, and cut off his dick. He did not deserve to walk around with one.
I was so worked up, I needed a better distraction. Distraction that always seemed to work. So I started baking calzones again.
Two hours later with a third patch of pizza pockets in the oven, I took a deep breath and leaned against the kitchen counter. I’d poured out my anger and frustration into the dough. Now my chest held an empty void that ached when I exhaled, but it was better than swirling heat. I’d take the void any day over rage.
The fact that one woman got me so worked up in the first place was a testament to my waning self-control. There was just something about her—don’t go there!
Yeah, just leave it. For now.
The oven hummed a comforting tune, while the calzones inside sizzled happily. A scratching accompanied the soft melody playing in my speakers, all to encourage calm vibes. I urged to call my grandmother, but we’d talk soon enough on our Sunday cooking time, so I just fidgeted with my hands. God, I could still feel the softness of Haylee’s skin under my thumb—Stop!
The scratching sounded again, and I perked my ears, searching for the source. Not the speakers. Definitely not the oven and the calzones. I pushed off the counter and took a step toward the living room. My work desk in the corner was in disarray, but I’d turned off the computer, not trusting myself to leave the files I found in peace. My TV was off. The sound came again, this time accompanied by a sadmeow.
I raised an eyebrow as I walked to my front door and opened it. Without hesitation, the black cat that had been begging for entry slipped through and padded into the kitchen.
“Well, hello there,” I called after it as I checked the hallway for its owner. There wasn’t anyone else about, even the elevator remained quiet. Shrugging, I closed the door and went searching for the little intruder.
I found her on the kitchen counter, pawing at a plate of calzones as if I’d prepared them for her alone.
“You like the smell of that, don’t you?” I hummed, studying the cat. She gave me no mind and continued her conquest until I sighed and placed the calzone she was so intent on having on a separate plate and cut it into smaller pieces.
“If you get stomach aches after this it’s your own fault,” I warned her. Her ears twitched, but my words did not stop her from digging in.
“I warned you,” I muttered, pulling a bowl out of a cupboard and filling it with water for her. She let me get close enough to check her collar, purring happily at my touch.
Drixie.
The address on the name tag was on the other side of the city, but I knew who Drixie belonged to, and I knew where she lived now. Like the fool I was, I saved the phone number on her tag.
This was Haylee’s cat. Of course, it was, because fate would not let me forget about her so easily. Or at all.
