The autumn rain pounds the window next to the little nook where I'm reading my book. Seattle's infamously rainy season has started with a bang, and an unusually violent one. Several heavy storms cause such a commotion at the airport I don't bother listing myself on any flights.

I'm a nervous flier. Always have been. Also despise being stuck in one place, helpless and waiting.

Kind of like where I am right now.

I've spent two days in my room walled off from the world.

The hotel will never feel like home. I never thought I'd be here and feel so homesick for Spokane. It's an older city without Seattle's sleekness and ocean side charm, but it's where I've staked my life after Trent, after Jace, after my parents' retirement.

Speaking of which – a text loudly announces itself on my phone. Annoyed, I fold a page in the Cormac McCarthy book to hold my place, tapping the button next to my screen.

I'm relieved it's not an unfamiliar number. I've blocked Jace, ever since he kept hounding me. Can't put it past him to use another line to keep pestering me, but he's been weirdly silent for the past thirty or so hours.

There's another name: DAD. Asking when I'm coming for dinner.

I swallow. Then sigh. There's no escape, is there?

As much as I'd love to exit this huge mistake of a trip without the awkward pleasantries or seeing the monolith of bad memories where I grew up, I know I'm screwed. A good daughter doesn't pop into town without seeing her parents once.

Firing off a quick message, I let him know I'll be here at least a couple more days.

God. At least.

We'll set something up soon, I promise. Don't worry about anything fancy, I say. Life at the Chenocott homestead is the irrational exuberance I've tried like hell to get away from, almost by default.

Nothing fancy still means catering, or else something cooked to perfection by our maid, right out of a Blue Apron kit. Or whatever the multi-millionaire equivalent of gourmet-by-mail order food is. Right now, I could really go for another burger, fries, and shake from the room service menu. But if I don't get some greens today, I'm afraid I'll start mooing.

I'm flipping through an app on my phone for food delivery, searching for delis with salads, when the landline in the room goes off. I walk over, press the receiver to my ear, and hear a tin voice from the front desk.

“Visitor for you, Ms. Chenocott. Would you like me to send him up?”

“Him?” My stomach knots.

It's got to be Jace. My brother has some nerve, thinking he's entitled to bully me in person over the stupid decorating job after I've cut communications. “No. Please, just...let him know I'll be right down.”

I hang up, grabbing my coat. I'm already hangry.

I'm sure I'll be ravenous by the time I've made it clear where he's welcome. It takes me a while to get down the stairs from several floors up, but it's too soon for elevators.

I'm slightly winded once I hit the main floor, annoyed how out of shape I've gotten. The inn business takes up too much time, and I haven't wanted much to do with long walks since leaving the coast behind. They remind me too much of dad, which sends my mind to very dark places.

Like the one I'm staring at up ahead. It can't be!

But it is. After what happened before, it's time to stop doubting and just believe my own eyes. They wouldn't hallucinate the smirking hell that's in front of me.

I almost whip my heels around and head for the elevator. I think I'd rather face the trauma than deal with Trent. But he's too fast, on me before my reflexes kick in.

“Aw, Presh, are you really so surprised?”

I sigh. No, of course not.

Leaving this city and the mess my brother wants to throw me into without encountering my ex would be too easy. “How'd you find me, anyway?”

“Cashing in a few of the many favors I'm owed.” He speaks without a shred of hesitation. “Should've given the front desk an alias after you checked in if you wanted to be left alone.”

“Oh, that's totally not suspicious. No thanks. I'm not interested in being looked at like a criminal.” Not like you, I want to say, but I hold my tongue. Barely.

“Ah, yes. None of that 'dirty, evil stuff,' I'd gotten into, right? It'll have to...how did you put it? Just 'play itself out?'” He's using my own words against me.

It's hard not to cringe, hearing lines from the hate note quoted.

If I have to face this hell, it's worth remembering I invited it.

“You read it,” I say numbly.

No question. I'm standing red-cheeked beneath his hawkish blue eyes, stating the obvious. Owning up to what I wrote, or trying to.

