Easing the car into drive, I roll out onto the driveway. The dashboard clock reads 11:42 p.m.—right on schedule. My stomach does a nervous flip as I approach the gate. One guard stands at the security booth, illuminated by a pool of light. I can see the outline of his firearm at his hip, the radio on his shoulder. My fingers tighten on the steering wheel.
With a metallic groan, the iron gates swing open. I lift a hand in a casual wave and roll through. The moment I’m past the threshold, I have to fight the urge to floor the gas. Instead, I accelerate gently down the tree-lined drive that leads away from the house, keeping my speed in check until I’m well beyond the perimeter.
As soon as our estate disappears from my rearview mirror, a wild laugh escapes me. I can’t believe I just pulled that off. The thrill of it buzzes through my veins—part fear, part exhilaration. I half expect to see flashing lights of a security SUV chasing after me, but the road remains dark and empty.
I’m free. At least, for now.
I push my foot down on the accelerator. The Mercedes responds with a burst of power, engine humming smoothly as the speedometer climbs. The suburbs blur past me.
Dad would blow a gasket if he knew. I clench the wheel, my knuckles white. There’s no turning back now; I’ll deal with the fallout later. Right now, a more pressing question looms: What am I walking into tonight?
I know the general area—a wealthy neighborhood not far from campus, known for its oversized modern homes and high walls. Why would Dredyn and the others have a house there? Is it one of their family estates, or some Syndicate safehouse? The Syndicate seems to have their hands in everything. For all I know, they own half the properties in this city.
My gut twists at that thought. If the Syndicate’s involved . . . But Dad said they weren’t behind the murders. And I want to believe him, even if something about it feels off. Regardless, I doubt Dredyn would lure me into a trap. If they wanted to hurt me, they’ve had opportunities before.
No one forced me to press down on this gas pedal. No one forced the excited tremor in my chest when I imagined seeing the guys again. This is my choice, for better or worse.
Twenty-five minutes of tense, speeding, night driving later, I turn onto Westbrook Drive. The houses here are monsters, each one hiding behind tall gates or manicured hedges. My navigation app announces I’ve arrived at number 427 just as I roll up to a sleek black gate adorned with minimalist silver numbers: 427. There’s no keypad or intercom that I can see. But before I can panic about how to get in, the gate begins to open on its own, an automatic smooth glide.
I swallow, guiding the Mercedes through. A long, curving driveway leads to a house set back from the road, partially concealed by towering oak trees. What I can see of the structure is strikingly modern—sharp angles, floor-to-ceiling glass walls, and soft exterior lighting that highlights the clean architectural lines.
Whoever owns this place must be loaded. Perhaps one of Dredyn’s friends? Or one of the brothers I haven’t met yet?
I park the car behind a matte-black Audi and kill the engine. Silence descends, and with it, a wave of nerves. My bravado from the drive over starts to falter as I sit there in the quiet, staring at the house. A light is on near what looks like the front entrance—a tall glass door framed by stone. They know I’m here.
My heart gives a traitorous thump. Why am I suddenly terrified? I’m about to walk into a house, alone, with the three of them, and I barely have a clue what I’m doing.This was a bad idea.The thought flashes and for a second I consider reversing out and speeding away. I could go back home and pretend this never happened.
But where would that leave me? Right back in my satin-trimmed cage, aching with regrets and what-ifs. No. I didn’t risk all this just to chicken out in the driveway.
I force myself to get out of the car. The night air is cool on my flushed skin. Pulling my hoodie tighter around me, I approach the front door. My reflection in the glass is faint, just a pale oval of a face and dark hair in a messy tumble around my shoulders. I look as strung-out as I feel.
Before I can raise a hand to knock, the door swings open. I step back reflexively, my pulse jumping.
Dredyn.
He fills the wide doorway with his presence, and for a second I forget how to breathe. He’s in black jeans and a snug charcoal T-shirt that clings to the contours of his chest and arms. His dark hair is a touch disheveled, like he’s been running his hands through it anxiously—or impatiently. Those stormy gray eyes lock onto me, bright and intense in the low light. A slow, unmistakable smile curves his lips, equal parts relief and triumph.
“You actually came,” Dredyn says, voice low and a little incredulous.
I bristle, trying to hide how my stomach just flipped at the sound of his voice. I cross my arms over my chest. “Don’t let it goto your head,” I reply, aiming for blasé, but it comes out a bit shaky.
He steps over the threshold toward me, and suddenly I’m very aware of how tall he is, how small I feel in his shadow. My heart kicks up its pace. The last time we were this close . . . Well, my memory supplies an array of sensations that make heat creep up my neck. I clench my hands into fists at my sides to keep steady.
Dredyn’s gaze drags over me. “Do you have any idea how—” he starts, but then he just huffs and moves.
Before I know what’s happening, his strong arms swoop down and lift me clear off the ground.
“Hey!” I yelp, legs kicking instinctively. In one swift motion, Dredyn hauls me up over his shoulder. The breath whooshes out of me in surprise, my view suddenly one of broad shoulders and his back instead of his face. My hair falls in a curtain, and I push it out of my eyes, squirming. “Dredyn! Put me down!”
He’s already striding inside, one arm locked firmly around the backs of my thighs to keep me from wriggling free. He kicks the front door shut behind us with a solid thud.
“Not a chance, Polly Pocket,” he growls, but I hear the relief under the tease in his voice. “You took your sweet time coming home.”
The nickname is drenched in sarcasm and something oddly affectionate. I’d take more offense if his shoulder wasn’t currently digging into my abdomen. I thump a fist against his back, heat flooding my face both from the sudden blood rush of being upside down and from his insinuation that this place—he—is home. “I only came because— because I had questions,” I lie breathlessly. It’s the excuse I’ve told myself the whole drive over—that I need answers he might have. That this is about information, not… whatever magnetic thing sparks between us.
“Mhmm.” I can practically hear the smug grin on his face. Dredyn carries me down a hallway, moving deeper into the house with confident strides. “We’ll get to your questions later.”
I open my mouth to retort, but my protest dies on my tongueas I catch sight of our reflection in a large mirror on the wall, Dredyn’s tall, muscular frame carrying me slung over his shoulder like I truly am some wayward damsel. It’s ridiculous… and yet the image sends a strange thrill through me. Part of me wants to keep fighting him, to demand he put me down right this instant. Another part—a secret, shameful part—likes this display of possessive strength. It drowns out the constant fear in my head, replacing it with pounding blood and a wild heat.
