50 Shades of Drake 1 and 2

50SOD II: Chapter Eighty-Four

    Destiny's voice played out over the tape recorder's small speaker. The tape contained the interview Aubrey had conducted with her last year, the interview where he rattled off the names of every politician who'd stonewalled the educational music program project. Palmer had hinted that other politicians were angry with him. If that was the case, those politicians could be just as dangerous as he was. In order to protect Destiny, his company, and himself, he needed to take note of the names he'd called out and have his private investigator look into those politicians as well.

    The sound of Destiny's voice made him melt. It was difficult, hearing her when he couldn't reach out and touch her. He was frustrated at the entire situation, because she had been right. They had been doing well. They had been happy. For drama like this to rise up and cause them to have to separate, even if only temporarily, was bullshit. He missed her. He missed her already and she'd been gone less than half a day.

    It was too much for him to listen to her voice, so he fast forwarded through the majority of the interview. He stopped the playback when he reached the part of the recording where he listed the names. Then, he reached across the bed and grabbed his phone from the nightstand. As he listened to his own voice listing names, he punched the names into a notepad application on his phone.

    His doorbell rang, echoing off of the walls in his condo and bouncing back into the master bedroom. Instinctively, he glanced at the watch on his wrist. It was close to ten o' clock at night. Maybe it was just wishful thinking. I wanted to see Destiny so badly...

    The doorbell rang again. He paused the playback on the voice recorder, set it and his phone aside, and rose from his bed. Briefly, he considered grabbing something that could be used as a weapon. He had a baseball bat, somewhere. There was an enviable collection of knives in his kitchen. But in the end, he padded barefoot to the door and peered through the peephole. With his brows knitted together, he pulled open the door.

    Dark hair messed up, pale skin blotchy, tear tracks mingled with mascara to create tainted tear tracks down her cheeks. Eyes filled with more tears threatening to spill. Wearing a too tight, too short dress that revealed too much.

    "What...what are you doing here, Bridgette?"

    "I didn't know where else to go," she wailed.

    He looked beyond her, into the hallway, checking to make sure she was alone. When he confirmed that she seemed to be, he stepped back and opened the door wider. "Come in."

    She shuffled past him, her purse dangling and bumping against her hip as she entered.

    He closed the door and turned to face her, tightening the belt on his robe. With an arm extended, he gestured towards the living room.

    Wrapping her arms around herself, she walked into the living room and sat on the couch, wiping at her eyes. "I'm so sorry to just...come here unannounced like this."

    "You could have called," he stated, seating himself in the armchair. "What's wrong? What happened?"

    "Someone is after me," she told him.

    He narrowed his eyes at her. "Explain."

    "I had a dinner date after work. When I got home, my place was ransacked. Someone went through...through everything. Even my clothes." She kneaded her hands together in her lap, tearing up again as she recounted the details of her evening. "I freaked. I started to call 9-1-1. But...the guy was still there. And he heard me making the call, and he jumped out and he...he..." She leaned forward and put her face in her hands. "He grabbed me and said he'd kill me if I even thought about going to the police. And he started choking me. I swear, I almost passed out."