“Savannah?”
“Where did she go?”
“It’s not like she can climb down the side of the building.”
A moment later, a stream of light falls across the hollow bubble I’ve created. I squeeze my eyes shut.
“In here.” Soft footsteps cross the carpet to me. “Dream Girl, why are you in the closet?”
I don’t want to go back. My heart can’t take it.
More footsteps, then a hand sweeps my hair back, revealing my tear-stained cheeks. “Let me see those beautiful brown eyes, Trouble.”
My skin tingles where he touched me, prompting my body to allow feeling back in.
I can’t.
“We’re here, Heartbreaker. We’re behind you one hundred percent.” Another hand wipes the moisture from my face.
My eyes take a moment to focus. Slowly, the details of their faces fill in. They’re all on the floor with me, touching me in one way or another.
Rory runs his fingers through my hair repeatedly in a soothing gesture. Luke holds my hand in both of his in a way that grounds me.
Hunter shifts toward me. “Move over.”
I don’t realize that he’s talking to me, but it seems everyone else does. Rory and Luke help Hunter scoot me forward, creating space behind me—space big enough for one bossy, kind man. Hunter lies down and maneuvers me until I’m engulfed in his strong embrace.
Their attentive actions are too much.
“I can’t keep doing this,” I finally get out in a whisper.
Rory’s eyes soften. “Doing what?”
“Pretending,” I answer.
Luke lightly clutches my hand. “What are you pretending?”
“That I’m not just likehim.” I choke on a sob, and more tears fall.
“You’re not.” The vibration of Hunter’s voice beats against my back.
“Yes, I am. I kill people.”
I’ve never said those words out loud. It’s almost freeing to admit it, but the overwhelming fear of rejection pushes me back down, the sense of freedom only lasts for a moment.
“You’re different,” Luke argues.
“How?” I push back.
Luke injects sincerity into his reply. “He killed innocent women. People like Tobin aren’t innocent.”
I wince at the mention of the name of the last man I killed. Apparently, I had an audience for it.
A thought rooted in doubt nudges at me. “Why didn’t you call the police and turn me in that night?”
“You know why,” Hunter responds.
I shake my head. “No, I don’t.”
