But I also knew that once she set her mind to something, there was no stopping her.
The only alternative would have been to physically restrain her, and even then she would have found a way out. This is a woman who jumped off a balcony the first time I saw her.
I smirk at the memory.
She is just… perfect.
As I send another message, my phone lights up almost immediately. My brows furrow as I continue to turn the blade idly in my hand,expecting for a reply, only to realise it isn’t a message at all but an error, an exclamation mark flashing beside the text instead.
I narrow my eyes.
Arlo looks up from his phone, one brow lifting. “What’s put that repellent expression on your face?”
“What does it mean,” I ask flatly, “when your message won’t send and comes back with a red exclamation mark saying undelivered?”
Isaak answers from the front without turning. “It means she’s blocked you. Good riddance.”
My jaw tightens, my brows knit together even further.
“So,” I ask evenly, “how do I unblock myself?”
Hunter turns in his seat and looks back at me. “You don’t. You’d think someone like you would understand technology, but you sound as though you’re stuck in the nineties.”
I turn my eyes to Arlo. “Hack her phone.”
He barely glances up. “Nah, thanks. I’m good. Too much effort.”
I very nearly stab the fucker.
I am, in fact, genuinely considering it.
But the car slows, easing off as we finally reach the place where they are, coordinates in hand—because apparently pulling the GPS data from the girls’ car required next to no effort at all, yet unblocking me is somehow asking too much.
Yes. I am not best pleased about it.
I pocket my phone and open the door. The town is small, and we have pulled up right on the main street, hemmed in by low buildings, shopfronts, and pubs.
People linger outside the bar, smoking and drinking.
My eyes catch on a group of preppy boys.
I take them in, narrowing my eyes. Have any of them approached my woman? Spoken to her in the ten minutes it took us to follow after them?
One of them looks in my direction, almost confused, likely because I am staring.
For a brief, vivid moment, I consider throwing the blade straight through his eyes. The thought is satisfying.
Then I think better of it.
This blade is mine now. It only touches me.
I slide it back into my pocket instead, and we step inside, the music engulfs us immediately.
My eyes find her a moment later. She’s seated at a corner table, the girls gathered around her.
And then my vision goes black.
Because there are men at their table. Those motherfuckers, looking entirely too comfortable, talking to them as if they have any right to do so.