“Devoured every word, Precious. Deserved it, too.”

He – what? Deserved it? That's not what I expect.

Nor the shifty glint in his eye, holding the envelope up, eclipsing his strong jawline.

I take a step backward, unsure what new game he's playing. “After what you did to us, I only wish I was harsher.”

“Me, too. You've got yourself a lovely way with words, woman. Weren't you trying to be a writer before things went to shit?”

My stomach cramps, another broken dream clubbing my hunger to death. “What's it to you? We both know how things played out. Reality's what counts.” Merciless reality, like being trapped together the other day. “There's no time for dreams when you're living disaster.”

“Do I look dead to you, Presh?” He cocks his head like it's a serious question. I shake my head, hating this more by the second. “That's what I thought. Because if I recall right, we both walked off that damn elevator breathing, no thanks to me. Not my definition of disaster, darling.”

My breath lodges in my lungs. “So, that's what this is. You wanted to torment me a little while longer with your guilt trip. Go ahead. I'll give you five minutes.” I spread my arms.

“You asked me if I believed in coincidences. Fate, remember?” Like I could ever forget.

He comes closer, backing me into the marble wall by the potted fern. “Nothing's changed. But our little reunion the other day got me thinking...and then this letter made me think some more. We've got history, you and me. A long, dark shadow that just won't fade, no matter how hard we try dragging ourselves to the light. It's the reason we both came home. Same reason why we hit each other head-on. It's why we're standing in this lobby, me holding in the roughest hate fuck I'm ever likely to get with my clothes still on, and you with that wide-eyed stare, begging me to wipe it off your pretty face.”

Don't you dare! My hand twitches.

He's not doing this again.

If he tries kissing me this time, there'll be consequences. I won't be caught off guard a second time, especially when he's eyeing me like this, like –

“It's too late for love.” Damn. Like magic, he says the very thing I'm fighting with my all to ignore. “I'm not stupid, Amy Kay. That's not why I'm here. A little truth, though, that shit never hurt anybody. While we were busy arguing over consequences, fate, life, I forgot the one thing we've both got in reach.”

Shaking my head, I look away, ignoring his withering gaze. Without much success. “If you came here to talk, forget it. I said everything I'll ever need to in that letter, Trent.”

“You told me to 'move on.' That's all I've ever tried to do and it's the reason I'm back here, making your brother's life miserable. But what about you? Wasn't time for many pleasantries on the elevator. I've done my homework since – looks like your whole life's the travel biz. No husband. No kids. No alma mater. You quit Stanford due to Jace, and that's far more fucked up than anything.”

“I quit because of you.” Catching my voice going up an octave, I look around, a reminder we're in public. Even if this is a secluded spot. Good thing, too, or I might just slap him without any provocative kiss. “You, Trent. And the asshole moves you made, which I've spent the better part of a decade trying to forget.”

“Regardless, that hasn't gone very well, has it?” He touches the rumpled envelope's edge to my cheek, curls it to my chin, and applies a soft pressure. “Look the fuck up, Presh.”

Jesus.

I didn't have a nasty thought in my brain, but he's making me feel like I just got caught looking at him the way I did as a kid. “Get to the point,” I warn.

“Reason I'm here, basking in your eyes, not caring if they're full of murder, is because you deserve the truth. And so do I, Amy Kay. I'm here to tell you what really happened that night.” There's a soft, honest waver in his tone, like he's about to dredge up something brutal.

Too honest. I can't fall for this again, whatever it is.

“Not interested,” I say, tearing myself away from him, staggering back a few feet. “I'm not in the mood for more lies, Trent. No more games. Just turn around and go.”

He stiffens, straight and broad shouldered and painfully gorgeous. “You still think I'm lying? Ridiculous. I'm giving you exactly what you've waited for. What you wanted me to say when we were stuck together, not knowing if we'd live or die or –”

“I didn't ask for anything – none of this! You're sure you read the letter?” I swallow, hating how bad the rock forming in my throat hurts. “Because if you did, you missed the important part: don't come calling.”

