Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

LUCILLE

Day two without seeing, following, or watching Theron from afar. I’m not sure how long I can make it. I’ll be honest; I’m jonesing for a chance to see this man, to lay eyes on him. I’ve never gone this long without watching him in some kind of capacity.

My skin feels tight, even a little itchy. I need to see him, even if it means seeing him with Emmie. It’s clear to me that this man is indeed going to stay with her.

He doesn’t want me.

No matter what he says, he is choosing her. I know he’s saying it’s for safety, but if he wanted me, really wanted me, he would take me—and he would have done it in the last ten years.

Pacing my apartment, I try to keep myself busy, but I don’t know what to do. I press my lips together and roll them a few times, then look down at my feet before I let out a sigh. I need to do something. If I don’t, I’m going to go stir-crazy right here.

Walking toward my apartment door, I reach out and turn the knob, tugging it open, only to let out a gasp of surprise at who is standing in front of me. Emmie’s lips curve up into a smile as she waltzes past me and into my apartment as if she owns the place.

Closing the door behind me, I slowly turn around to face her, unsure of what I’m going to say. She’s here, in my apartment, and to say that I’m shocked is an understatement. Her eyes find mine, and her lips curve up into a smirk.

“You know, it took me a moment to figure out why every time I saw you, I couldn’t place you, but you looked familiar,” she begins, making no bones about the fact that she’s figured out that I’m not exactly who I claimed I was.

Pressing my lips together in a straight line, I watch her. Refusing to speak. It’s more along the lines of the fact that I don’t know what to say. I didn’t expect her to figure it out.

“It fucked with me. I’m not going to lie about that. You’re good.”

I almost smile at those words because that was exactly what I’d wanted to do, fuck with her. But I don’t smile. Instead, I keep my lips pressed together gently as she continues. I’m trying to stay as quiet as possible so I can figure out what she actually knows because I’m not about to give her more than that.

“But you’re not that good, and I’m not that stupid,” she grinds out. I also have a snarky comment for that because she is fucking stupid, but I decide against it.

“I just want to know why. Was it just because you wanted to ride Theron?”

She takes one step toward me, a clear act of intimidation, but I don’t give in to her shit. Instead, I stare at her, arching a brow and waiting for her to continue. I don’t really give a fuck what she has to say.

I did what I did, and I’m not ashamed.

I’m not telling her a fucking thing. She doesn’t know anything about me, about Theron and me. She doesn’t get to know, either. It’s not her fucking business.

“Tell me why you did it. Why you stalked me.” she demands.

I like that she thinks that she can come into my home and demand things from me. She can’t. Releasing my lips, I part them to speak.

“Why are you here?” I ask.

“I want to know why you followed me, why you pretended you weren’t following me, why you pretended anything at all.”

Tilting my head to the side, I watch her, then shake my head once. “To make you feel the way you do right now,” I simply state.

“What? Pity?”

The fact that she thinks I’ll buy her illusion of pity is hilarious. She is here, red-faced, heavy breathing, almost panting as she waits for me to respond. It’s laughable, really. She wants to know so damn badly.

She isn’t going to because I don’t give a fuck about her at all. Theron is the only person in this situation who I give a shit about. And the only person I will answer to. I refuse to answer to this fucking troll.

“Confused. No need to pity me, Emmie. I pity you enough for the both of us.”

Her eyes widen, and she takes a step forward. Then, with her next, she lunges. She doesn’t get far, mainly because I step to the side as I watch her fall straight to the floor right before the apartment door swings wide open.

THERON

A notification buzzes on my phone. I reach into my pocket, take it out, and look at it. Frowning, I open the camera app and watch as Emmie stands outside Lucille’s apartment door.

What the actual fuck?

I beefed up Lucille’s cameras when all the shit went down with us. Knowing that she was at least on the radar worried me. Seems as if I made the right choice. Standing from my desk, I rush out of the office, ignoring the contract and plans I have been working on, and rush to my car.

It doesn’t take me long to get to Lucille’s place, but when I reach her front door, I hear a loud thump. Reaching for my key, I throw the door open to the sight of Emmie falling face-first onto the floor as Lucille stands to the side, looking down at her.

“What the actual fuck?” I demand.

Emmie lifts her head, her eyes widen, and once the shock wears off, I watch as they instantly fill with fake tears. I have zero sympathy for her ass. Nothing. What the fuck is she even doing here?

I open my mouth to ask her when Lucille makes a noise that sounds like a snort. Flicking my gaze to hers, I arch a brow. “I’ll tell you what the fuck,” Lucille says.

