ᴏɴᴇ

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TW: SEXUAL ASSAULT

𝗔 week has passed since she arrived home from Spain

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𝗔 week has passed since she arrived home from Spain.

It took exactly that amount of time for Kaedyn to withdraw five hundred thousand dollars, in cash, from his bank account; stupid laws forbade him from doing too much at one time. So, here she was, leaning against her motorcycle, watching the sun reflect in her black nail polish, standing outside of the bank, waiting for him.

She already had one bag full of the first half of cash strapped to the back of her bike, loaded up in the compartment; she was hoping there would be only one more to go, otherwise, it would be kind of difficult to navigate to where she needed to be.

Caycee's eyes flickered up to the bank steps across the street, sensing movement. A couple normal-looking patrons dispersed from behind the oak door before Kaedyn did. She subconsciously rolled her eyes at his ridiculously bright hair color as she reached in her pocket for a cigarette.

She was a third done with it when he reached her side.

"Here," he said, handing the money over.

Her prayers were answered – it was only one bag.

"Thanks," she answered, grabbing it lightly from him.

Caycee turned and looped her leg over her bike, wanting nothing more than to get out of this place. She straddled the bike, turning the ignition on at the same time she placed the bag neatly between her legs, securing it.

She turned her head to the side to say goodbye, and almost wished she hadn't.

"Quit smoking," Kaedyn voiced, plucking the stick from between her lips.

A loud, annoyed breath escaped as she tilted her head back. The beautiful, sense-cooling, nicotine stick was now squished against the pavement by a man who also smoked. Ah, how she could not fucking deal with irony – nor double standards.

"Are we done here?" she asked, lowering her head again.

"I suppose we are," Kaedyn nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets.

She cocked her head sideways and gazed at him curiously. The full-on black monochromatic outfit he had on was doing an excellent job of showing off his temple of a body. And really – there was something seriously attractive about a man wearing Doc Martens.

But, what she really focused on was his face. It seemed to be impassive – at first glance – but underneath that façade of an expression lay something she wasn't expecting to see. Something that seemed to be pulling at him.

"What?" she breathed, even more annoyed.

"Huh?"

"What do you want to say?" she waved her hand in the air, "—you look like you need to say something, so out with it."

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