Page 405 of A Matter of Time

“Sam?”

“Jory… Jesus Christ, Jory! Where the fuck are you?”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s not what I fuckin’ asked! Where the fuck are you?”

Up to that point I had thought I’d heard every variation of Sam Kage’s voice, but cold fury had been missing from the repertoire without my knowledge. I had never ever heard him so angry.

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I really am.”

“You have no idea how sorry you’re gonna be.”

“What does that mean?”

“That means that when I get you⁠—”

“You won’t leave me, will you? You’re not so mad that you’re gonna move out or something?”

“I haven’t even moved in yet!” He was incredulous.

I laughed because it was absurdly funny.

“Jory!”

“What?” I chuckled, wiping my eyes. He was a riot.

“Tell me where⁠—”

“I was just worried. I hoped you weren’t so mad that you would leave me.”

“Are you kidding me? For fuck’s sake, Jory, there’s not gonna be anything left to leave! I’m gonna fuckin’ beat you till⁠—”

I sighed deeply. “Beating’s fine, just so long as you stick around.”

There was a noise, and then an even icier voice.

“Where…precisely…are you?”

“Hi,” I said. “Is Candace okay?”

“Yes, Jory, Candace is fine,” Dane said, clipping his words, using the crisp tone I hated more than anything. “Where are you?”

“I’m all right now, even though the bruise from where he hit me⁠—”

“Hit you? Who hit you?”

Muffled sounds and then: “Who hit you?”

“Rego James,” I told the love of my life. “But I’m fine. It just looks bad.” And it did. When I had seen myself in the mirror in the morning light, I’d looked worse than I thought. I had a black eye, and my lip was split. My eyebrow, of everything, looked the best, and I had not, as Carrington thought, torn any stitches.

“When were you with Rego James?”

“In the car.”

“In what car?”

“His limo.”