He’s right. I am developing pretty strong feelings for Arlo, but every time I think I have it sorted out in my head, something arises that pushes me back. It’s like someone’s holding a red flag and a green flag at the same time, and I’m dancing between both of them with him. But I must admit that I enjoy the red flags in the bedroom.
On the drive to Sebastian’s house, he continues pushing about Arlo, telling me to give him a chance. I didn’t realize he was on the Arlo bandwagon. When we drop Sebastian off, I tell him I will let him know if I hear anything about Delaney.
Alone in the car now, my mind spins.
What if Arlo is like Rylas—a complete fucking liar? He’s already keeping things from me. Things he thinks I can’t handle. Maybe he is right. Maybe knowing would only break me. But then there’s the way his touch stays with me long after he’s gone, like some sort of imprint I can’t shake. The way his eyes follow me is intense and unrelenting, like I am the only thing in the room that matters. It messes with my head. Because my mind screams at me to be cautious, to run, but my body keeps leaning in and craving him. Despite everything, I don’t know.
I attempt to call Delaney again, even though it’s late. But this time, it doesn’t even ring. My concern for her grows, even with the relief that Arlo got Boston involved. Because despite everything, I feel like I’ll soon be getting an answer to what the fuck is going on, and I might not like the answer I get.
What if I’ve ruined our friendship by telling her the person she loves is a liar? But then I remind myself she wouldn’t stop being my friend over something like this. We’ve been through a lot worse shit together, like me finding out my mother had dementia and needed to be put into a home, and her finding out she had cancer. I’m sure a man could never tear us apart.
At least, that’s what I hope.
When I arrive back at my place, I get out of the car and head to the entrance as Matty drives off. That’s when I hear footsteps on the sidewalk behind me. Usually, I wouldn’t even register them, but something about their gait seems heavy and measured, as if each step is deliberate. Threatening. A chill creeps up my spine, and instinctively, I glance back and to the left.
Rylas.
He’s storming toward me with a pace that doesn’t falter, eyes wild, jaw clenched. There’s something unhinged in his expression, as if he’s barely holding himself together—like reason has already left the building, and all that’s left is rage. By the time he reaches me, my heart is hammering against my ribs, and the madness on his face tells me this won’t be a simple conversation.
I’m frozen in place.
I didn’t even manage to unlock the door.
I grip my keys in my hand, ready to hit him if the need arises. And that’s when I notice something glinting in his fist. It catches the light, a flash of silver that doesn’t belong. My stomach drops. He lifts his arm with a terrifying calm, and before I can react, before my brain can even catch up, there’s a sharp prick in my upper arm.
I gasp, stumbling back a step. My hand flies to the spot, and that’s when I feel it—a hypodermic needle lodged in my skin.
“Fuck,” I whisper, yanking it out with trembling fingers.
But it’s too late.
The world tilts. The ground shifts beneath my feet, and my limbs grow heavy. Too heavy. I blink hard, trying to focus, but everything around me dissolves into shadows.
Panic claws at my chest, but my body won’t listen.
He’s drugged me.
“You keep stepping in places you have no business in,” Rylas growls, his voice low and dark.
He looks like hell.
Dark shadows bruise the skin beneath his eyes, and his face is gaunt and sunken with exhaustion. His clothes are hanging off him in wrinkled, strained disarray, as if he has been living out of his car and hasn’t changed in a week.
But it’s his eyes that have fear churning in my stomach. Cold. Unforgiving. There is only hardness behind them, a man capable of things I never imagined. His glare pins me in place—he has already decided my fate and is just waiting for the right moment to deliver it.
“What yooou doin’?” I slur out as whatever he injected me with takes further control of me. He snatches the phone from my slackened grip.
Goddammit! I’m getting weaker. Tired. I blink a few times, trying to stay awake, but it’s a battle I won’t win.
“Stupid fucking bitch,” he grumbles just before everything goes black.
FORTY
ARLO
Soren calls to inform me that Rylas said he’s busy, and he’ll call him back when he can. That was the only response he got from him.
I head to Rylas’s house because I don’t believe he’s so busy that he can’t reply to our Lord. His wife, who has clearly been crying, answers the door. Her eyes are red and puffy, and her mascara is smeared.
