I nod, throat tight.
Jamie starts pacing. “So what’s your plan, huh? You gonna spy on her and pretend it’s nothing? You think that’s gonna end well?”
“I don’t know what else to do,” I snap. “If I tell her, she’ll find out everything. About me. About the kidnapping. About what I do for Victor.”
“Yeah,” he grumbles.
I take a breath, stare down at my hands. “I can stall. Buy time. Figure something out before Victor gets too close.”
Jamie drags a hand through his hair. “You’re playing with fire, man.”
“Yeah.” I look up at him. “But what choice do we have?”
He doesn’t respond right away. Just looks at me like he’s trying to see if I’m the same guy he grew up with or if I’ve finally crossed some invisible line neither of us can come back from.
Finally, he says, “You better be damn sure you can control this.”
“I’ll handle it.”
He snorts. “You always say that.”
The air between us crackles with everything we’re not saying—the fights, the girls, the blood, the things we can’t ever tell anyone else.
Jamie turns away, pouring himself another drink. “For what it’s worth,” he mutters, “I think you actually care about her.”
“I do,” I admit quietly. “That’s the problem.”
He nods, jaw set. “Then you’d better find a way to protect her.”
The Crest’s lights blur in my rearview mirror as I pull out of the lot. I can still hear the echo of the laughter, the toast to Jamie’s mom, the clink of glasses. That kind of warmth doesn’t belong to me anymore. Not after what my uncle just dropped in my lap.
Chloe.
Her name’s been clawing at the inside of my skull since I left Victor’s. My hands shake on the steering wheel. The idea that hewants to use her again—no. I can’t let that happen. But I also can’t tip my hand, not without him realizing where my loyalties actually lie.
So I drive to the only place I think I can get answers.
By the time I park at the sorority house, it’s late enough that most lights are off. My heart’s a drumline in my chest. I knock. Hard. A second later, Maggie opens the door in a hoodie, chewing gum like she’s bored out of her mind. Her eyes widen when she sees me.
“Miles Thatcher,” she says, voice sharp enough to cut. “Didn’t think you’d dare show your face here.”
“I need to talk to Chloe.”
She leans against the doorframe, folding her arms. “The nerve you have.”
“I’m serious, Maggie.”
“You’re too late. She doesn’t live here anymore.”
My stomach drops. “What do you mean she doesn’t live here anymore?”
“Exactly what I said.” She grins like she’s enjoying this. “You can try Bella if you want the full sob story. She’s upstairs.”
I step inside without waiting for an invitation. Maggie mutters something behind me, but I don’t care. The place smells like cheap perfume, coffee, and like a hundred secrets jammed into four walls.
Bella’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, scrolling through her phone. When she looks up, she freezes, then smirks.
“Well, if it isn’t Miles Thatcher,” she says. “What the hell do you want?”
