Sitting in my car in the parking lot at Nite Owl, my eyes darted around.

Fuck it.

It was my building, and I needed sleep. I’d been holed up at The Phoenix Group off and on for the past week. I guess my brother finally got around to remembering that my office had an oversized couch and a private bath, because he’d shown up, threatening to bust down the door.

I had to laugh because my assistant actually believed my wild rocker sibling was the one with the issue. She followed my orders and had Cameron escorted from the property. I had no doubt he’d be back.

My hand shook as I slid my key into the lock on the back door. Safely inside, I walked up to a full case of liquor and pulled out a bottle. Jim Beam. It didn’t matter—the alcohol was interchangeable at this point.

Something to wash down the pills.

I sank onto the bed in my loft and, digging the plastic baggie containing the mini pharmacy from my pocket, I turned it over in my palm. Twenty or so Oxys, a dozen Xanax, some speed, and a couple grams of coke.

It was almost easier to moderate things before, even though I was addicted for years. Because I didn’t have money. I depended on the kindness of strangers and the good graces of others.

I’d be dead in a few months the way I went about things now.

The unsettling thought tumbled around inside of my brain, and just before I drifted off, a hazy figure appeared at the foot of the bed.

“Who’s there?” I mumbled.

Logan’s pale blue eyes flashed in front of my face a second before he jerked me to my feet. Despite the chemicals that slowed my reflexes, my survival instincts kicked in, and I wrapped my fingers around his throat. A pain shot to my shoulder when he grabbed my wrist and wrenched my arm behind my back.

He threw me face down on the maple hardwood, pressing his knee into my kidney. “Checkmate, son,” he said, the smile in his voice unmistakable.

“Get off me, Logan,” I wheezed. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

“That’s funny. I was about to tell you the same thing.” He leaned close to my ear. “But I really don’t care at this point. You can walk, or I can carry you. Your choice.”

By the time Logan wrestled me down the stairs, I was fully alert. His smile was gone, replaced by fury.

“Get off me, fucker!” I bellowed, thrashing as he pushed me into the back seat of a car.

Expecting to find my brother behind the wheel, my stomach sank when Calista turned to look at me. “Stop fighting, Chase,” she said quietly. “You know the drill.”

“Fine, take me to rehab,” I spat. “If y’all are dead set on fucking with my life.”

In a last-ditch effort to break free, I clawed my way across the seat. Prying my fingers from the silver door handle, Logan twisted my arm behind my back.

“Can we get a move on?” he muttered, using all his strength to hold me in place. “I’m going to knock his ass out soon if we don’t get to the fucking hospital.”

Hospital …

“I’m not going to the fucking hospital!” I fought harder as the words sank in, cracking the woodgrain door panel with my boot. “Take me to rehab!”

Calista was too smart for that trick, and I knew the minute I saw her that I was truly fucked. If it were Cameron driving the car, I’d likely be on my way to one of the many cushy rehab facilities in the area. And by tomorrow morning I’d be breathing free air.

“They’re not going to keep me, Calista,” I snarled, craning my neck to get a glimpse of her. “You’re fucking fired, by the way.”

“I can always get another job.” She laughed softly without humor. “And with all that shit you’re holding, you better hope they keep you. A seventy-two-hour mandatory hold is a lot nicer than the floor of the Travis County jail.”

And there it was.

As I suspected, Calista was taking me for an evaluation, and given my current state, it was a good bet I’d be remanded for a seventy-two-hour hold. Seventy-two fucking hours. An eternity.

Adrenaline kicked in, and soon I was fighting harder than I had in years. But Logan was a brick wall. When I managed to land a solid blow, his head snapped back, and I smiled.

Until I saw his fist. And then everything went black.

I propped up on my elbows and spied Cameron through the small window in the door to my hospital room. His face was drawn and full of worry as he spoke to the doctor.

Groaning, my head slammed into the pillow when the next wave of nausea hit.

The door creaked open, and I turned to the wall as heavy footsteps approached.

“You know most of this is in your head, right?” Cameron said as he pulled out the chair next to my bed.

“How do you figure?”

“You haven’t been using that long. It’s only been a hot minute. I saw you go through withdrawal the first time. You chipped a front tooth you were shaking so badly.”

I pulled the blanket up to fight the chill. Phantom or not, my legs were trembling. “Thanks for the trip down memory lane. Now, get the fuck out.”

“So you’re just going to lie here and wallow?”

“Until ten o’clock.” I groaned inwardly when sweat popped out on my brow. “Then I’m walking out of here. Seventy-two hours is up.”

“Whatever.”

The chair scraped across the linoleum, and the door slid shut a couple of seconds later.

I closed my eyes, banishing my brother from my thoughts. Guilt was wasted on someone like me. Eleven years, and it wasn’t enough to keep me on the straight and narrow. My teeth chattered in earnest, so I conjured up a thought to warm me. A hint of rain-soaked skin wafted to my nose, and a flash of stormy blue eyes drifted through my head. And that was worse.

Ten o’clock couldn’t come fast enough.