I cross my arms over my chest, my gaze flicking from Emmie to Lucille, then back to Emmie, then back to Lucille. I don’t know where to look. I need one of them to start speaking.

“Your girlfriend barged into my apartment and said she pitied me. Then she got pissy when I said that she didn’t need to pity me because I pitied her enough for the both of us,” Lucille says with a shrug, her expression full of boredom and annoyance.

Inhaling a deep breath, I start to speak, but Emmie stands from the floor and interrupts me. “She’s obsessed with me,” Emmie cries out. “She’s been stalking me.”

“Did Lucille hurt you?” I ask.

No way in fuck am I going to give Emmie a pass. Not when it comes to Lucille. Nobody will ever, not ever, make me believe that Lucille is anything other than the perfect woman I love. It doesn’t matter what she does. I will always forgive her.

She’s Lucille.

She’ll always be Lucille.

“No,” Emmie whispers. “But she’s been pretending to be different people and stalking me. It’s scary,” she says, giving me big, sad eyes.

They are fake as fuck, just like her. But I haven’t finished the surveillance job for the drugs and trafficking shit that they have going on at the Willow Club. I can’t do a fucking thing with Emmie until that’s done. She’s far too involved with the shit as it is. If I take Lucille’s side right now, it’s going to piss her off, and that makes what I need to do a hell of a lot harder.

And finding Ravet trumps anything and everything.

Reaching out, I reluctantly wrap my arm around Emmie and pull her to my chest. My gaze never leaves Lucille’s, and I mouth the only words I can— I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I can’t get into a conversation with her about this right now.

Thankfully, she either understands or she concedes. She shouldn’t. She is, without a doubt, the one I choose. She’s messy and unpredictable, but she is also the woman who I have always loved. The one I’ve tried to save from myself, and yet, here she is.

“Let’s get you home,” I murmur to Emmie.

She lifts her head, her eyes finding mine, and she holds her fake watery gaze with mine. I watch her for a moment, knowing that she’s a manipulative bitch, but at the same time, I don’t have a fucking choice about it.

“I just want her to leave us alone.”

I almost laugh at her, but I don’t. “She will, won’t you, Lucille?” I ask, lifting my gaze to meet hers.

“Oh, without a doubt,” Lucille lies.

Guiding Emmie out of the apartment, I try to keep things as calm as possible, but once we are outside, I take a step back from her and look down my nose and into her wide eyes. She blinks a few times, trying to get those fake tears to fall, but she fails.

“Never again, Emmie.”

“What?” she asks, feigning innocence.

I watch as she places her hand in the middle of my chest., I wrap my fingers around her wrist and hold her there. I know she’s full of shit, but I can’t call her on it. Not yet. I will, just not fucking yet.

“Don’t do anything like this again. You want to do something like this, you run that shit by me first.”

She snorts. “You’re joking. She’s been stalking me. You’re acting like it’s my fault.”

Sinking my teeth into the corner of my bottom lip, I shake my head as I lift my hand and wrap my fingers around the side of her throat. Fuck me, I would rather be touching Lucille right now. My stomach clenches the moment my skin comes into contact with hers.

“I’m not joking, Emmie. If Lucille was really stalking you, she might be dangerous.”

“You don’t think she is?” She arches a brow.

My lips twitch into a smirk, not just because I know that she is, but also because I don’t give a fuck. Lucille would send Emmie into the fucking ground. I would be a little worried about her, to be honest. I don’t hate Emmie. I know she’s involved in whatever this shit is with her father, but at the same time, I still feel somewhat protective over her.

I will always protect Lucille over anyone else, though.

Lucille is fucking everything to me. She always has been.

“How do you know her?” Emmie demands.

I think about telling Emmie the truth, but I don’t respect her enough, to be honest. So I lie. “I don’t. Which is what makes her so fucking dangerous.” The lie rolls off my tongue easily enough.

“I’ll end her,” Emmie snarls.

“You won’t do shit,” I snap. “If you see her again, let me know. But this is done.”

Emmie lets out a heavy sigh, then rolls her eyes to the ceiling before her gaze finds mine again. “Okay,” she exhales.

Leaning forward, I touch my mouth to hers. “Let’s get out of here.”

I hate myself for taking Emmie home when all I want to do is leave her in this fucking hallway and go back into Lucille’s apartment. This is bigger than me. As much as I want to be selfish and do what I want, in this case, I cannot.