Jacob sits like a statue—carved from contempt and control. His fingers drum with unnatural patience. My drink waits, warming on the table.I take a long gulp—just to have something in my hands. Something that isn't trembling. Something to wash away the taste of almost-freedom that lingers like sugar on my tongue.
His smile is slow. Cruel, but familiar. Safe, in its terrible way.
"Had fun with your boyfriend?"
I choke a little on the soda. Swallow. Shake my head.
I hate myself for the part of me that wishes I could say yes.
“It was just a dance,” I say, too quickly. My voice doesn’t sound like mine. It sounds like the girl I pretend to be—the one who sometimes loves the safety of his control but will always hate it more.
Jacob's jaw ticks. That tiny muscle jumping—the one that always comes before pain, before relief. He doesn't blink.
"And you think some greasy wannabe has the right to paw at my girl? To touch you? To look at you like you're some... dessert laid out for the taking?"
My fingers clamp around the glass. Tighter, until it squeaks. Part of me wants to throw it at him, but I know better. Before I can think, I throw the words at him, “Not everyone wants to swoop in and kidnap me, Jacob. Not everyone is as fucked up as you.”
His hand moves beneath the table. Clamps onto my thigh. Iron-hot. Merciless. Familiar.Pain flares instantly—cold, electric—blossoming beneath my skin like spilled ink.
I suck in a breath, but I don't cry out. Crying gives him satisfaction, and he will get none of that from me.
I stare straight ahead. Don’t show how much it hurts.
“Summer,” he whispers, his voice a silken threat that sends chills down my spine. “If you ever dance with another man again, I'll break his fucking legs and make you watch. Never. A. Fucking. Gain.”
I want to tell him tofuck off. I could scream for help and run until the world swallowed me whole. But what waits out there for me? Jackson Moore and his affiliates still lurk at the edges of my life. Ialso know Jacob isn’t in a hurry to find them. Making me feel safe is part of how he keeps me tethered. But as soon as the summer comes and Blackwood opens for accommodation applications, I will go—new jurisdiction, new life. Freedom.
The chance to get away, to get my head out of the darkness Jacob had driven inside of me. Into the desire I sometimes feel for the man I hate the most.
The bar pulsates with an electric hum—alive, yet utterly oblivious to the undercurrents of danger swirling. People chatter and laugh, blind to the storm brewing at our table. Perhaps they see it and choose to ignore it.
Officer Haywood and his wife return to the table, encased in a bubble of laughter that feels intense and piercing. Her scent is an overpowering mix of cheap perfume and gin, and she beams at me as if we’re celebrating, as if I’m not caught in a vice grip of silent torment beneath the table.
“Well, Summer,” she chirps with a saccharine sweetness, “who knew you could dance?”
Her obliviousness is infuriating. If she’s aware of the threats hissing in my ear, or the iron grip crushing my leg, she gives no sign. Perhaps she convinces herself I’m fortunate, or maybe she believes Jacob enjoys watching me in a moment of false freedom. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s easier for her to pretend.
Haywood laughs, a sound that stings like salt in a wound, and claps Jacob on the shoulder. “If the sheriff would let his hair down, he might show us a move or two.”
Jacob's laugh grates through the air, harsh and jagged, devoid of any real amusement. He rises, unfolding himself with the fluid grace of a predator stretching its limbs, then leans down toward me with deliberate slowness, as if to kiss me, but stops short. He straightens up, turning to the bar with the carefree grin of a man about to buy the entire place a round, as if nothing sinister just happened. The world around us remains blissfully unaware.
Benny is nowhere to be seen. The jukebox blares relentlessly, and laughter erupts from the pool tables. It all crashes over me like a tidal wave—overwhelming, suffocating.
I can’t breathe. Every instinct screams at me to flee. Something inside me breaks, a surge of raw defiance. I stand abruptly, the stool screeching across the floor like a scream in the chaos. A few heads turn, but I’m beyond caring.
“I need air,” I manage to say, my voice fragile and barely audible, a whisper in the storm.
Jacob, lost in his charade, doesn’t even notice me leave.
Chapter 4
The Hidden Stars
Summer
The air outside hits like a slap. Thick. Wet. Clinging to my skin. The smell of beer and fried grease lingers in the open doorway. Cicadas scream from the trees—endless and shrill—like the world is trying to drown out the silence inside me.
I lean against the brick wall behind the bar and finally let myself breathe. Not deeply. Just enough to stop the ringing in my ears. The ache in my thigh pulses with every heartbeat.
