“Any problems?” he asks Dorian.
“Nope. Seamus helped her put her shoulder back in place.”
Brit’s name is Seamus.It suits him.
The giant’s eyebrows rise. “It was actually out of place?”
“Yup,” Seamus confirms. “Not fully, or she’d be in a cast for a few weeks—just a partial dislocation.”
Connor grunts. “I didn’t hear any screams. You sure you fixed it?”
“She didn’t make a bloody peep. Shit was weird,” Seamus says.
It’s strange to be talked about as if I’m not here, but I’m happy to have the reprieve. Something akin to respect flashes through Connor’s gaze as he glances at me again. So, hedoeshave feelings, just not very many of them.Interesting.
I remain silent as Connor pulls out of the dirt lot and onto the winding road that leads down and out of the canyon. My anxiety and fear continue prickling in my chest, but I try to keep my breathing steady. That becomes impossible when my mind decides to lead me down worst case scenario routes, complete with gory images.
Me without my head.
My bones getting buried in a grave.
Connor strangling the life out of me without a flash of emotions.
Seamus putting a bullet in my head.
Dorian slitting my neck…
“You’re hyperventilating,” Dorian says, putting a big hand on my thigh.He’s right. My breaths sound unnaturally loud in the quiet of the car. I try to get them under control—and fail.
“I need—” I pause to try to breathe. “My music.Please.”
Dorian’s lips purse. “You have a playlist on your phone?”
I nod frantically.
He unzips my backpack and pulls my AirPods out of their case, handing them to me. I splurged on them last year, wanting a nice headset with noise cancellation that didn’t break every few months.He grabs my phone from his pocket and unlocks it.Guy memorized my password.
“Spotify?”
I shake my head. “Apple music. Classical—” I pause as another image of blood spraying from my neck terrorizes me.
“I got it,” he says. “Put in your headphones.”
As soon as I do, Chopin floats from my earbuds. I focus all my attention on it, on the complex melody and harmony. Slowly, my breathing calms. My anxiety and fear abate, leaving behind a low warmth that comes from my thigh. I glance down to see Dorian’s hand is back on it. I don’t like his proprietary touch. More to the point, I don’t like how comfortable and calming it is; nothing about this guy should bring me peace. I gently lift his hand and deposit it on his lap. He smirks at the gesture, shaking his head as if I’ve amused him. After giving me a long look, he pockets my phone and pulls out his own. I lay my forearm against the window and lean my chin on it, getting lost in images of myself playing piano until everything else melts away.
Chapter Four
The car eventually pulls up into a suburban neighborhood, which I’d guess is about a twenty-minute drive from Greywood. We pass several houses that increase in size and glamour. Eventually we go into a gated community.Not community, I realize after a moment. A gated fuckingmansion, a home that I instinctively know belongs to these three.
The house looks like it came straight out of a gothic novel—grey brick exterior; three stories tall and wide; a freakingtoweron both ends of it. I would not be surprised if it’s stood here for well over a century and was once owned by some mega-rich dude with pervert tendencies. There’s a mixture of vibes coming from the house itself; some are dark, some are light. I think that this house has seen many horrors, but it’s also seen laughter, friendship, and tight-knit bonds.
The bond between the three guys in the car with me is tight. Seamus and Dorian are closest, and Connor… well, I think he sees the other two as his property. I’m reasonably sure he’s deep on the antisocial spectrum, and the few people I’ve met like him aren’t capable of friendship so much as possessiveness. They can see another person as an extension of themselves, they can form attachments, but they don’t get sweet or cuddly sentiments.
Connor parks the car in a circular driveway that has afountain. Obviously, these three are wealthy, though I don’t know if any of themwere born into wealth. I think they’ve managed to acquire it through whatever business had them digging in the forest at midnight.
Dorian taps my thigh, signaling for me to pull out my headphones. I’ve calmed down through the car ride, so I take the risk, popping one of my beloved AirPods out.
Dorian watches me, unspeaking. His stare is unwavering, unapologetic, and strikingly bold. He exudes confidence, and something about him suggests his self-assurance is earned through life experience. I hold his gaze despite the faint discomfort it stirs in me. “What now?”
