65. Kian

65

KIAN

" K ian," Tate complains. "I'm not telling you where she is."

My teeth grind in irritation. I haven't seen or heard a peep from Lorelei since the moment she fled from my office like her ass was on fire on Friday night.

It's now Sunday, and I'm losing my fucking mind.

She told me that she felt it. She agreed that there was something between us, and then she just fucking ran.

I comb my fingers through my hair and drag it back until it hurts.

I have never, ever lost my mind like this over a woman. I'm usually glad when they leave…

After spending longer than I'm willing to confess knocking on her front door and calling for her loudly enough that her neighbor came out to see what the fuck was going on, I finally gave up and called Thomas.

It took some convincing, but eventually, he gave me the master key to her apartment.

I was terrified when I let myself in. I knew it was unlikely, but the thought of finding her dead was a constant concern that I couldn't banish.

Thankfully, that wasn't what I found inside her quiet apartment. Unfortunately, I also didn't find the woman who had escaped my clutches.

The only thing I knew for sure was that she was trying to outrun what we'd found.

She's scared. I fucking get that.

I'm scared, too.

But I'm not so scared that I'm going to run away from this. Run away from her.

For the first time in my life, I want to embrace it. I want to jump in with both feet and see where it takes me.

Of all the women I've met over the years who were so desperate to start up something serious with me, the one I decide I want to see where things go with is the one who'd rather leave town—assuming she has—than face me when shit gets real.

"Tatum, this isn't fucking funny. She's been gone all weekend," I sneer, my fists curling.

"I know, Kian. I fucking know that she's been gone all weekend. But she specifically asked me not to tell you where she is. I'm not breaking her trust in me. Not now, not ever."

"So you have spoken to her?"

I assumed she had. I know how close they are. But up until her last comment, she was keeping her cards very close to her chest.

"Kian," she breathes. "She wants time and space. Give it to her."

"I did," I argue. "I gave it to her last week when I fucked off to London. Look what good that did," I shout, a little too loudly.

"No wonder she ran," Tate mutters down the line.

"Okay, fine. Maybe I came on a bit strong. But…fuck, Tate. She's stronger than this. She should be here facing me and telling me that she doesn't want me if that's the case."

My brows pinch when Tate's reaction to my comment is to laugh.

"The fuck, Tatum?"

"Of course she wants you, you idiot. That's exactly why she isn't here. If she wasn't interested, trust me, she would be telling you to your face. You should be pleased she ran."

"Pleased?" I balk. "How could I be pleased that I sent her running after we?—"

"Screwed on your desk?" she finishes for me. "Hot, by the way. I love it when King bends me?—"

"Tatum," I bark, not wanting or needing to hear this.

"She cares, Kian. You're scaring the ever-loving shit out of her, and she doesn't know how to deal."

"So tell me where she is and let me go and attempt to fix it."

"I can't," she repeats, sounding exasperated.

"Let me talk to King. Maybe I can get it out of?—"

"No. Just wait. She'll be back."

"When?" I demand.

"When she is ready."

"She has work tomorrow. She can't bail on her job."

Silence greets my comments.

"I swear to God, Tate, if you're about to tell me that she's handed her notice in…" I trail off, not really knowing where I'm going with that threat.

"She hasn't. She's put in a request for emergency leave, though."

"Emergency? What's?—"

"I need to stop talking before I say too much."

"That's exactly why you need to keep talking," I counter.

"Lorelei is fine, and she will be back when she's dealt with her— fuck. I'm going. Bye, Kian."

She cuts the line, and silence descends around me.

"Fuuuuck," I groan as I fall back on the couch and drop my cell into my lap.

I stare out of the window, watching as the sun descends for the day, the unease in my stomach only growing.

If I were to push Tate, I know that she'd eventually crack and tell me everything I need to know. But I don't want to do that.

I want Lorelei to call me. Return one of the many messages I've sent her. Hell, even a work email would be something at this point.

Reaching for the television remote, I turn on the game and attempt to push my concerns about Lorelei aside.

It's pointless. No matter how hard I focus on the game, she never leaves my head.

I had tickets for this game. I also had flights and a hotel for two booked.

Wishful thinking? Maybe.

Probably.

But I couldn't help myself. Watching Kieran play with her by my side has become one of my new favorite things to do.

Hell, who am I kidding? Doing anything with her by my side is my favorite thing to do.

