Page 147 of No Good Fight

I stop moving my wrist.

“He watches you exactly the way I did.”

“No.” I shake my head carefully because the room still wants to shift when I move too quickly. “You watched me so you could control me.”

His expression tightens.

“Ryder watches because he’s scared something will happen to me. Sometimes he gets it wrong, but he admits it. The difference is he cares when I tell him he got it wrong, and he fixes it.”

Preston steps closer until his knees nearly touch mine.

“You really believe that makes him different?”

I look up at him.

“I know it does.”

For the first time since he walked into the room, the calm slips.

It isn’t dramatic, like fangs or wings sprouting from his body. His mouth tightens, and the hand hanging beside his leg closes before he seems to realize he’s doing it.

I remember that hand.

I remember what usually came after that look.

Fear slides cold through my stomach, but I don’t take the words back. I’ll never make myself smaller for this man again.

Preston reaches for the water again instead.

“You’ll understand.”

He unscrews the cap and brings the bottle to my mouth like he’s taking care of me.

I let him, because I need to stay hydrated if I’m going to fight long enough to survive.

Two small swallows, enough to help the dryness in my throat without trusting him enough to take more. While he’s watching the bottle, I turn my left wrist another fraction beneath the restraint.

There’s movement. Not enough to get free, but just enough to keep trying.

And while Preston puts the water away and starts talking again, I listen past his voice for any sound outside this room that might tell me Mrs. Vance isn’t as dead as he wants me to believe.

31

RYDER

Remy takes the driver’s seat before I get the chance.

I almost argue with him. Every part of me wants my hands on the wheel, wants something I can push harder when the distance between me and Alex becomes unbearable, but that is probably exactly why he doesn’t give me the option.

By the time I climb into the passenger seat, Logan and Carter are pulling out behind us, with Josh and Casey taking the third vehicle. We spread out once we leave my road, with enough distance between us that Preston won’t see three vehicles arriving together if he’s watching the approaches to Mason Ridge.

The rain has faded to a fine mist that hangs against the windshield beneath the gray morning sky. Remy keeps our speed steady, never giving the truck enough throttle to draw attention, while I watch the road ahead and calculate how much faster we could be moving if he stopped caring about speed limits.

My knee starts bouncing beside the center console.

I press my palm against it.

That works for maybe ten seconds.