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Shura steals the phone from the floor and shoves a tiny microphone and tracking device into the headphone port, putting it back on the ground as soon as he sees Luka stumbling back toward the table. He looks sick, and I wonder if he’s given himself alcohol poisoning.
“You doing alright?” I ask, more amused than anything at the possibility that he’s killed himself just to show off.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m… fuck, I think I might need to leave,” he says, getting back up from the table and immediately falling to the ground.
“You two need to take your friend home. We don’t do that shit here,” snaps a snotty blonde bartender from across the room, waving her manicured finger at Luka.
“Okay, okay, fine. We’ll make sure he gets home alright,” I reply with a note of irritation in my voice.
Shura and I pick up Luka by his arms, dragging him out of the establishment until we reach the street.
“Now, what do we do with him?” Shura asks as Luka loses what little consciousness he has left.
“Do you think he’d be stupid enough to keep the location of his house in his phone maps?” I ask.
Shura glances at me curiously, taking the phone back out of Luka’s pocket and moving Luka’s limp finger over the scanner to unlock it.
Luka’s long gone. Our plan worked better than we expected it to.
“Oh shit, he lives in the Estates on the other side of the city,” Shura says, scrolling through the phone. “Also, isn’t Regan kind of weird name for a girl? I didn’t know that Luka had a girlfriend. Her tits are pretty small, too. Sucks for him,” he says as he continues flipping through Luka’s messages and photos.
I snatch the phone from his hand. “Regan?” I ask, looking down at a photo of the topless woman.
I know her. Isn’t she Delilah’s roommate?
23
Regan
My phone chirps, awakening me from my slightly hungover, sleepy coma on a sunny Wednesday morning.
As soon as I see who the message is from, I bolt upwards in bed excitedly.
“She’s a bit of a fighter, and she might cause some problems, but other than that, you did good, babe,” reads the message from Luka.
I quickly reply. “Anything for you, baby,” I type, hesitating to add a heart emoji at the end. I like himsomuch, but I don’t want him to think that I’m some out-of-control fangirl. I need to chill out a little.
It’s been hard not to let Delilah know what’s been going on between him and me. Ever since we met at the club on opening night, there’s been nothing butinsanechemistry, admittedly some brutal arguments, and promises that I never knew I’d be able to keep.
When he approached me at the bar, I thought he was going to try and get me drunk right away to give himself an easier time of shoving me into a taxi. I was so hesitant to give him a chance, but when he opened up to me, I fell instantly.
“You might disapprove of what I do for work,” I remember him saying as he swirled a glass of dry red wine.
“What do you mean? Are you an assassin or something?” I asked, coyly taking the glass from his hand and taking a sip, leaving a lipstick stain around the rim. The wine tasted disgusting, but I swallowed it with a smile.
“Let’s just say I’m a bit of a businessman,” he replied, taking the glass back and deliberately touching my hand when he did. My blood rushed into my cheeks, and I struggled not to appear flustered in front of him. He towered over me, physically and mentally.
After that night, I was hooked badly. It took every bit of my strength and resolve not to text him voraciously, begging him to come fuck me mercilessly in my bed. I had to play it cool, and when he realized that I would desperately perform any task to keep his attention, things started to get complicated.
At first, I was extremely jealous when he started asking about Delilah. I was almost tempted to try and get her fired from the bar in order to take her position, keeping her out of his line of sight. When I realized that he wasn’t trying to fuck her, I was intrigued.
“All you have to do is get me some information about her, and I’ll do the rest. It’s not even that big of a deal. It’s the kind of thing most people post online these days,” he said during one of our secret meet-ups.
I rolled down the window of his car to let the smoke out. I didn’t want Delilah to wonder why I smelled like smoke, even if she just thought it was me who was smoking.
“I don’t know, Luka. This all feels weird,” I replied hesitantly. At that point, I never knew what the right approach was when I felt uncomfortable about something he wanted me to do. After a while, I discovered that the answer was not to complain at all.
“It’ll be fine. Don’t you want to make me happy?” he asked, taking a long drag and deliberately blowing the smoke into my face.
