His mouth twists into a grimace. “So you left her five grand after you slept with her and just took off?”
I don’t say anything.
Bridger whistles low, rubbing a hand over his face. “Damian, man . . . I wouldn’t have stayed either. You just treated her like a?—”
“I know,” I snap, cutting him off.
He looks at me, eyebrows raised. “What did you think she’d do? Just sit here waiting like a damn loyal puppy?”
I was just trying to make sure she had enough to get back home when I didn’t come back. But the way Bridger says it makes it sound like I left her a payout for services rendered. Fuck. I can’t stand still. I pace the room, running a hand through my hair, every muscle coiled tight.
Bridger leans against the doorframe. “Maybe she went back to Arden’s.”
His words hit me like a shot of ice down my spine. My hands curl into fists, and jealousy burns low in my gut. The thought of Marlowe going to Arden, of that smug bastard putting his hands on her, looking at her the way he did last night…
“She wouldn’t,” I mutter, but even I don’t believe it.
“Why wouldn’t she?” Bridger shoots back. “You left her with no explanation, no idea if you were coming back. And Arden’s just down the road. It makes sense.”
My mind’s spinning, thinking of all the ways Arden could be using her, playing the nice guy while I’m gone. I can see his easy smile, his slick words, the way he looked at her like she was just another pretty thing to claim.
I need to get to her. Now.
Bridger watches me, his expression softer than usual. “Look, man . . . I know you didn’t mean it to come off like that. But Marlowe doesn’t know what’s going on in your head. You left her money and took off. You really think she’s just gonna wait around to see if you were coming back?”
I run my hands through my hair again, my pulse racing. “I didn’t think?—”
“That’s the problem,” Bridger cuts in. “You don’t think. You just react. You gotta fix this.”
I force myself to take a breath, steady the rage and guilt clawing at my chest. I need to find her. I need to make sure she’s safe, make sure she knows . . . I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. But I know I can’t stand the thought of her being with Arden, or anyone else for that matter. She’s mine. I just didn’t realize how I felt about her until right now.
Bridger sighs. “Let’s check Arden’s place. Maybe she went back there. And if she didn’t . . . we’ll figure out the next move.”
I don’t answer, just push past him back toward the truck. I don’t want to think about why I feel this way or how it hit me so hard and so sudden. All I know is I can’t let her slip away. Not when I finally figured out she’s starting to mean something to me.
And if Arden so much as touched her . . . I shove the thought down and climb into the SUV. Bridger’s right behind me, not saying a word, just giving me space to stew.
We pull up to Arden’s clinic, and the place looks just like we left it—a little rundown, neon sign buzzing faintly in the late afternoon sun. My pulse is a tight, angry throb, and I don’t bother waiting for Bridger. I’m out of the car before it even stops rolling.
Bridger calls after me, but I’m already pushing through the front door, shoulders tense, eyes scanning the room. Arden’sbehind the counter, his back turned, organizing a stack of papers.
I cross the room in three strides and slam my hands down on the counter. “Where the fuck is she?”
Arden jumps, papers scattering to the floor. His eyes go wide when he sees me, and for a second, there’s something in his expression—guilt? Panic? “Damian,” he stammers, holding up his hands. “What—what are you talking about?”
I don’t buy it for a second. I lean over the counter, eyes locked on him. “Marlowe. Where is she?”
Arden’s face goes blank, like he’s trying to play dumb. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You left with her, didn’t you?”
My jaw tightens. I can feel Bridger stepping up behind me, tense and ready.
“You’re lying,” I growl. “You’re not that smooth, Arden.”
He swallows, his eyes darting to the side. “Damian, I didn’t mean to?—”
I don’t give him a chance to finish. I round the counter, grab him by the throat, and slam him against the wall hard enough to rattle the hanging diplomas. He chokes, hands clawing at mine.
“Don’t play games with me,” I snarl, pushing harder. “Start talking, or I’ll snap your neck like a goddamn twig.”
