Page 23 of One Last Rainy Day
Gloves off, sweetheart.
Chapter Twelve
“CHA-CHING.”
The ping jars me from the image of Cecelia running her hands along my dick when we faced off in the kitchen yesterday. I’d done my worst, and even in doing it, the hum of attraction was there, only strengthening with our latest sparring match. This one heavily incited by me. She’d given just as good as she got, but Sean’s latest test backfired in the end. He’d purposely left her in my path, again, and failed to make his point, again. She’s nowhere near ready or has the strength to endure the trials of being in our world. The more he tries, the more his efforts have proven futile.
The Dead Sergeants ring out through my earbuds as I eye the new balance in our piggy bank. Scanning the Nasdaq feed when the exchange opens for the day, the local news simultaneously pops up, streaming on another screen. Satisfaction thrums through me when I search for and discover Spencer’s company stock is plummeting according to plan. Once we’ve gathered enough evidence to bury him for the guns we found at the warehouse, it’s RIP for Spencerand onto the next target. Just as I think it, my phone rattles with an incoming text from Tyler.
T: Meet you at the garage.
Annoyance flares when I catch another whiff of the fucking carrot cake Cecelia plastered to my head yesterday, and I decide another shower is in order. Moving to push away from my desk, I pause when I catch a headline flash across the screen.
LOCAL WOMEN’S SHELTER RECEIVES A STAGGERING DONATION.
Killing the streaming music, I turn up the volume just as the anchor cues the reporter on site.
“I’m standing outside ‘Chance Two Women’s Shelter’ with director Loretta Dawson, where, just days ago, an anonymous donor had a truck delivered. The truck was filled to the brim with supplies and non-perishables that will stock their pantry well through the new year. An unexpected but much-needed donation. Can you tell us a little more about that, Loretta?”
Sean’s old Sunday school teacher steps up, a mix of nerves and excitement in her expression.“When the truck pulled up, we were just blown away. We’ve received some generous donations in the past, but nothing of this magnitude. We were close to shutting our doors even after our annual fund-raiser last month. We’re so thankful to whoever found it inside themselves to gift us the ability to keep the shelter going and potentially change dozens of women’s lives.”
Satisfied, I lower the volume before cracking my neck and pushing away.
Muscles screaming due to pulling another all-nighter, I dread the long hours ahead. Heading toward the bathroom, my personal cell buzzes in my hand. Pissed it’s not my brother—who’s left my last two texts asking for a call unanswered—dread blankets me when BLUE RIDGE MEDICAL fills my screen.
In the bathroom, I study the dark half-moons under my eyes in the mirror as I answer. “Hello?”
“Dominic King?”
“This is he.”
“I’m sorry to call so early. It’s just that your...” I hear the flip of a page, “Aunt Delphine. Well...she’s early for her chemo appointment and in no state to drive herself home.”
Cupping the back of my head, I inhale a deep breath for patience. “How early?”
With her reply, I scrub my jaw. “Can you keep her there? I can be there in an hour.”
Hearing the woman panic at what’s sure to be the longest fucking hour of her life, I thank her and hang up before starting my shower. Once stripped, I palm the tiles, letting the water rain down my back as I close my eyes. “Jesus Christ.”
It’s the only prayer I can muster.
Somewhat revived after a brisk, cold rinse, I pull on my King’s tee before kicking into my boots. Taking the stairs with what little energy I have, I’m halfway down when Sean glances up from where he stands behind the kitchen island—the news still running on the living room TV. “See it?”
I nod as he grabs a mug from the cabinet, scouring me as he pours me a cup before pushing it over the island in offering.
“Another all-nighter?”
I grunt, taking a hearty sip before the bitching commences.
“Need you whole, man. Can’t keep burning the candle at both ends.”
“I don’t see anyone else around here capable of handling my workload, my way, and someone has to organize the mess that was left for me.”
“According to your impossible standards,” he snarks. “Did we really fuck up so badly holding the fort down while you were in Boston?”
“You feeling needy?” I ask between sips. “Want a compliment?”
“If I’m in need of anything oranyoneright now, it’s not you. By the way, thanks for fucking that up for me. She snuck out last night without a word and won’t text me back this morning.”
