“I’m not here to be liked,” I say before I can stop myself. It comes out sharper than I intend, my armor snapping back in place.
Silence hums for a beat, heavy enough that I regret it. But then Lee’s voice cuts through, even and grounding.
“Good. Then you’ll survive here.”
Something about the way he says it makes my pulse skip. My phone buzzes again. Persistent. The sound rattles around in my head like a warning bell. I finally dig it out of my clutch, the screen lighting up with Colter’s name. Ten missed calls. Three unread texts.
My throat dries.
Jackson whistles. “Guess the big bad wolf noticed you’re gone.”
Lee’s jaw tightens, his eyes flickering to mine. “Don’t answer.”
I set the phone face down in my lap, but the vibration doesn’t stop. It thrums against my thigh, every buzz a reminder of that look in Colter’s eyes, of his hand on my throat, his voice whisperingmine.
No cages, Jackson said. No handlers. No wolf.
Then why do I still feel like the leash is wrapped around my throat?
26
The bar feelsalive in a way that makes my skin hum. Neon light splashes across the walls in feverish pink and electric blue, catching on the cracked vinyl stools and sticky tabletops like a bad dream dressed up pretty. The jukebox sputters out old country songs that don’t quite match the rhythm of the crowd, but no one cares.
Jackson is a one-man circus at the bar, dragging strangers into his orbit with wild stories, reckless laughter, and a shameless grin that could sell sin to a preacher. Lee’s the opposite. He’s steady, sharp-eyed, tucked into a corner booth with a beer in hand, watching the chaos with that quiet smirk that makes it seem like nothing surprises him.
We’re overdressed, but it doesn’t matter. Everyone in here is too drunk to care. For the first time in forever, I feel… normal. Free. Like maybe I’ve slipped into someone else’s life for a night.
Jackson spins me on the dance floor until the room blurs, my heels nearly giving out. I laugh so hard it feels foreign in my own throat—like the sound is coming from someone braver, lighter. Lee shakes his head when we stagger back toward him, but I catch the faint curve of a smile tugging at his mouth, like he’s letting himself enjoy watching for once.
After another round, the high starts to thin. My chest aches with too much air, too much laughter, and the walls seem to pulse and come alive.
“I’m gonna hit the bathroom,” I tell them, slipping away before Jackson can pull me into another song. He calls after me, but the music swallows the words.
The bathroom is a different world. Dim, claustrophobic, the mirror streaked and cracked down one side like a spider web. The air reeks of bleach over something sour and old beer. The tiles under my heels are grimy, gritty. I turn the faucet, run cool water over my wrists, trying to calm the heat in my face. My pulse still thrums from dancing. For a moment, it works. My reflection steadies. My lips part for a deep breath.
Then a sound pricks through the buzz of neon.
The scrape of a shoe.
A shift of air that doesn’t belong.
I freeze, my hands still dripping over the sink. The bathroom door is closed. No one answered it opening. My skin crawls.
I barely turn before a hard weight slams into me. My back smashes against the tiled wall with a crack that rattles my teeth. The edge of the sink digs into my hip. A hand clamps over my mouth, palm rough and smelling of sweat and cigarettes, cutting off sound and air in one brutal press.
“Stay quiet or I’ll cut your tongue out.”
The words are hot and venomous against my ear, slurred but purposeful.
Panic sears through me like electricity. My body jerks before my mind can catch up, fists pounding at his chest, but he’s solid. Too solid. His forearm crushes across my collarbone, pinning me so hard I can’t draw a full breath. My vision wavers, black edging in at the corners. His breath is sour, wet against my temple. I catch a glimpse of a face, scruffy jaw, eyes glassy and bloodshot, but it’s already fading as fear narrows my vision.
“I’ve got a good payday coming if I get rid of you, sweetie,” he whispers in my ear, hot breath thick against my skin causing bile to rise in the back of my throat. “But they didn’t say I couldn’t have a little fun first. No one said you was a looker.”
I thrash harder at his sick words, nails scraping at his arm, desperate when?—
“Peyton?” Jackson’s voice cuts through the muffled rush of blood in my ears. He’s outside. “You okay in there?”
The pressure eases for a heartbeat. My attacker freezes, his breath hot and ragged against my cheek. He smells like stale whiskey and chemicals. His grip trembles.
