Secret Worlds (7 page)

I jacked the radio up, but Florence and the Machine didn’t help. All the chords either made me think of how mad I was at Abram or how mad I was at myself for still thinking about how mad I was at Abram.

By the time I got home, I knew what I had to do. The only way to stop thinking about a bad guy was to start thinking about a good one.

I scrolled to Dalton’s name in my phone and placed the call from the driveway—only because it was sort of awkward to talk to someone you are hot for in front of their sister.

Lulu’s little brother. God, what was I thinking?

When he picked up on the other end, I actually grinned a little.

“Took you long enough,” he said. “I was beginning to think I lost my charismatic charm.”

“Remember that time you saw my boobs?” I asked playfully.

I practically heard him blush on the other end of the phone. “I do.”

“Well, usually a guy has to buy me dinner before he gets a look at the goods. It’s time for you to pay up, Big Boy.”

***

The next night at Luigi’s, Dalton was an entire forty-three minutes late. Still, when he came rushing through the door, a frazzled blur of apologies, he
was
carrying a bouquet of fresh white roses.

“An interrogation ran long. I would have called, but I was this close to a confession,” he said, coming tableside with his thumb and forefinger inches apart in front of him.

“Really?” I asked, taking the roses and setting them on the table. “How did it go?”

“Better than this date so far. Are you mad?” he asked, spying the placement of the flowers.

“Not mad, just hungry,” I answered.

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Can we start over?”

“No,” I said. “You’re doing fine.”

“Am I?” He smiled and waved away the waitress before she could make it to the table. “Because you seem a little preoccupied.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Of course, I
was
preoccupied. I had spent the entire day fuming about Abram, counting down the hours to this date, and hoping that Dalton’s easy-going demeanor would help clear my mind. But here we were, him standing as though he was patrolling our dinner table, and me still unable to stop thinking about my boss.

But Dalton’s presence
was
melting away my stress. He was sweet. He was funny and charming. He bought me roses and apologized when he did something wrong. He didn’t scream at me and blame me for things that were beyond my control. He wasn’t Abram.

More importantly, we clicked. He knew me. We grew up together. He wasn’t some snide mystery man who pushed me away every time I got close to him. Why was I still thinking about Abram?

Ugh! That man was so infuriating that he made me mad even when he wasn’t around!

As Dalton sat down and started perusing the menu, I pretended to do the same, even though I had already read it six times. The fact was, Dalton was a good guy—the perfect guy, actually. It could be good between us. No, scratch that. It could be
great
. We could be ‘Nicholas Sparks, clutching each other in the rain and dying in bed together’ great.

I couldn’t let my anger toward my jackass boss ruin something that wonderful, could I? Nope, not today. I knew what I had to do.

I reached over, took Dalton’s hand in mine, and squeezed it. “Thank you for the roses, thank you for the jacket the other night, and thank you for the lobster roll I ordered before you got here. If I’m preoccupied, it’s because I’ve had a lot on my mind. But that doesn’t matter anymore, because you were right. I have to quit my job, and I’m going to do it tonight.”

Dalton managed to stop me from getting up in the middle of dinner to rush over to The Castle and quit, which turned out to be a good thing, since the date turned out to be pretty enjoyable. Especially since Dalton couldn’t be happier with my decision. Even before dead sorority girls started falling from the rafters, Dalton didn’t think I belonged there. And, while I still wasn’t sure what he meant when he said I ‘wasn’t the right type of girl for a place like that,’ after everything that had happened, I wasn’t sure I disagreed with him, either.

I wasn’t a good fit for that place, and I sure as hell wasn’t a good fit for Abram. Our last interaction would’ve told anyone as much. All I wanted to do was stop thinking about him—about his brooding eyes, about his hard, sculpted chest, about his stupidly handsome (and always scowling) face. Most of all, I didn’t want to think about the electricity that sparked between us more and more every time we were near one another.

