Page 63 of Gunnar

“Shh,” Jake whispers, his finger pressing against my lips. “Don’t fight it. It’ll be easier if you don’t fight it. I just need you to be… compliant. For a little while. Just until we can be alone, without the guard dog or any of the other obstacles you’ve surrounded yourself with.”

My mind reels, trying to process and understand. Jake. My agent. My friend. A man who has been in my life for eight years. The man who negotiated my first contract and held my hand at my mother’s funeral.

“You…” I manage, the word slurred beyond recognition.

“Me,” he confirms, his smile widening into something that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Surprised? You shouldn’t be. I’ve been telling you for years, my love. In a thousand little ways. The gifts, the late-night phone calls, the way I always know where you are, what you’re doing, who you’re with. You just never listened”

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone. He swipes through photos that make my stomach lurch—me sleeping, showering, with Gunnar in moments that were supposed to be private; moments that were supposed to be sacred.

“I’ve been watching you for so long,” he continues, his voice taking on a dreamy quality. “Longer than you know. Longer than anyone knows. Colton was a convenient distraction. Fucking stupid and easy to frame. I knew Gunnar would fixate on him. Men like that always do. They see the obvious threat and miss the one right in front of them.”

He traces a finger down my cheek, and I flinch, or I try to, my body not responding to my commands. “Did he show you? My website? It was beautiful, wasn’t it? My tribute to you. My collection. Every moment of your life that mattered, preserved forever. And you tried to make me jealous with that… that animal. Flaunting him in front of me. Making me watch as you let him touch what’s mine.”

My vision is tunnels, and darkness creeps in at the edges as I fight to stay conscious. “Why?” I whisper, the word barely audible.

“Because I love you,” he says simply, like that explains everything. Like that justifies the years of violation, the terror, the crossing of every boundary that ever existed between us. “Because you were meant to be mine. Because I’ve invested eight years in you, in your career, in your life, and I deserve to reap the rewards. I deserve you.”

He leans close, his breath hot against my ear, and I smell the sickening sweetness of his cologne. “Gunnar and the others went after Colton tonight. I know they did. By now, they’ve probably killed him, or close to it. And when they come back, covered in his blood, they’ll think the threat is eliminated. They’ll relax. They’ll let their guard down.”

He pulls back, his eyes bright with a madness I’ve never seen before, never imagined existed beneath his professional veneer. “And by then, my love, you and I will be long gone. Somewhere no one can find us. Somewhere we can finally be together, the way we were always meant to be.”

I try to scream, to run, but my body won’t obey me. The drug is pulling me under, dragging me into darkness, and the last thing I see before consciousness fades is Jake’s smile. It’s the wicked grin of a man who believes he’s won.

“Gunnar…” I whisper as my heavy lids fall shut.

Instinct twists in my gut as we drive back to Malibu from the Hollywood Hills. I pull my phone from my pocket, swipe to my favorites, and call Devyn. I hold the phone to my ear, listening to the dialing tone that seems to stretch into infinity.

One ring.

Two.

Three.

Then voicemail—her sweet voice asking me to leave a message.

I don’t. Instead, I hang up and try again, which also goes unanswered. Instinct slowly turns into panic, clawing its way up my throat. I try Damon next, gripping the phone so hard the case flexes in my hold.

It rings.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then voicemail.

My heart is racing, a violent percussion that deafens me to everything else, before I even manage to end the call. With shaking hands, I try Devyn again, then Damon, then Devyn, repeating in hopes of a different outcome. Each call ends the same: No answer. No answer. No answer.

“Drive faster,” I growl at Jagger.

“Gunnar—”

“Drive fucking faster!”

He doesn’t argue. The SUV accelerates, the engine roaring as we tear through the pre-dawn streets, the world blurring into streaks of light and shadow. Hawk is silent in the passenger seat, his huge frame tense, worry radiating off him like heat, matching my own.

Something is wrong. I know it with a certainty that transcends logic, the primal part of my brain screaming to be heard. It’s the same certainty that has kept me alive all these years as I’ve constantly thrown myself into life-threatening situations.