The Heart System

Chapter 415: Chapter 415

I walked around the back to inspect it properly, crouching a little to look at the damage. Not catastrophic, but not nothing either.

The driver’s door of the other car opened.

I straightened up as a woman stepped out. Short black hair. Sharp features. Familiar posture. I stared at her for a second.

"Oh, you gotta be kidding me," I muttered. "You again?"

Hannah closed her door calmly and walked around the front of her car onto the sidewalk. "Sorry," she said evenly. "I rear-ended your car."

She was the same chick that rear ended me! The one that Kayla talked about. Fucking hell. This day just keept getting worse and worse.

"My car? Again?" I asked. "I was literally parked for a few minutes."

She adjusted her sleeve like we were discussing the weather. "Yes. I’m sorry."

"My god," I muttered, rubbing my forehead. "You didn’t see me?"

"Nope."

Just nope.

No panic. No guilt. Just a flat nope.

I looked at the dent again and then back at her. This woman needed her license revoked permanently. With everything going on in my life right now, the last thing I needed was her treating traffic like a suggestion.

"You know what?" I said finally. "It’s fine. Let’s just go on our merry ways. And please, for the love of God, stay away from me in traffic, okay?"

"Thank you," she replied, nodding once. "I saw you with Sophia a couple of times, by the way."

"Sophia?" I frowned. "Who is—oh. The bodyguard from Stingy Ladies?"

"Yes."

"You two friends?" I asked. "Then both of you stay away from me."

"I’ll try my best."

She stepped closer and extended her hand for a handshake.

I stared at it for a second, then put one hand on my waist and shook hers with the other. Her grip was firm. She held it a second longer than necessary, just looking at me.

Then she let go and stepped back slowly, still watching me.

"Bye," she said.

"Yeah."

She got back into her car and started it. I stepped aside and watched.

She pulled away from the curb, angled toward the road... and nearly clipped a passing car.

The other driver honked loudly and swerved. I put both hands behind my head and just stared.

She corrected awkwardly, oversteered, then finally merged onto the road like a menace released into the wild.

I watched until she disappeared down the street.

"Motherfucker..." I muttered, walking around to the driver’s side of my car. "My poor car."

I got in, shut the door, and started the engine, still shaking my head. Out of everything happening tonight—suicidal patients, blackmail videos, hypnotic eye powers—I was somehow most exhausted by her.

My phone buzzed in the cupholder just as the light ahead turned red again.

I glanced down without really thinking, thumbed the answer button, and put it on speaker.

"Evan?"

Mendy’s voice came through—soft, a little hesitant, the way it always got when she was nervous about asking for something.

"Hey, Mendy," I said, easing off the gas and rolling to a stop behind a white delivery van. "What’s up?"

"I, uh..." She paused, like she was second-guessing the call already. "I was just calling to say hi."

"Oh." I rubbed the back of my neck, staring at the brake lights in front of me. "Yeah, hey. Sorry, I’ve been busy for the last few days. We really weren’t in contact."

"Mm." A small, quiet sound. Not quite a sigh, but close. "So... how’s everything?"

"Good, good," I lied smoothly as the light stayed stubbornly red. "How’s yours?"

"Classic." She gave a tiny laugh that didn’t reach her eyes—I could hear it even over the line. "I actually called you because... well, I decided to change my bedroom a bit again. Are you available today? I need some second eye on this place."

Shit.

I checked the dashboard clock: 8:47. Chase’s appointment was at 10:30 across town, and I’d already mapped out how I was going to slip Hypnotic Suggestion into the session without him noticing—get inside his head, figure out what the fuck was really going on with Ivy, whether he was safe or just another creep wearing a polite mask. I did not have time to play interior decorator.

"Yeah," I heard myself say. "Sure."

The word was out before my brain could veto it.

I immediately wanted to punch the steering wheel.

But Mendy’s voice lit up. "Alright, sweet. Are you hungry?"

"I just ate. Chinese." I merged into the turning lane as the light finally changed. "I’ll be there in an hour or more. I’m kind of on the other side of town. Work stuff."

"Oh, that’s actually relieving," she said, relief audible. "The house is a mess. I need to clean some stuff anyway."

"Right." I stopped at the next light, fingers drumming on the wheel. "See you, Mendy."

