“Not your fault,” Teresa reminded him firmly. Yesterday, he’d given her a little tough love. Today, she needed to do the same for him. She’d been so caught up in her own emotions that she hadn't given much thought to how Micah was handling everything. Just because they were no longer a couple, no longer even friends, she’d still once cared deeply about him, loved him, just because he’d hurt her didn't mean all those feelings had died. They’d just been tainted, turned sour.
Now maybe they were sweetening again.
At least a little.
“Come on,” she wheedled, “a whole bunch of the new kitchen gadgets I ordered have arrived, and I want to cook us something for dinner. It’ll only take one trip if we both go, otherwise, you’re going to have to leave me here and make two trips down to get them.” That was playing a little dirty because she knew leaving her alone was the last thing Micah wanted to do, but she really wanted to stretch her legs a little.
“Fine.” He huffed. “Down and straight back up.”
“All I can handle right now anyway, especially if I want to cook something for dinner,” she quickly agreed. The medication was helping, and she felt a little better today, but still tired and washed out.
As they headed out of her apartment, Micah stuck close to her side. Close enough that she could feel the slight brush of his body against hers, and she hated that her treacherous body ignited at the slight touch.
Okay, maybe she didn't really hate it.
Resent it.
A little.
Not as much as she should.
It didn't take them long to get down to the lobby and greet the doorman, who had a whole stack of parcels waiting for her. While it might seem silly to some, replacing her broken cooking equipment had been her top priority because cooking was her happy place. One she needed more than ever.
“Package for a Ms. Dash,” a delivery woman appeared in the building’s doorway right as the doorman had started filling Micah’s arms with the already delivered parcels.
“That’s me,” she said, walking toward the woman.
“Teresa,” Micah hissed.
“It’s fine, I'm not going to be out of your sight, and it will take literally a few seconds to sign for it and grab it,” she reminded him. It wasn't that she didn't take the bounty on her head seriously, she absolutely did. The last thing in the world she wanted was to wind up back in the trafficking ring’s clutches, but Micah was right there, a dozen feet away, and that made her feel safe.
Crazy since she’d spent the last decade loathing him.
Hurrying over to the woman, she signed, grabbed the package, and was closing the door when someone suddenly rushed it.
If it was actually possible for a heart to jump out of the chest, then that’s what would have happened.
She gasped, stumbled forward, and probably would have fallen flat on her face if someone hadn't darted out a hand to catch her.
When she looked up, it was to meet the last pair of eyes she ever expected to see again.
“Simon,” she murmured.
Twelve years might have passed since that night, but all it took to throw her right back into the past like it was happening around her right now was meeting her brother’s gaze.
It didn’t matter that her brother no longer looked like the same fifteen-year-old boy he’d been when he’d stood by, leaning against their living room wall, his arms crossed, a cold, calculating look she’d never seen in his eyes before.
Now he was older. His head shaved, tattoos covering the skin on the top of his head and his neck. That coldness she’d seen that night had devolved into something she could only describe as pure evil. An emptiness that said he truly didn't care that he was hurting his own sister. Being related to him wasn't going to save her.
Any humanity her brother had ever had inside him had died when he was a fifteen-year-old boy who decided to sell his sister’s body for money.
He shouldn’t be there.
Wasn't supposed to be there.
There was a restraining order that was supposed to make him keep his distance.
Not that a piece of paper could ever really keep him away.