I promised Dalton I would give it the weekend and let myself cool off before I officially quit. He didn’t want me running in there and saying something I would regret. So I sat around all weekend, twiddling my thumbs, chewing the scenery, and all around chilling out. Turned out Dalton was right. After I got a hold of myself, the fire in my gut—the thing that was pushing me to run away from Abram and The Castle so quickly—died down. Even the desire to leave faded.

I was left only with this: the knowledge I would be better off away from there, away from him. Away from my unexplainable feelings that threatened to ruin a good thing between Dalton and me.

And that was as clear as it was pertinent. It was for that reason I knew I still had to quit.

I moved down the stairwell to the club as carefully as I had every time, save the first. Expecting to see him standing outside an unbroken sphere of police barricades, I was stunned to find the alleyway empty and the pavement littered with shredded crime scene tape.

“Damn him,” I muttered.

I hurried the rest of the way toward the door, ready to type my security code into the pad and get this over with, but the door was already open. In fact, it was swung out so far it had practically fallen off the hinges.

“Abram,” I called through the door. “Abram, you’re not supposed to be in there. They could throw your dumb ass in prison for this!”

When he didn’t answer, I stepped inside. I was going to kill this man even if I ended up in an orange jumpsuit. I flicked on the lights to get a better look, but what I saw took my breath away.

The entire place was in ruins.

The furniture was tipped over, destroyed with its pieces splayed across the floor. Glasses lay shattered in shards on what was left of the bar, and scorch marks spotted the drapes and carpeted areas. All my work in tatters around me.

“Somebody set this place on fire,” I whispered to myself.

“Among other things.”

I jumped back a step. Even though I had expected Abram’s presence, his voice still startled me. But nothing was more alarming than his condition.

Abram sat ass against the floor, his knees to his chest, his eyes transfixed on the destruction surrounding him. Though he remained his hulking self, dressed in a gray pair of pants and a tight matching blazer, he looked smaller somehow.

It didn’t take me long to recognize the look on his face. It was the same one I felt on my own when my agent told me I had aged out of modeling, when I had to move to a smaller apartment, when Mom was diagnosed. It was utter defeat, the sort one only earns by watching everything they’ve built melt away in an instant.

Maybe I had been wrong about Abram not caring about The Castle. Whatever things in this world were important to him, this club was among them.

I walked a few steps toward him, but decided it prudent to keep at least some distance between us.

I splayed my hands. “What happened?”

“Looters, I suppose. That’s what the fire department told me.” He shrugged lightly. “They took the beer, all the alcohol. Smashed up the place pretty good. I’m told I’m ‘lucky’ they were able to contain the fire. Some
luck
, huh?”

My hand flexed into a fist at my side. “My God, why didn’t you call me?”

“I didn’t think you would care,” he mumbled.

“That’s not fair,” I said, shaking my head. “I know we didn’t leave off in a good place, but if you needed me, I would have come.” I cleared my throat, turning to hide the blush creeping up my cheeks. “I mean, it’s my job.”

“Is it?” he asked, arching his brows. “After the other day, I wasn’t sure. What are you doing here anyway? You obviously didn’t know any of this was going on, and you’re not on the schedule.”

“I came here to quit.” I sighed. “But it’s not—”

“Quit then,” he said. “I wouldn’t blame you.” His gaze panned the room. “I know I gave you a hard time before, but you shouldn’t have to go through this. It isn’t your mess to clean up.”

Turned out that was all it took. Looking at Abram, so humbled, so downtrodden, and hearing him tell me that none of this was my problem … well, it made me want
to
make
it my problem.

He was a dick, sure. But he was also right. I shouldn’t have to go through this. No one should.

Not even him.

“I can’t believe how selfish people are,” I said, and I crossed the rest of the way to kneel beside him on the floor—even though it would likely ruin my designer skirt. “To hit you when you’re down like this, all for a couple bottles of beer and whiskey.”

“Please.” He scoffed. “Tell me you aren’t as blind or ignorant as the firemen and police officers in this town.”

“What?” I narrowed my eyes. “You don’t think this was a burglary?”

“The fire started upstairs,” he said, his gaze lifting up. “Where that girl was killed.”

