Page 24

KLAUS

A laric sits across from me on the private jet.

We’re flying to New Orleans, Louisiana. A few days ago, I received a handwritten letter inviting me to the upcoming Resistance meeting. As an associate member, I only get invited to these events once or twice a year, so I know something important has come up.

I glance out of the window. It’s a gorgeous sunset, the clouds looking like orange and pink cotton candy.

But all I can see is her.

She’s stuck in my head like a favorite song. She showed me a world of new possibilities. She makes me long for things I never allowed myself to desire.

I can’t let myself have it, though.

If I cross that line, this obsession will devour me whole.

I almost gave in to temptation the other night. She was in my bed with her thighs spread open and her pussy wet for my cock. Her cheeks were the prettiest shade of pink I’ve ever seen.

It would have been so easy to give in. And I almost did.

“I don’t get it,” Alaric says.

I look up at him.I wait for him to finish his thought, but he just leaves it at that.

“What don’t you get?” I ask.

“You barely have a life outside of work,” he says. “Yet somehow, you always seem to have something on your mind. And when I ask you about it, you refuse to share anything.”

“It’s called being an introvert, Alaric,” I say.

He scoffs. “Please. I’ve known you all your life. I can tell when something’s bothering you.”

“Yeah, something is bothering me,” I say. “It’s you.”

“Fine. Be that way.” He opens a packet of chocolate-covered almonds and pops a few into his mouth. “One day, I’m going to have something juicy going on in my life, but I’ll be all elusive and mysterious when you ask about it.”

“You couldn’t be mysterious even if your life depended on it.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he says. “But that’s just because I’m a good friend. You can ask me about anything in my life, and I’ll give you a proper answer.”

“Really?” I ask.

“Really,” he answers.

“ Anything ?”

“Yep.”

I look at my oldest friend.

There’s only one thing in this entire world that gets under his skin. Her name is Gabrielle.

“You like to pick on me, but we have identical issues,” I say. “When was the last time you were in a relationship?”

“I love women,” he says. “I just haven’t found the right one yet.”

“Bullshit,” I say. “You had a string of girlfriends for most of your life. And then you met Gabrielle. Even though it’s been a decade, you haven’t been in a relationship since.”

The smug smile fades from his lips when I say her name out loud. He even loses interest in the packet of chocolate-covered almonds, which is something that never happens.

“She meant nothing to me then,” he says. “She means nothing to me now.”

His face turns sullen as he stares out of the window. Now, he’s the one who’s lost in his head.

I never knew Gabrielle in person. Alaric met her when I was deployed in Afghanistan. He hides behind a mischievous face and his friendly persona, but I know he hasn’t let go of that woman. It’s been years , but he still has feelings for her.

I’ve never seen him talk about another girl since.

“You still have it bad, huh?” I ask.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” he says, still not meeting my eye.

“What, you can dish it, but you can’t take it?” I ask, grinning at him.

He stands abruptly and walks away from me. He hides his face from me, but I catch the way his eyes glisten.

Whatever happened between Gabrielle and him might have been a long time ago, butthe wound is still raw. I rarely ask him about her, so I wasn’t aware that he was stillso hung up on her.

“Alaric, come back here,” I call out.

“I need to get some work done,” he says, locking himself in a private cabin.

“I think that’s the first time I heard you say that sentence.”

“Hilarious,” he calls out.

I want to ask him if he’s okay. If our roles were reversed, Alaric wouldn’t leave me alone.

I like to brush things under the rug and push unpleasant thoughts into a box in my head, but Alaric doesn’t operate like that. He’s in touch with his emotions. He lets himself feel things.

With a sigh, I stand and walk toward the private cabin.

“Open the door, Alaric,” I say. “Let’s talk about it.”

“I don’t want to talk,” he replies. “I’m working. I have so many emails to go through.”

“Okay, now I’m really worried,” I say.

“Go away, Klaus.”

I know from experience that it will take a little more coaxing.

“The flight attendant just gave me a box of chocolates,” I say. “It’ll be fun to try them together.”

The door clicks open. I walk inside the cabin.

“I lied about the chocolate,” I say.

“I know you did,” he replies. “But the thought of a box of chocolates made me feel better.”

I sit across from him. He’s still glancing out of the window.

“Do you still keep tabs on her?” I ask.

“I want to say no,” he replies.

