I told Waylon a version of the same thing when I called to invite him and the other Reapers to the wedding at the end of the month. And he told me, “Good for you.”
But Rowdy doesn’t look the least bit happy for me. He frowns, like I’m talking a whole different language. “I just don’t see why you decided to start taking bitches seriously all of a sudden. Especially this one.”
I still. “What did you say about my woman?”
Rowdy doesn’t answer. He’s staring at something.
I follow his gaze, and my whole chest lights up when I see the vision standing across from me.
Red…the Red I knew at the cabin is back. But not exactly.
She’s taken out her black box braids and replaced them with extensions. Not waves of cherry red down to her butt, like before—but deep-scarlet curls that only fall to her shoulders.
The new style’s eye-catching, like Red, but sensible, like Bernice.
It’s like she’s combined both sides of herself to present to me today.
I was fine with both versions of her. But this one makes my chest rev and throttle up.
I like it so much, I’m already thinking about all the things I want to do with this magnificent combo as I forget all about Rowdy and come to my feet to grin at her.
However, she doesn’t smile back. She looks stricken—like someone’s just told her I’ve died.
“Red? What’s the ma—”
The question’s not all the way out of my mouth before she turns tail and runs.
After a confused moment, I chase after her without thinking.
Outside in the outer hallway, I find her pressing frantically at the elevator down button, like there’s a horror movie monster coming after her.
“Red!” I call out again.
I’m the monster she’s running from—I realize that when instead of turning to come back after I call her name, she cuts left toward the exit stairs.
Shit. The stairs are only meant for emergencies and lock behind you when you go through them—so that you have to walk all the way down to the garage to get out.
But I let the door close behind me when I see she’s made it three floors down.
What the hell is going on?
“Red!” I yell again, bounding down the stairs after her.
I need to stop calling after her. The sound of my voice only seems to make her run faster.
Luckily, I keep my cardio game 100%.
I leap down the stairs and catch up with her about five floors down.
And this time I’m smart enough to wait until I’ve got ahold of her arm before saying her name again and asking, “Why are you running from me?”
She rears around on me like a cornered animal. And my chest cracks when I see the desperate tears in her eyes—like she’s been crying the whole time she’s been running. “Red. What the—”
She throws a punch, straight at my throat. And when I block it, she claws at me with her new stiletto nails and kicks her knee up toward my crotch.
I manage to avoid the crotch shot, too. But those stilettoes hurt like a son of a bitch!
I yell out and barely manage to grab onto her by the wrist when she tries to use my pain as an opportunity to take off again.
This time I bear-hug her from behind. Restraining her and her new matte black claws before she can use them on me again.
“No! No!” she yells, her voice frantic and unhinged. “No! I love my daughter. And I’ll do anything to keep her, but I can’t let you do this to me. I can’t! I won’t! I’ll find a way to escape you. Please, please don’t drag me back up there to finish what you started on New Year’s Eve. I will hate you. All I will do is hate you for the rest of my life.”
The night she threatened to hate me a few weeks ago, I considered that a challenge and rose to the occasion.
But today the only thing rising up inside of me is alarm.
“Red…” I start to say.
“Don’t call me that!” she screams, bucking inside my arms. “I’m not her. I’m not some stupid roadhouse girl. And you can’t make me do this. I don’t care about the second part of the agreement.”
“Bernice!” I growl, conceding on the “Red” thing and subduing her at the same time. “I’m not trying to make you do anything! Fuck, forget about the second part of the agreement. You never have to do anything you don’t want with me again. I was an asshole for adding it.”
She pauses struggling, finally seeming to hear my words. “You’re not going to make me go back upstairs?”
“Hell no,” I answer. “Not if you don’t want to.”
“Then why did you invite me over here?” Her voice sounds small and confused. Like she’s lost in the woods somewhere and doesn’t know how to get out.