I tear everything out of my closet and throw it on the floor, but find nothing. I tear through my dresser—nothing. I check behind picture frames, under the bed, inside lampshades.
Nothing.
And then, as I'm standing in the center of my room, frustrated and breathing hard, I catch it—a tiny glint of light from outside my window. Something small is mounted on the tree branch that faces my room.
What’s that outside the window?
I move closer to the glass and squint, and that's when I see it. A small camera, expertly camouflaged, is angled directly at my bedroom.
My bedroom.
How long has that been there? Has he been watching mesleep? Watching me dress? Watching me live my entire life?
I should be horrified.
I should be furious.
Iamfurious.
But underneath that, there's something else. Something that makes my chest ache and my hands tremble.
He's still protecting me. Even now. Even after I left him.
I stare at that camera for a long moment, my heart pounding.
Then I walk to the window, unlock it, and push it open. The evening air rushes in, cool against my flushed skin.
I lean out and carefully pluck the camera from the branch. It’s small in my palm, expensive and sophisticated.
I hold it up in front of my face, knowing he's watching on the other end. Knowing he can see every detail of my expression right now.
And I don't flip him off.
I don't smash it.
Instead, I just look into the lens, letting him see my face. Letting him see the confusion and anger and something else I can't name that's written all over it.
Then I set the camera on my windowsill, still running, still watching, pointed at the empty chair by my desk.
Fine.Let him watch an empty room if he wants.
But I don't destroy it, and I don’t know what that means.
I close the window and draw the curtains. My phone buzzes again, but this time I ignore it.
Ashland has taught me one thing: No one will tell me what to do, and I don't owe anyone an explanation.
Not even him.
Chapter Seventeen
Ashland
Once,I was in a fight, and the bastard in the ring knew exactly how to provoke me. I was a young lad at the time, and he made fun of every one of my goddamn family members.
I beat the living shite out of him until he was crying, begging for mercy, and covering his face with his broken hands.
Tiernan had to pull me off him. He leaped into the ring and held me back, his arms like bands of steel around my chest, keeping me from swinging.