Unable to stop myself, I unlock my cell and open up Instagram.

I might have an account, but I hardly ever post on it.

Our marketing team insisted we all have profiles, but it's not really my thing. The few posts I do have are courtesy of a previous assistant who turned out to love social media more than getting paid to be an assistant. It was about all she was good for before her inevitable departure.

I hit the search bar, ready to type in Lorelei's name, but it soon becomes apparent that it's not necessary.

It's the only option from my previous searches.

I shake my head at my own patheticness and tap on it, opening up her profile.

Honestly, I wasn't expecting much, but I'm still disappointed when I discover that she hasn't posted since a night out with Tatum a few weeks before she started at Callahan Enterprises.

Despite having looked at them all a million times in the past week alone, I scroll through past photos of Lorelei in the hope it's enough to get my fix when I already know it won't be.

I pause when I find a photograph of her with her brothers.

She might have given me a little more detail about them, but I still have very little knowledge about her life before Chicago.

Opening the post, I tap on Wilder's tag and go to his account.

His first post stops me dead in my tracks.

He's in a hospital bed.

"Shit," I hiss, sitting up straight, my eyes dropping to the content of the photo that was posted yesterday. "She's in California. She's gone home."

I'm at my front door with my shoes on before I realize I've made a decision, and only ten minutes later, I'm in my car and heading toward her apartment again.

I need their address.

Sure, Tate will have it, but she's made it more than obvious that she won't be telling me shit about Lorelei's location.

If I want to find her, then I need to do it alone.

I t only takes me five minutes to hack into her iPad to find her contacts, and thankfully, she has Wilder and Hendrix listed with the same address.

And then it takes me another hour to pack a small bag and be at the airport for a flight that leaves in just over thirty minutes.

There is one seat left. An economy seat.

If I hadn't already told her how I felt, then this should confirm it.

I sit with my thighs practically pressed to the people on either side of me on the really fucking hard seats and a scowl on my face.

I have no interest in talking to anyone for the next four hours and twenty minutes, and I'm more than happy to let them know it.

I pay for the downright awful WIFI and attempt to deal with some emails, but my inbox barely loads let alone sends anything.

By the time I get off the flight, I'm more than ready to put this fucking day—this weekend—behind me.

The airport is a fucking nightmare, and it takes me forever to get to the car rental and collect the car I organized from O'Hare.

It's late by the time I hit the road, the GPS telling me that I've got almost an hour's drive to get to the address I found back at Lorelei's apartment.

I've been to LA before. The sights around LAX aren't new to me. But before long, I leave the bright lights of the city behind. The landscape changes quickly and not long later, so does the feel of the place.

The houses get more and more dilapidated as I pull into a town I've never heard of before, and there are more cars abandoned on the side of the road than actually going anywhere.

I'm hyper-aware of everything as I make my way down what I assume is the main street. The odd street light flickers, allowing the few people staggering around a chance to see their hands in front of their faces. But other than that, there's nothing.

The majority of the businesses that line both sides of the street seem to be boarded up. And if they're not, the windows are smashed, and they're covered in graffiti.

The place is depressing as hell. The thought of Lorelei and her brothers calling a place like this home fills me with dread.

They deserve so much more.

And things only get worse as I close in on the destination I tapped into the GPS.

"Oh shit," I gasp, the car bouncing after falling into the world's biggest pothole as I drive into the entrance of a trailer park. "Fucking hell."

My eyes are wide as I take in my surroundings. This place looks like hell. And the darkness is probably hiding the worst of it. I can only imagine what it'll be like come dawn.

I shudder at the thought.

Suddenly, all of Lorelei's first impressions of me make much more sense.

She wasn't lying when she said that we grew up in different worlds.

Only a few minutes later, the GPS happily tells me that I've reached my destination, and I pull to a stop outside a trailer. It's one of a handful with the lights on, and I can only hope that's a good thing.

As I kill the engine, I let out a heavy sigh and look around once more.

It occurs to me that they might have moved, but something tells me that they haven't.

Swallowing down my apprehension, I push the door open and step out straight into a deep, muddy pothole.

Wonderful.

With my head held high, I walk toward what I assume is the front door to the trailer and knock.

My heart jumps into my throat the second I hear movement and voices on the other side of the door.

I don't allow myself to consider the fact that some stranger with a gun—or worse—is about to come to the door.

Lorelei is in there. I know she is. And she will hate me for doing this.