There was no way in hell that would be happening.
I would be taking her to the bank. I would be the one to help her sort this shit out.
My mind drifted to Gordon.
As of right now, he was an unknown variable. A puzzle piece I hadn’t figured out where to place. It was too soon to label him a suspect…still, my gut was never wrong. I studied Rossy for a few more seconds. “Don’t worry about taking her to the bank,” I told him, my arms falling to my sides as I turned toward the door.
“This isn’t any of your business and I don’t appreciate you barging in here—”
I was nose to nose with him then, glaring at him as I declared, “Everything about that woman is my fucking business, and this officially became Red Snake’s business two damn seconds ago. Twenty thousand dollars is a lot of fucking money. Glitches like that don’t just happen—someone orchestrates them.”
“Mr. Mitchell, I need you to hear me—”
“I’ve gotten all I need from you. I’ll have Jake drop you an update when it’s time.”
Then I left him there, storming out of the store, ignoring Carrie’s hurried questions as she tried to follow me out.
I pounded on the purple door for the fourth time. “Margo!” I bellowed. “It’s Hayes. Open the door!”
Nothing.
I’d been standing here for nearly four minutes, calling her cell, and banging on her door. The workers at the bar downstairs said she hadn’t shown up at the employee meeting this morning. Rossy giving her the day off was one thing, but her not attending a staff meeting at the Buoy was another.
I put my cell to my ear, listening to it ring as I continued to bang my fist against her door.
“Come on, Temper,” I hissed before yelling her name again. “Margo!”
A chill swept down my spine, causing me to freeze, the sudden image of her lifeless body thrown across her soft sheets flooding my brain. I could practically smell her blood, see it staining her hardwoods and all her colors. Before I could think better of it, I stepped back, lifted my leg, and slammed my foot into the door. It took two kicks for me to hear her scream, the sound nearly shattering my world. With a final kick, the door flew offits hinges, falling into her apartment with a loud crash. My gun was drawn as I stepped over the splintered wood, pieces of it crunching under my boots.
“Margo!”
She rushed out from the hallway, emerging from the shadows, dressed in an oversized Three Days Grace hoodie and pink and black-striped pajama pants with a pair of huge sunglasses on her face. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a bun, held together by a lime green scrunchie.
“You okay?” I clipped.
“What the fuck did you do to my door?” she screeched.
Yeah, she was okay.
I lowered my gun, scanning her over and over. I lifted the back of my shirt up, tucking the weapon into the waistband of my jeans. “Kicked it in,” I answered, making my way across her living room, the scent of everything that was her surrounding me.
Fucking hell, I wanted to drown in it—in her.
“What the fuck, Temper?” I clipped, chest heaving as relief washed over me.
She was okay.
Alive and breathing.
Her mouth went slack, and she gestured to the mess I’d made before she yelled, “What the fuckme? No, what the fuckyou, Hayes! Why are you here, kicking down my damn door at ten in the morning?”
“It’s three in the afternoon.”
That pretty mouth snapped shut as she visibly stiffened. “What?” she whispered in disbelief.
My brows came together as I took another step, then another, needing to be near her, to put my hands on her so that my body would know she was okay. She was alive, unharmed. “Margo, I’ve called you fifteen times in the last half hour, and I’ve beenbanging on your door. I’ve been screaming your name for the last five minutes.”
She jerked back and visibly paled. All my adrenaline faded away as I took in her body language.