In my back pocket, my phone buzzes incessantly. West, I’m sure. Or Ryker. I’m shocked they haven’t burst into Nash’s apartment in full riot gear already.
Fuck this. He might not be willing to fight for us, but I am.
I dig into my bag for my house key, stalk over to him, and shove him until his back hits the door. “You’ve got two options. One. You pack up the rest of your shit and go to my place. You’ve clearly been runnin’ for a long damn time, so I reckon you know how to check for a tail. Make sure you’re not bein’ followed, park at least three streets away, get inside, lock the fuckin’ door, and wait for me there.”
He lifts his gaze to mine. “And two?”
“Come with me and pray the men I’m gonna introduce you to don’t kick both of our asses six ways from Sunday.”
He’ll be as welcome as a skunk at a lawn party at Ryker’s condo, but at least there, I know he’ll be safe.
Nash’s shoulders slump, all the fight leaving him so suddenly, I can almost hear it.
“You should let me go, Raelynn.” He cups my cheek, skimming just under my eye with the rough pad of his thumb. Leaning closer, he kisses me with such tenderness, tears threaten.
“Yellow don’t suit me one bit,” I manage when he pulls away. My voice wobbles, and I clench my free hand so hard, it shakes. Pressing the key to his palm, I hold his gaze. “I don’t think it’s your color either. So what’s it gonna be?”
The fear in his eyes twists my stomach into knots, but eventually, he closes his fingers over mine. “Your place. For one night only. Tomorrow, I’m gone.”
I clench my jaw until my back teeth scrape against one another. “We’ll see about that. If anyone comes knockin’ but me, there’s a false wall in the back of my closet. Leads to a reinforced crawlspace. Hide there and don’t make a peep until you hear me say ‘wildflowers.’ You understand?”
His brows furrow, and he takes a step back. “A false wall? Who the hell are you?”
I press my fist over my heart, needing to soothe the ache in my chest. “Someone who can help.” My phone keeps vibrating, and I groan. “Get your things. We’re swappin’ cars, and I need my bag out of the trunk first.”
We don’t speak again until Nash has thrown his duffel bag and backpack into my rental. The late morning sun doesn’t leave many places to hide, but I’m still on high alert. “If you spot a tail, call me immediately. Got it?”
He nods, slides behind the wheel, and peers up at me. “What you said earlier…about trust?”
If we have this conversation now, I’ll lose my shit, and that won’t keep him alive. Slamming the door, I pin my gaze to his. “Trustin’ and believin’ ain’t the same thing. I trust that you’re a good man, Nash. But lie to me again, and we’re through.”
Chapter Thirteen
Raelynn
My phone stops buzzing just before I get to Nash’s car. That ain’t a good sign, but I don’t bother checking the messages. In one half less than no time, Ryker and West can cuss me out in person.
Less than ten minutes later, I pull into the underground garage and stop at the heavy gates. It takes a twelve-digit code, a fingerprint scan, and a ridiculously complicated passphrase for the system to let me in, but I find a parking spot right next to the elevator.
Ryker owns this whole building, and the man is fanatical about his security. I have to repeat the process—with a completely different passphrase—before I can access the top floor where he and Wren live. Half of Hidden Agenda calls this place home. Graham and his boyfriend, Ripper and Cara. Wyatt and Hope. Some days, I wish I’d taken Ry up on his offer to move into the last empty unit on the seventh floor. But I wanted a back yard. A porch. Privacy.
I don’t have to knock. The second I step off the elevator, the condo door opens.
“About damn time,” Ry snaps. “Unless you’re dead in a ditch somewhere, you answer your fucking phone.”
“Give me a goddamn break. I’m here, ain’t I? Had to get the cops to believe my bullshit story and convince Nash not to rabbit first.” I stalk into the large, open concept living room and move directly to the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over downtown.
“Raelynn?” West comes up behind me and touches my shoulder. I jerk away, but my foot lands on something soft—and squeaky.
With a yelp, I stumble and crash into Graham. The younger man wraps an arm around my waist to keep me upright.
“Whoa. It’s just one of Pixel’s toys,” Graham says. “You okay?”
No. Not even close. Okay is a thousand miles from here. Or more. Somewhere I don’t have to face these men who insist we’re family and admit the guy I just slept with is in trouble—and a liar.
I push Graham away, sidestep West, and narrowly avoid the fluffy, white dog who came running when I stepped on her stuffed ducky.
“Sit down.” Ryker stands between me and the sofa, his arms crossed over his broad chest. At almost seven feet tall and more than three hundred pounds, he leaves me no way to get around him. “And talk.”