His mouth opens, ready to twist me up all over again, but I don't give him the chance.

I'm on the offensive, in his face, trying not to shout, banging my hand against my thigh to keep from lashing his very deserving cheek. “We're not doing this. You want to talk truth? Fine. Time to listen: I'm done with the past. Done getting between battles. Done telling Jace you're here, trying to screw him over. That's all I told him, and all I really care about. Because as soon as this rain stops splattering itself all over this city, I'm on the first flight for Spokane. Going home. Leaving this behind. Everything, Trent, once and for all. Especially you.”

He reaches for my wrists. Smart move because both palms are so, so ready to strike fire on his smug, hatefully sexy face. “You can't fight your way out of this with words. Be honest: we've had enough of those, Presh, and I've only got room for a few more. I want to sit down and tell you everything so we can finally walk the hell away. Exactly what you want. Or is it?”

Bad enough his vile eyes strip me naked. Worse because they cut through the bullshit, straight to my soul.

Of course I want to know his version.

I want the full story.

I want to sit here like a teary-eyed fool with my mouth trembling, heart racing so violently I'm almost passing out. So fucking ready to hear the sorry excuse that should've come out six years ago.

“I want peace. I want a life again. And to find either one of those, I really need you gone.” His grip relaxes, letting me yank my hands away.

“That's fucking anticlimactic. I'm not leaving till you listen. Don't you get it? I came to clear the air, Precious, not poison it more. If you'll just calm down and –”

“Just leave? Right. You haven't left me a better option.”

The next few minutes are the first time in years I've felt this alive.

I slip away before he can strike back, rush up the stairs. He's left speechless, for once, and he's still standing there when I march past him ten minutes later, luggage rolling behind me. I head for the front desk to check out.

I feel his eyes on my back. Wanting to approach, wanting to chase, but the steely-eyed guards in the front of this place would give anybody pause. A place this expensive has a direct line to the Seattle Police Department.

I'm a little disappointed he doesn't try once my business is done and I'm outside, an Uber summoned on my phone. It would be so satisfying watching Trent Usher hauled away in handcuffs.

Too bad. I'll just have to settle for the stormy look he gives me through the hotel's window, it's spotless perfection tainted by his fingerprints as he raises his arms, like he's trying to keep me there, prisoner for his mind games.

It doesn't hit me until I'm halfway through the ride where I've seen that look before: only in my dreams.

They're not the playful, all powerful eyes of the bastard who broke my heart.

They're haunted. Tortured, even.

They're exactly how I want to imagine he looked that night he left Washington, and knew he'd never be coming back.

They're guilt gone nuclear, but they can't change my mind. I'll suffer endlessly if it finally ends this.

If it just rips me away from Trent long enough to finally heal.

* * *

This room. This house. This look.

I wish I'd just checked into another place downtown. Coming home tells me I traded one pit of emotional quicksand for another.

I expect mom and dad, but Jace is a surprise. An unpleasant one.

No sooner than I'm through the door, he's in my face. Shouting about the screw up with the firm, how none of this would've happened if I'd just shown up three weeks ago like a good little sister.

Good little servant is what he really means.

“What the hell did you tell him, sis? Where I lived? Where I spent my off hours? Where Lindsey and I had trouble? Shit, did you hand him the keys to the company's fucking tax returns and charge accounts?” Jace backs me against the glass door overlooking the old boathouse, belting out question after question.

Then I remember.

I'm way too old for his crap. I slap him against the chest, so hard I hope it reverberates in his ribs. “Get off me! I didn't do anything. Trent found this stuff out on his own. I'm sure it wasn't hard. And what do you mean trouble with Linds?”

He winces, like my blow did more damage than it did. “Asshole knew how to hit me where it hurts, and how. He had to learn that somewhere. Fuck.”

He staggers backwards, rubbing his face. At last, he stops, stands his ground, and looks at me. “I'm sorry. Maybe I was too quick to point fingers.”