"See you, Evan."

"Hmm."

I hung up.

Then I dropped my forehead onto the steering wheel and stayed there.

The light turned green above me. I didn’t move. No one was behind me—no honks, no impatient revving—so the intersection just sat quiet while I breathed against the leather wrapping. Cars flowed past on the cross street. I stayed put until the light cycled red again.

Eventually I lifted my head, exhaled hard through my nose, and leaned back in the seat. Bored. Frustrated. Trapped between too many people who needed something from me and not enough hours in the day.

I fished the crumpled pack of cigarettes out of my coat pocket, tapped one out, lit it with the car lighter. The first drag burned my throat in that familiar way. I cracked the window an inch, turned the heat up a notch so the hot air blasted against my face, and took another long pull.

The phone buzzed again.

This time the screen lit up with Kayla’s name and a photo thumbnail—her smiling in a low-cut top from last summer.

I answered and propped the phone against the dash cam so the camera faced me.

Kayla’s face filled the screen—hair loose, makeup light, wearing nothing but a black lace bra and matching panties. She was standing in what looked like her bedroom, phone leaned against a stack of books on her bed so the camera caught her from mid-thigh up. Behind her: a full-length mirror and an open wardrobe stuffed with dresses.

"Hey," she said, voice warm and teasing.

"Hey, gorgeous." My eyes immediately dropped to the generous curve of her ass reflected in the mirror. Jesus. Even from this angle it was obscene—round, full, the kind of ass that made my cock twitch just looking at it. "What’s up?"

She turned sideways so I could see more of her profile, then held up two dresses—one in each hand.

"Girls’ night tonight. Help me pick something to wear?"

"Sure," I said, voice already a little rougher. "Show me."

She grinned, set the second dress down, and stepped into the first one—a deep emerald green bodycon number with thin straps and a neckline that plunged almost to her navel. She shimmied it up over her hips, the fabric stretching tight across her ass like it was painted on. The material hugged every curve, dipping low in the back to show the dimples above her cheeks, then clinging to her thighs so the hem stopped just high enough to be dangerous.

She did a slow turn.

The dress rode up slightly as she moved, flashing more thigh, more ass. Her skin glowed against the jewel tone; her breasts were pushed up and together, cleavage deep and inviting. When she bent forward a little to adjust the straps, the fabric pulled taut across her ass, outlining every perfect round inch.

My cock stiffened instantly—thickening against my zipper, already half-hard just from watching her move.

"Fuck..." I muttered under my breath.

Kayla glanced over her shoulder at the camera, catching my expression.

"How’s this one?"

I swallowed. "It’s... goddamn, Kayla. That ass in that dress? Criminal. You look like sin."

She laughed—low, pleased—and smoothed her hands down her sides.

"Okay, second one."

She peeled the green dress off—slowly, making sure I saw every inch of skin revealed—and stepped into the next: a crimson red mini with a halter neck and cutouts at the waist. This one was shorter. Way shorter. The hem barely skimmed the bottom curve of her ass; one wrong move and it would ride up completely. The cutouts exposed her toned sides, the halter pulled her breasts high and tight, nipples faintly visible through the thin fabric if you looked close enough.

She turned again—slower this time—letting the dress hug her hips, flare just enough at the bottom to tease.

The red made her skin look molten. Her ass looked even bigger, rounder, more obscene in the tight material. When she bent forward to fix the hem, the dress rode up enough that I caught a glimpse of black lace underneath—thong, barely there, disappearing between her cheeks.

I groaned quietly.

The light turned green ahead of me.

I hit the gas—slowly—most of my attention still glued to the phone screen propped against the dash cam.

Kayla straightened, hands on her hips, looking straight into the camera.

"Okay," she said, voice playful. "Second one. Thoughts?"

I stopped at the next red light, thank fuck, and let the car idle while I stared.

"Kayla... that one’s lethal. The red makes your skin look like it’s glowing. And that ass in that dress? I’m already imagining bending you over in it. You’re killing me."

She bit her lower lip, pleased, and gave a slow twirl so I could see the back again—the way the fabric clung, the way it rode up just enough to show the bottom swell of her cheeks.

The light stayed red.

I was grateful for once.