They’re not just with her. They’re flanking her. And they’re close. Close enough to corner me if they want to.
My throat dries. My pulse starts sprinting, but I keep my shoulders square.
Glory stops a few feet in front of me, hands still folded. One of the men pops his gum like this is all entertainment.
Then she speaks, her voice syrupy and serene. “I am, Charlie. And… nothing much,” she says, her lips quirking when I flinch at the name she’d once bestowed upon me. “Just wanted to see the girl who sent me to prison.”
EIGHT
Charlotte
“And then they just… left?”
“Yes, they fucking left,” I snap at Ryder. I shake my head, but my brain is moving a mile a minute.
He’d found me still shaking in my apartment. Crouched on the floor a few feet from the front door. The gun Torch gifted me was clutched in both hands, pointed at whoever dared to come in.
The only reason I didn’t accidentally pull the trigger on him was because he’d shouted his name first. I didn’t even answer the seventeen missed calls he left in the hour and a half it took him to get here.
When he arrived, I was a full-blown mess—quivering, breath ragged. He’d had to lift me off the ground and carry me to the couch.
Now we’re sitting side by side. His laptop is perched on my secondhand coffee table as he clicks away like a man on a mission, while I try to piece together the scraps of what just happened.
“Okay. Okay, love. Can you recall anything else? About the cut? The patterns? Designs? Anything?”
He had given me a few minutes to calm down. But now the questions are coming—sharp, fast, and with that soft urgency only Ryder can manage.
??????
“Just wanted to see the girl who sent me to prison.”
Two years ago, Charlie would’ve flinched. Slumped her shoulders, nodded like a fool, probably said, ‘Yes, I’m so sorry, Glory.’
She would’ve contorted herself to fit the story Glory just fed her.
But I’m not that girl anymore. I’m Charlotte.
And even though I am staring down two men twice my size, ready to strike if she gave the word, I hold on to who I am in a reckless grip.
“I… I didn’t, Glory. I wasn’t the one who stole—”
“Why are you saying that?” she interrupts, frowning. Her expression shifts so quickly it makes my stomach turn.
“No, Charlie. I… I had the $115K, remember? And you kept the rest of the $95K. I know we spent a little bit of it. But… wait, did you use up allour money?”
Our money.
My whole body freezes. Her twisted words lodge somewhere deep, pressing on an old, sore nerve. But I power through it. “It… it won’t work, Glory.”
“What won’t work?” she asks softly, tilting her head.
“Y-your tactics. I didn’t steal anything. You got what your actions resulted in.”
I brace myself for another one of her sweet manipulations. Instead, her gaze hardens. Her eyes lose all shine.
“Charlie.” She sighs, stepping closer. “I should’ve known. I should’ve protected you from that club. They did nothingfor us.”
I keep my mouth shut. Because behind her, one of the men shifts forward—and that’s when I see it. The faint glint of hispatch under the streetlight. It isn’t one I recognize. Not local. Not affiliated. Definitely notsafe.