I wasn’t sure whether it was what he said or the way his dark eyes bore into me after he said it, but suddenly it was hard to form words.

“I—you …” My hands twisted together in my lap. I wanted to reach out to comfort him, but for some reason, it felt wrong. “You think someone was trying to destroy the evidence?”

“No,” he said, scowling. “I think someone
succeeded
in destroying the evidence. The entire attic is gone. Most of the bottom floor was ravaged.”

I didn’t know what to say. Nothing would make him feel better.

“There’s nothing left here, Ms. Bellamy, at least nothing you can help me fix.”

“So that’s it?” I asked. “You have one bad week, and you just give up?”

He smirked, challenging me with his gaze. “Says the girl who came to quit.”

I lowered my head and stared at my hands folded in my lap. “It’s not like that.”

He sat up straighter, some of his old self shining through again, and I didn’t know whether to be grateful or annoyed for that. “Then tell me what it is like.”

Yes, I
had
just come in to quit, in no small part because I saw this place, and my boss, as a lost cause. That didn’t mean I wanted Abram to feel the same way, though, and I wasn’t sure how to tell him that without letting on to thinking the place was doomed no matter what.

“I—uh—”

He tilted his head to one side. “You what? Are you at a loss for words, Ms. Bellamy?”

I slammed my fist against the ground between us. “You are extremely aggravating!”

Abram leaned back against the wall, hands folded behind his head, and closed his eyes. “There’s the door,” he said, pointing. “No one’s making you stay.”

That was probably
why
I was so upset right now. Because if I was being honest with myself, a small part of the reason I had done this—a very, very small part—had been because I wanted him to fight for me to stay. Now here I was, trying to convince him he still needed me.

Something wasn’t right here.

And still I tried.

“I get that it’ll be a lot of work—”

“Too much work, Ms. Bellamy.” He brushed himself off and stood up. Even now, after having known him for this long, I was still shocked by the sheer size of him. “And for what?”

“For this!” I answered, waving at the wreckage and hoping he could see it for what it could still be. “You worked really hard on this.”

Well, whenever you weren’t disappearing for the night.

“
We
worked really hard on this!” I added, following him as he marched toward the hallway. “We worked our asses off for this stupid club, and now you’re just going to walk away because things got rough?”

“Is that what you think this is about?” He turned to me so abruptly that I took a step back. His eyes bore into me again, and I could barely catch my breath. “What’s happening here is dangerous. These disappearances, this murder, that howling thing in the woods—this is not pretend, Ms. Bellamy. This is not some dark fairytale you can dismiss or ignore. Real people are
dying
. Do you think I care about this ridiculous club, about these walls and floors? This was supposed to be a place they could go! A place where they would be safe while—” He bit his lip hard and looked at the floor. Looking back up at me, he added. “It was never about this
place
.”

“Then what?” I asked in a small voice. “What is it about?”

“Don’t you get it?” His brow furrowed, as though he was surprised that I didn’t already know the answer to my question.

“It’s about … the people?”

“You, Ms. Bellamy,” he said, softening his tone. “It’s about you, of course. Ever since you fell into my arms, ever since the moment I saw you, with that freckle in your eye and your take-the-world-by-storm nature, it’s been about you.”

My heart jackhammered in my chest, beating so hard I was sure it would shatter my ribcage. Was this actually happening? Was Abram telling me he had feelings for me? But that couldn’t be right.

“What are you saying?” I asked, too stunned to move.

“I’m saying there are things happening here that you don’t know about, that you shouldn’t have to worry about.” He set his jaw. “You need to leave this club, leave this town, and don’t ever look back.” He gave me a long stare—one that I might describe as longing if I was forward enough to believe it—then he added, “Your final paycheck will be in the mail by the end of business today. Have a good life, Ms. Bellamy.”

He turned and lumbered toward the back room. I followed after him just in time to watch him head through the ‘symbol door.’

He was not just going to say that and walk away! I rushed behind him and grabbed the handle, but it scorched my fingers. I yanked my hand back.
What the hell
? It was way too hot to touch, let alone turn.