“Far too quick, asshole.” I sigh. “I'm on your side, Jace, as big a dick as you've been.”

Something sour hangs in the air around him. I smell an acrid stink on his breath and wrinkle my nose. Whiskey. He's been drinking again.

Drinking a lot.

No wonder he's so off balance, slurring his words.

“Then how?” He stumbles backwards after I whack him again. I don't like the nasty look shining in his eyes.

“How? He already knew everything, Jace. He's been planning this for a long time. Probably watching you – watching us – for weeks, months, years. I don't know. It just so happens we ran into each other while he was on his way to spring the trap. I spent God knows how many hours with that man, stuck in the elevator, and I hated every second. I didn't feed him anything.”

That isn't really true. I didn't hate how his lips crashed into mine, but my brother is the last man on Earth I'd ever spill the complexities of Trent Usher to. Also no point in telling him our latest encounter is what drove me here.

“You had a chance to stop him and you didn't?” He tilts his head. Light catches his eyes, revealing the dark circles around them.

A thin sympathy runs through me, but I know it'll be short-lived as soon as he opens his mouth. “Christ, sis. Why didn't you call the cops? If you'd done the right thing, I wouldn't be staring into a black hole. He'd be in jail. Maybe my life wouldn't be shot to fuck.”

He rips himself away from me, staggers to the breakfast bar. I don't notice the bottle until he sits down, overflowing his glass with amber whiskey.

“This isn't the end,” I tell him, laying a hand gently on his shoulder. “Look, I don't know the details. Don't know what he's done to you or why. But he really believes what happened years ago is your fault.”

“Fuck Usher. Fuck him straight to hell! It's been a long time. Nothing's changed. Dad should've sent detectives down to Oregon years ago to nail his prick to the wall.” He knocks back another shot, muffling a belch in his elbow. Then he slumps. “Forget it, Amy Kay. None of this matters now. It's already lost. Way past fucked.”

“Wrong. It matters if he's coming after family.” I gingerly reach for the bottle, wrap my fingers around the long neck, and slide it away. “And you need to lay off this stuff. It's no good, especially now.”

Jace glares, his green eyes soft, pale, drained. I whisper in his ear. “We have to fight. All of us. I'm not letting Trent waltz in and smash everything dad worked for. What you should've had a chance at making yours.”

“The firm survives one way or another...just without me, sis. I'm boned. The shit legal coughed up this morning makes that very clear.” A rough chuckle leaves his dry lips and turns into a hiccup.

I frown, walking the half-drained pint to the opposite side of the kitchen. When I look back, Jace is hunched over, chin on his palms, staring into his glass.

Freaking out is his standard M.O. He's self-destructive.

I'm used to it by now, the angry, flustered crap he gave me the second I walked in. But this dejected thing...it's new. Defeat doesn't really suit him.

What did Trent do to him this week? What the hell happened to my brother?

“Talk to me,” I say, retrieving a couple mineral water bottles from the fridge and sliding one across the counter. “He hasn't been in town more than a couple days. He can't be twisting your balls that bad.”

“Sis, he's fucking ruined me.” Jace looks up, cheeks red, defiantly ignoring the water in front of him. “You got any idea where he's gone?”

I open my mouth to answer, recalling the hate letter I sent to his room number scrawled on the slip that's still in my purse, and then our encounter, but I think better of mentioning it. However we fix this, it has to be legal. Clean. No guns or knives or fists.

“No. I'm not sure what good finding him will do. You need a lawyer, Jace. A good one.”

“You mean like the dozen or so I was all set to manage before Mr. Vigilante pissed away my chance? Yeah, sis, they helped a ton. Trent came here to take justice into his own hands, or whatever the fuck. Only one thing he'll understand.”

“Jace,” I say quietly, not liking how his arms tremble a couple times on the counter. Just like frustrated rattlesnakes. “Don't do anything illegal. Whatever's happening, we've got mom and dad to –”

“Oh, fuck you, Amy Kay! I wouldn't dream of dragging them into this, upsetting their peace and quiet. I'm a grown man, sis. You think I want daddy fighting my battles for me? Taking my hits? If I hadn't let him take over years ago, fuck, then Usher would've spent time in a cell like he deserved, instead of running back here to start fires years later.”

