I fucking care.

“Where are you going?”

I ignore whatever-the-hell-her-name-is as I pass her, walking straight for my truck. I don’t know why she’s still trying. I barely said two words to her after she sat down next to me, and I was too distracted to act interested in her, or the way she shamelessly brushed against my cock, which didn’t react to her either.

Not even a twitch.

That didn’t surprise me. Unless I’m imagining Tessa’s hands or mouth, it never reacts.

After slamming my door, I start the truck up and sit there, hand on the clutch, ready to shift it into drive, but I don’t move. I can’t. I let out my breath and slump back against the headrest, looking between the cars in front of me at the bodies in the distance.

I shouldn’t even be here. Nobody else seems to give a shit about what she does, so why the fuck do I? Why can’t I turn it off? I don’t want to feel anything anymore, except hate. But even that’s a dangerous emotion when it comes to Tessa. My hate for her consumes me, ripping me apart, like everything else I’ve ever felt for her.

It triggers my obsession. Fueling it.

But I know if I don’t hate her, I’ll leave myself open to feel something else, something I never want to feel again.

It’s fucking pathetic how much effort it takes to hate someone. It doesn’t come without struggle, but allowing yourself to be vulnerable for them? That’s easy, and it’s exactly what I did. I held my arms out and watched as she wedged herself deep inside me, only to claw her way out and take shredded pieces of me with her.

Never again. I’ll hate Tessa until it fucking kills me, but that’s the only thing I’ll allow myself to feel.

Movement through the window of the truck a row ahead of me catches my attention, and I focus on it as the figure moves around the front of the hood and to the car next to it. The one directly in front of me.

My back goes rigid in my seat. “Motherfucker.”

I lean up, watching as the dipshit I should’ve laid out the moment I saw him opens the door of his Camero and gets inside. My eyes immediately dart to the license plate as it becomes illuminated, and I commit it to memory just before he drives away, following closely behind Tessa’s vehicle.

2A8347J

“Gotcha, asshole.”

***

I get to the precinct within fifteen minutes, only bothering to put my truck in park before I run inside, repeating the license plate number over and over again in my head.

2A8347J

2A8347J

I brush past someone, not registering them until I hear their voice behind me.

“Hey, man. What are you doing here?”

I turn my head, briefly connecting with CJ, but continuing in the direction of my desk. “I gotta look something up.” 2A8347J

“Is everything all right?”

2A834… FUCK.

“Stop fucking talking to me!” I yell, halting in front of my desk and running my hands down my face. God, I’m losing it.

“All right, Jesus.”

I close my eyes, picturing the license plate in my head and focusing on all seven numbers. 2A8347J

After I have it, I turn my head to apologize, but see I’m too late when my gaze locks onto the empty entryway.

Nice. You’re an asshole, Evans.

I sit down at my desk, booting up my computer and staring impatiently at the screen as it takes it times to load. I hit a few buttons to try and speed up the process, and when that doesn’t work, I resort to smacking the side of the monitor.

“Come fucking on already.”

The welcome screen appears and I click on the search engine, hovering my mouse over where I know the blank box is going to load. It does, and I type frantically into the license plate field.

2A8347J

I press enter, watching the hourglass turn twice before the screen displays my results. A license appears and I scan the information, narrowing in on the name.

Tyler Tripp

“Motherfucking shit.”

Tessa either gave Ben the wrong name, or this asshole lied to her. Both scenarios are believable right now, and the fact that I didn’t go with my gut and investigate this before tonight has me squeezing my mouse so hard it makes a cracking sound in my hand.

“Shit.”

I loosen my grip, scrolling down the screen, not caring anymore about what this asshole weighs and needing to get to the information I know is there. There’s no way this guy hasn’t at least gotten a speeding ticket. Nobody buys a Camero with the intent to obey the speed limit.

Charges

My heartbeat fills my ears, causing tremors in my vision, as I try and make out the words I’m almost afraid to focus on. I rub my eyes, digging my thumb into one and two fingers into the other, before blinking several times and letting the words slowly form in front of me.

Domestic Disturbance — Charges Dropped

Domestic Violence — Charges Dropped

“Tessa.”

I’m out the door before I even realize I’m moving, running faster than I ever have. I slide on the gravel, grabbing the door handle and nearly ripping the damn thing off when I swing it open. As soon as I get in my truck, I grab my phone out of my cup holder and with frantic fingers, light up the screen. It fades to black immediately, dying on me and causing me to panic further.

“Fucking shit!”

I toss it to the floor with enough force to break it, and pull out of the parking lot, barreling down Cheseco Avenue in the direction of Tessa’s apartment building. I have to believe she’s there with him. I didn’t think to write down that fucker’s address, or even glance at it, and there’s no way in hell I’m turning around to do that. She has to be there. I can’t think of a scenario that involves her not at her apartment and somewhere else.