Page 24 of Healer’s Betrayal

“Great. I’ll text you with when and where.”

I climb out of the car and lean down, so I can see him. “Thanks, Cole. Night.” I close the door and start walking. “Please keep going,” I mutter under my breath and walk across the street to the sidewalk. “Keep going.” Thankfully, he drives off. I breathe a sigh of relief as that was too close. I’m really going to have to figure this out. I pull out my phone to text Renee.

Me- almost back

She thumbs up it. I continue walking through the neighborhood and then on to the next one. Each block gets worse, and I keep my phone in my hand. Where we live is shady in the middle of the day, let alone late at night. I finally get to the parking lot of our building. I keep my head on a swivel, watching all the dark corners. There’s one light in the parking lot, but it can only do so much. A couple of guys call out to me, but I ignore them and keep walking. I’m almost to the building when a guy appears out of literally nowhere. I jump and grip my phone tighter. Another guy joins him, and my stomach drops. I don’t recognize either of them. “What do we have here?” the first guy asks, crowding my space. “You all by yourself, Princess?”

I force myself to keep my head up, even as fear courses through me. “I’m just heading inside. Have a good night, Guys.” I try to take a step to the side, but the first guy moves with me. Panic fills me, and I try to figure my way out of this.

There’s suddenly a presence next to me, and a hand grips my elbow. “Hey, Sweetheart.” I recognize the low, gritty voice instantly; it’s the redhead from the café. Jackson. “We have a problem here?” he asks the two men.

The second guy is already walking away, and the first guy puts his hands up. “Nope. No problem, Man.”

“Good.” Jackson keeps his hand on my elbow and urges me forward. A few seconds later, he opens the front door and ushers me inside. As soon as we’re inside, he releases my elbow. “Are you okay?”

I stare up at him, unsure how to answer that. “Where did you come from?” I ask instead.

He crosses his arms over his chest. “Why did you have your date drop you off in that neighborhood if you live here?”

My mouth drops open. “You followed us?” I take a step away. “Why would you do that?” My voice doesn’t come out as strong as I want it to.

Chapter 11

Kayla

“Do you want to continue this conversation somewhere private?” he asks, glancing around the entryway.

My eyebrows rise. “I’m not taking you to my place. I don’t know what your deal is, but I'm pretty sure stalking is a felony.”

I catch the flicker of surprise in his eyes. “Stalking?”

“Hey, is this guy messing with you?” a woman probably a decade older than me with a shaved head and multiple piercings asks.

He turns towards the woman, and I don’t miss the threat in his eyes. Not wanting anything to happen to the woman, I quickly intervene. “No, I’m fine. I know him from...work,” I finally say after an awkward pause.

“You sure, Honey?” she asks.

I nod and force a smile. “Yes. Thank you, though.”

“Come find me if he continues to be a problem.” She turns to Jackson. “You can come find me too; I’m in room 226.”

My mouth opens in shock as the woman walks away, and I face Jackson. “Did she just...” I let my words fade, and I shake off the embarrassment. I needed to get hold of myself. I expect to find him watching the woman, but he’s looking around the entryway.

“This place isn’t safe.”

I frown. “Well, I guess it’s good you don’t live here then.” I study him, trying to get a read on him. He doesn’t feel dangerous, and he did just get me out of a situation and away from those guys that were bad news. I decide to try to start over. I stick my hand out, and his eyes flick to my outstretched hand. “Let’s start over. Hi, I’m Kayla; and you’re Jackson.” He waits a beat and then takes my hand in his. His hand completely engulfs mine, and I take in the roughness of his hands. Surprisingly, my hand in his feels...nice. I quickly pull my hand from his, embarrassed at my thoughts. “Okay, Jackson, so are you stalking me?”

He stares down at me, unfazed by my question. “I guess that depends on your definition of stalking.”

I drop my arms. “Seriously? That’s such a stalkerish thing to say.”

“You had a lot of stalkers over the years?” he asks.

“No.”

“Then how do you know?” he asks.

“How do I know what?” I ask, confused.