Crossed Keys

Chapter Five - Dash

"P'Film!" I screamed.

Nothing.

"I know you're in there!" I hammered on the door with a fist. "Open the door!"

For a moment, nothing happened. Then Film was standing in front of me and the urge to choke him to death raged through me like never before.

"What did you do?" I demanded.

"What?"

"Him!" I leaned to the side to point at Strike who was now standing at the foot of the stairs.

He had his large hands shoved deeply in his pockets, confusion and anger written all over his face and I couldn't say I blamed him.

"I didn't do anything." Film frowned. "And even if I did, what do you care? You've had him on a leash for two years."

I licked my lips, trying to reign in my temper. "You have until the end of the week to get out."

"What?" Film demanded. "You can't do that."

"End of the week, P or I'm packing your shit and lighting it all on fire." I warned him before storming off and locking myself in my bedroom.

I needed to gather my thoughts and myself before I faced Strike. When I was alone, I doubled over to catch my breath. I couldn't seem to slow my breathing and my heart was beating so fast, it hurt.

Lying on the floor on my back, I closed my eyes and forced my mind empty so I could gather myself. When I could breathe somewhat normally again, I brought my brain back to Strike.

My god he's sexy.

I pushed some air out my mouth.

Those eyes, that body, those hands—he'd cleaned up my wound, checked it to see how deep I'd cut myself and afterward added ointment to guard against infection. Once he was satisfied, he pulled an Ironman band aid from his wallet, and placed it over the cut.

"You won't need stitches, I don't think." He explained. "But you're going to need to change the band aid at some point and make sure you keep it clean."

His hands were a little rough—not as bad as mine. But they told me he was used to hard work. His chest was hard under my forehead as gritted my teeth against the pain from the pressure on my finger. I didn't want to do that—to show weakness, but it was almost as if his chest was calling for my cheek and there was nothing I could do to fight it.

I knew if I ever met him, I would have fallen hard. The fact he hadn't respect what I'd said and showed up—exhaling, closed my eyes and remained there for a while longer.

"Dash." Strike called from the other side of my door. "I'm all packed and I—I'm sorry."

I said nothing.

"Dash, did you hear me?"

Still, I said nothing.

Silence fell from the other side of my door and my heart slammed into my chest.

Did he really leave? He'd been packing when I entered, there was no ignoring that fact.

How long had it been since he spoke?

Scrambling off my back and to my feet, I clamoured to open the door. The living room was empty, and his shoe wasn't sitting by the door. Rushing, I shoved my feet into my shoes, stumbled down the front steps and bee-lined it around the house to the front.

When I looked down the lane, he had his bag over a shoulder and walked toward his vehicle.

I took off running.