Demand by Lisa Renée Jones Read Free Book Online

here. I stand up, the leather draping my shoulders heavier than moments before, and hurry to the door.
    Once I’m inside I lock the door, rush to Kayden’s private tower, and punch in the security code. The instant the heavy wooden door starts to slide up, I impatiently want to duck under, but Matteo’s jacket is too big and awkward. Forced to wait, I replay Gallo’s words, wondering why he didn’t insist on meeting tonight, since he knows Kayden is gone. Maybe he was baiting me, or us. Maybe he thought I’d panic and go somewhere he could follow? Perhaps to Kayden? Whatever the case, he’s playing head games and it’s working.
    The door opens fully, a pool of light pouring in from the hall, and I hurry into the private foyer of the tower, pausing to push the button on the wall to shut the door again. And though normally I’d head right up the stairs, and let it close on its own, I’m antsy enough to watch it slide shut and know that I’m alone, considering Kayden guards our entry code like gold. Hurrying up the winding stone staircase, I reach the landing and pause, glancing down the hallway toward the bedroom, but the idea of being secluded in that room without Kayden hits all the wrong spots. Instead, I find myself walking straight ahead into the dimly lit living area, where I claim a seat on the couch, two chairs framing me, a big-screen television on the wall in front of me. The gas fireplace glows in the far left corner, warming the room, but it can’t thaw the chill deep in my bones and my soul from the death of Enzo.
    Pulling my purse over my head, I set it on the floor by the couch, then lie down and cover myself with the jacket, staring at the high ceiling without seeing it, tormented by the death I’ve lived through tonight and taunted by Gallo’s phone call. I replay the important part of the conversation, honing in on my query about tomorrow’s meeting: “What is this about?” I’d asked.
    And his reply: “You.”
    It’s then that images flash in my mind, as if in answer to some question I haven’t asked, and I close my eyes, knowing even before I fully visualize the scene that this is the memory I was having right after Enzo died.
    I am in the hotel room where David and I are staying. The room where I ripped the butterfly necklace off my neck and found the note inside. The phone rings and I rush over to it, hoping it’s David, who has been gone for an hour.
    â€œHello?”
    A female voice says, “He’s at Seventy-fifth Avenue. . . .”
    I open my eyes, frustrated that I can’t remember the address. Seventy-fifth Avenue what? And who was it who called me? The voice was strongly accented, but was it Italian? My brows furrow. I don’t think it was. I shut my eyes again, and will more to come to me.
    It is dark outside when I reach the address the caller gave me— a restaurant. I enter and walk to the hostess stand, and spot David with a beautiful blonde, who I believe is American. I quickly move out of his line of sight, and dash back outside to the busy sidewalk. I don’t think they’re lovers, but I don’t know. I wait outside, the hood of my jacket covering much of my face, and he finally exits, and the woman is not with him, but he turns away from our hotel , and I follow, sheltering myself in the crowded sidewalk, where shops line our path. For blocks we walk like this, him in front of me, me praying I find the truth about the man I foolishly planned to marry. Love wasn’t in the equation. Normalcy was. I wanted to be normal. To be secure. To forget the dangerous past I don’t want to exist.
    Abruptly David turns down a side street and two women block my path. I cut around them just in time to see David disappear. I run after him, but pause at the corner. Peeking down the sidewalk, I find it dark, lined with brownstones, and no pedestrians, not even David to mark my