“So that’s a yes.”

“I don’t understand it, man,” he says. “I thought I would be able to move on by now. People always say that you heal with time, right? But if anything, my obsession has only gotten worse. Sometimes, I feel like I can’t even breathe.”

He blinks rapidly, like he’s trying hard to pull himself together.

“She really left her mark on you, huh?” I ask.

“I hate her with every fiber of my being,” he says. “She’s the most self-absorbed woman I ever had the displeasure of meeting.”

There’s pure malice in his eyes now as he talks about her.

That’s something I can relate to.

It feels better to focus on the anger than the pain. Anger feels like something you have control over. It feels like something you can wield. But pain is something that a man is powerless against.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.

“She’s dead to me,” he says. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

There’s conflict on his face, like his mind and his heart are at war.

I’ve never been good with words. I never know the right thing to say. So I just sit across from him. We stare out of the window together until the private jet lands.

There’s a black Range Rover waiting for us on the tarmac.

Alaric gets into the driver’s seat and enters the location in the GPS.

“Have you been to this location before?” I ask him.

“A couple of times,” he says. “The meetings are mostly held in New York City or LA, though.”

As one of the brothers of the Resistance, Alaric attends the international meetings as well. The organization prefers to discuss things in person because of the confidential nature of the information.

“Do we know what this meeting is going to be about?” I ask him.

“I know about as much as you do,” he says.

“I just like to be prepared,” I say, glancing out of the window as we pass through the streets of New Orleans.

“You’re nervous, aren’t you?” he asks, looking over at me.

“Why do you think I’m nervous?”

“Because I know you,” he says. “And I know you don’t enjoy being among large groups of people, especially when it’s not work related.”

I can’t even lie to this man. He knows me too well.

“Maybe I’m a little nervous,” I say.

“If it makes you feel any better, nothing’s expected of you in the meeting,” he says. “There’s just going to be a briefing about the cases, both old and new.”

I glance at the side mirror. I’m not sure why, but I have the strangest feeling that we’re being followed. The headlights of the car behind us are too bright, so I can’t see the make of the car, let alone the person inside.

“I think we’re being followed,” I say.

Alaric follows my gaze.

“By the car behind us?” he asks.

“I think so.”

My skin prickles with the acute awareness of having eyes on me.

In my years of experience, I learned to never ignore my intuition. And right now, my intuition is telling me that there’s an invisible threat.

“You know what they say about New Orleans,” Alaric says.

“Please don’t tell me it’s haunted,” I say.

“It is ,” he says. “Ask anyone.”

We stop at a red light.

The streetlights flicker, casting an eerie glow on the cobblestones and wrought-iron balconies. Alaric looks at me with ‘I told you’ written on his face.

Since this street is more illuminated, I can better make out the car behind us. It’s a red pickup truck, and I can see the license plate too.

“Look up the license plate in the app,” I say. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Don’t worry, what you’re experiencing is just supernatural activity,” Alaric says.

“Just do it. Please.”

“Fine.”

Alaric enters the numbers into an app on his phone. A few seconds later, we have a report.

“He’s a cop,” Alaric says.

“It doesn’t look like a cop’s car,” I say.

“He could be off duty,” he says.

He hands the phone over to me and resumes driving. I read through the report. It tells me that the owner of the car is a retired cop who’s most probably here on vacation.

“He’s not from here,” I say.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Alaric says.

I exhale. I don’t understand why my body is so on edge right now. All I know is that there’s some danger lurking in the corner.

I keep watching the suspicious car, relaxing only when it heads off in a different direction.

“Stop stressing out,” Alaric says, turning the radio on. “You’re making me nervous too.”

“He’s gone now,” I say.

“Told you it was just the ghosts,” he says.

I soak in the sights of New Orleans—the cafés decorated with string lights, jazz music pouring from the bars, the rich history that’s soaked into every crevice of this city.

We drive in silence until the lights begin to fade.

There’s a shift in the air.

He parks in front of a seedy-looking bar.

“We’re here,” he announces.

“ This is the location?” I ask.

“Yeah, come on.”

I step out of the car and stare at the bar’s bright neon sign. This doesn’t look like one of the usual places where the Resistance holds their meetings, but it’s not the first time I’ve been surprised by their approach.

Alaric and I walk toward the building. Instead of entering it, he takes me to the back.