“Hey, Kaney Poo, your girl is here.” The guy at the door called.

“Ooh…Kaney Kanesy.” The other brothers cooed as if we had all reverted to ten years old.

When they turned to me, I was staring at them all with a bored expression.

“What?” The one at the door asked with a shrug.

“Really?” I asked in a chiding tone.

Ducking his head a little, he slid out the door, past me. The other two quick to follow.

Leaving only Porter looking at me. Wearing a pair of slick running pants and a black tank top.

He walked over and palmed the door to push it open further.

“Come on in.” He waved a hand to usher me.

I walked in. Noticing again how everything was stacked by size and the decorations were all either black or white or checkered black and white.

In the middle of the studio Living Room was a squared corner couch in slate black with white lines trimming the back and arm rests and outlining the edges of the matching throw pillows.

Everything in its place.

Like a serial killer.

A few black shag rugs were strewn over the hardwood floor and even the countertops in the kitchen area were black marble flecked with some more sparkly colors. A bar separating it from the entryway.

He slid his hand over the door and entered that kitchen area. Revealing that matching black tribal tattoos were wound over his shoulder blades and along the back of his shoulders in a similar pattern to the front. Words in calligraphy writing strewn threw it. Though without him holding still while I was close enough to see it, I couldn’t read them.

But I was immensely curious to know what they said.

I could appreciate that unlike many men that had multiple tattoos, the same theme of art seemed to be carried on through all of Kane’s. Like he’s always used the same artist.

My eyes slid down the outline of broad shoulders to a trim waist and down to where his backside indented along the edges beneath those silky pants.

Mmm. Damn.

He turned around across the bar. “So, I brought this stuff in here. He lifted the box. But you’ll have to decide where you want what.”

I looked at it. “I will but I have to head over to St. Andrews.”

“The hospital? Today?” He asked with a furrowed brow.

Clearly wondering if I was stalling.

Which would be genius, if she didn’t already have a surgery scheduled.

“Yes. Surgery.”

“Ah.” He sucked his cheeks in and nodded. “You’ll be needing this then.”

He set the box down on the counter and headed toward his room. Coming out with cash splayed in his hand. He flicked it at me, and I reached to take it. But he gripped it enough I couldn’t pull it away.

Frowning, I looked at him.

He held out the other masculine hand and waved his fingers for my bag.

Sealing the deal once my clothes are here.

I hesitated before handing over the bag.

He relinquished the cash and held out his other hand for my backpack.

I slid it off my shoulder and handed it over.

“Can the boxes just stay until I get back?” I asked. Sure, that it would bother him to have my stuff strung out all over his immaculate apartment. They were already a splash of vibrant color with flowered vases and the paintings propped against the wall next to a giant fireplace.

“Nope.” He said flatly. Crossing his arms over his chest, in that characteristic way. “I’m tossing them in the dumpster out back.”

My eyes flipped to him. Finding his expression unreadable.

“I’m kidding.” He said equally as tonelessly.

I gave him a long study. Not entirely sure if he was or not. Does he even have a sense of humor?

Well, he was finding it quite amusing playing with my underwear earlier.

And teasing me about that drawer.

“Need a ride?” He offered.

“No.” I shook my head. Remembering how immaculate the interior of his fancy car had been.

As monochromatic as the rest of his world.

I looked at him, wearing black clothes even now. Being surrounded by such cold, flawless colors was the last thing I needed while on the way to pay for a surgery that might either kill or save my only family.

“Hope it goes well, Angel. I’ll see you after.”

Come back here when you’re done.

That’s what he was really saying.

***

I walked back to the door and gave him a nod, before heading out. Feeling better with the money in hand. I folded it into my fist as I stepped out before tucking it down into my cleavage. Much as I generally thought the practice was tacky, today I was terrified of losing it before I made it to St. Andrews.

I climbed into the first taxi I could wave over, and for a moment, I felt like eyes were on me. I wondered, if I turned and looked back up to that loft, would I see him watching me?

I turned my head to look back up, but it was far too high for me to tell. I ducked into the taxi.

St. Andrews always smelled of rubbing alcohol and sadness. I walked up the drive just a little past noon.

My chest tightened as I entered those doors. Pulling the money from under my shirt as I neared the nurse’s station.

I asked for Elizabeth and the clerk vanished through a side door before re-emerging with Elizabeth on her heels. Her salt and pepper hair bound up in its usual bun.

She wore an anxious expression. Pulling me aside so I wouldn’t be embarrassed by someone overhearing our conversation. “Tell me you got it, Sweetheart.”

I nodded slowly. Lifting the roll. I hadn’t even counted it. But I doubted, Porter was the kind of man to miscount.

And he’s not going to give me less than he promised. I just didn’t get that feel from him.

She unrolled it and flattened the bills along her palm before taking it and heading back to the extended room. “I’ll be right back with a receipt, and I’ll call the back and let them know to start administering the anesthesia.”

I nodded. Feeling tears jump into my eyes. I turned my head to watch her. Feeling the long, loose waves of my blonde hair slipping over my shoulder as I watched her progress.

Please hurry.