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He opened the locker door again, hoping he had somehow imagined the entire thing, that there wasn’t a note from Moretti penned in bright red ink. It had all been something his mind had dreamed up. Moretti was in prison. He still had years before the man would come for him. His identity hadn’t been revealed. His home was still safe.
The note was still fucking there.
One. Two. I’ve decided to come for you.
Calmly, he closed the locker, grabbed his gym bag, and walked toward the exit. He counted his steps and kept his eyes glued to the floor. Someone spoke to him in the hallway, but he didn’t bother to attempt to see who or try to figure out what they wanted. He wasn’t safe. Moretti could have hired anyone to leave the note for him. All the people around him, laughing, talking, and grunting during exercises, any of them could have been the person to just yank the rug of sanity and safety right out from under him.
He reached the set of elevators leading to the penthouse floor and pushed the button. The elevator, for some reason, seemed so unsafe in his mind. Sure, he would be alone…but he didn’t feel alone. Before Zach, he’d always felt like someone watched him. He stepped onto the elevator, and when the doors slid closed, he realized he felt that way again. Cautiously, he looked around but saw nothing but his mirrored reflection.
His breathing started coming in short pants again, so he started counting again. He counted out loud, saying the numbers, as his mind tried to form a plan. What did he need to do? Who should he call? Calling Zach could lead him straight to danger. No, he couldn’t do that to Zach. He wouldn’t do anything to risk his lover’s safety. Maybe Cameron? Cameron would notify the FBI. They would know what to do. They would keep him safe.
The elevator doors slid open just as his mind realized contacting Cameron was definitely off his list of options. Cameron would call the FBI, and they would move him to another location. Just like that. Poof! He would disappear, and Zach would never know anything about what had happened or where they had taken him.
Denala, on the other side of Zach’s apartment door, barked furiously and Noah felt goose bumps form on his skin. It was a different bark than he’d ever heard from her before. His eyes darted to the left and right, searching for danger, knowing it had to be there, but not seeing anything. He trembled with fear as he darted for his apartment door and punched in his code with trembling hands. If the fucking code failed this time, Zach would probably find him dead right outside his apartment door—dead from fear. The code clicked a positive sound and his door opened.
Desperately, he tried to breathe normally as he maneuvered his body through the door and then collapsed against the wall as he waited for the heavy barrier to close. Surely, he would be able to calm down once he was safe. Surely, he would be able to form a viable working plan. Maybe he wouldn’t tell anybody? Maybe he could just pretend nothing happened and enjoy a few more days of happiness before Moretti actually came calling. No, he couldn’t risk Zach’s safety.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he muttered as his chest tightened. “One. Two. Three. Four. Five.” He tried every single trick the new doctor had told him about, but nothing seemed to be working. It hadn’t escalated to pure panic attack, but the underlying panic didn’t lessen either. After what felt like a lifetime, he managed to finally make his legs work again. His muscles were heavy and lethargic as he crossed the room. His mind was sluggish. He had to get his shit together.
He turned toward the kitchen and froze. Plastered on his refrigerator was another note, the letters just as bright red as the ones in his locker.
Three. Four. It won’t help for Scaredy-Cat to lock his door.
His finger hit the panic button on his bracelet mere seconds before his body hit the floor. His head cracked against the wood floor and then…nothing.