A Wicked Song - Lisa Renee Jones Page 0,2

ER, not when I know that Kace will show up. Why wouldn’t he? I’m the key to a door he wants open. We were never about anything but my last name and the violin he loves. The formula to make that violin is worth so much money, I can’t even fathom the number.

I glance at the white towel now around my hand, and so far, blood is not peeking though. I’m okay. The wound is closing. My eyes pinch shut and I press my good hand to my face and will myself not to cry. Not here. Not when I’m in this car. I’ll melt down when I’m alone at home and then pull myself back together, and decide if home is even safe anymore. It’s conceivable that Kace might be my enemy, but I remind myself, and sternly, that my heart isn’t how I should make any future judgments about Kace August.

My phone starts to ring and I know it’s him, I know it’s Kace, and I let it ring. A second thought has me thinking of Gio, who I really need to hear from right now. I reach for my cell, struggling to remove it from my purse, and damn it, blood is seeping through the towel. I manage to snag my phone and glance at the screen. Sure enough, it’s Kace. I hate how much I want to answer, how much I want to hear his voice. How much I want him to explain himself and make the lie good enough for me to pretend it’s true. He knew who I was before we ever started dating and he didn’t tell me. Who am I kidding? Every moment with him was a lie.

I hit decline and thirty seconds later, my cell starts to ring again. I hit decline again, but I’m not turning my phone off. Not when Gio could call. I know it’s wishful thinking, of course. I know it’s time I face that fact and really do something about his absence, but not today. Today, I cling to hope. Today, that hope includes me willing Gio to call me. I silence the ringer on my cell. In turn, my phone buzzes with a text message: Steven just called and told me you cut yourself. I’m on my way to meet you at the hospital. Answer, baby. I’m worried about you.

I read that endearment with a twist of my gut and hear, “Baby.”

I’m not his baby or his fool anymore.

Unbidden, tears spill down my cheeks. I was falling in love with him. I was falling hard and as much as I’ve told myself “alone” worked for me, right now, alone feels pretty horrible. And I don’t know what to do. Suddenly, I need to be both on the offensive and defensive. If Kace was after the formula for the Stradivarius—and obviously he was, or rather is—am I in danger? I think I might need to pack a bag and at least go to a hotel for a few nights while I think this through.

The cab halts and we’re now idling in stand-still traffic. This doesn’t work. I can’t just sit here and bleed. I have to wrap my hand properly and decide if some sort of medical attention is mandatory. A few years back when Gio cut his hand on broken glass, he bled like a stuck pig, but he didn’t need stitches. He was fine. I might be fine. I hope I’m fine. I yank my emergency cash from my purse, cash my mother taught me to keep at all times, and toss a twenty over the seat before opening the door. Once I’m on the street, the fact that I do not have a coat is bitingly clear. It’s cold, like really cold, as it always seems to be at Halloween, which is now only days away. I scratch the idea of walking and hurry to the subway, ignoring all the stares at my bloody towel. The shock is wearing off and my brain is working, and so too, it seems, are my pain receptors. A throb is becoming real pain, but I have the mental fortitude to think of tetanus. I don’t remember the last time I had a shot. I clearly have to go to the doctor.

Once my ride is over, and I’m street level again, it’s a short but bitterly cold walk and then I’m at my place. I dig for my keys, but my one free hand is freezing. I