There's a violent edge in his voice. A chill runs up my spine. “Protecting yourself isn't what worries me.” I wait to catch his furious eyes. “We were lucky Trent leaving town and ruining dad's campaign was the worst thing that happened last time. You get yourself into trouble again, next time, nobody might be able to bail you out.”

His left eye twitches. I'm expecting him to fly up and get in my face again, but he just stays glued to his chair. Like he's too tired for more than stewing quietly in his drunken fury.

I really hope he'll drink that water. I leave the kitchen with a sigh. His nasty eyes burn a hole in my back until I'm out of sight.

* * *

“Peanut! Why didn't you say you were heading over?” Dad pulls me into his arms a second after I knock on his library door.

“Getting a little too old for the nickname, dad. And formal dinners. Don't worry about it, I'm not even hungry.” I hug him hard, frowning a bit as my hands brush his shoulders.

He looks a little rougher every year since retirement. New lines on his face, his hair grayer and more mottled, and is that a wispy goatee? Never thought I'd see the day my clean-shaven, buckled down father decided to beard it up.

“I trust that has nothing to do with the sorry display upstairs?” Dad keeps his hands on me as I pull away, a sadness in his familiar green eyes.

Oh, no. Wrangling with Jace still would've left me an appetite, but taking crap from him and Trent... “I had a big lunch, that's all.” I smile through the white lie. “How long has he been here?”

“Since last night. Stormed in without a warning. I didn't have the heart to tell your mother. God, I knew things were strained, but divorce?”

I rock backward, pressing my toes into the floor. “Wait...divorce?”

Dad nods. “Almost all but certain, I'm afraid. She's a proud woman, his Lindsey. I've warned him too many times to get serious and fix it if he wants to keep his marriage. Seems he tossed my advice and did the opposite.”

Dad won't list his sins. They aren't hard to guess.

My jaw tightens when I picture Jace laughing, drinking, partying like a kid with girls easily impressed by his make-believe money. I'm no friend of Lindsey's anymore, but she doesn't deserve a cheater.

“Of course, I told him he could stay as long as he wanted,” dad says. “Sometimes, I think if I hadn't turned him out that summer, before everything went wrong, maybe none of this would be happening.”

“Dad, no. You had to protect your image.” I close my eyes, suddenly back in my eighteen year old self, remembering how phony and forced his political career seemed. But he'd had good intentions. “We can't keep second guessing the past. That's what's got Jace so riled up. That and –”

“I know. Mr. Usher.” Dad holds up a hand. He rounds to the leather chair behind his huge ash colored wooden desk, gesturing me to take the empty chair across from it. “I always knew he'd turn up again, much as I'd hoped he wouldn't.”

His voice isn't just sad. It's downright hurt, like he's talking about an estranged son.

My stomach flips sourly. “You couldn't have known. We couldn't. We hoped he'd just go, stay away, let bygones be bygones. But he's back to make us suffer. I just don't get it. He's doing so well dad, he's got that energy company...why here? Why now?”

“I've read all about it, Amy Kay.” His sharp look tells me there's no need to go on. Of course he knows. Probably before this latest blowup, when none of us could resist wondering what became of the boy we loved who betrayed us. “Truly amazing he'd sacrifice so much to hurt us all over again. If I'd taken losing that election like a man, got my head together, gone after him –“

“Dad, no.” I watch his hands on the desk tighten into fists. “It's too late. Don't beat yourself up. We'll figure this out. Is there anything else to worry over besides the divorce?”

“Oh, yeah. Jace and the firm, the embezzlement...goddamn. If I'd only known, I never would've trusted him. I never, ever would've turned over my company, the one your great grandfather started, to a child who wants a money tree with none of the responsibilities.” Dad shakes his head, his eyes pinched shut. “I'll have to talk to Meade come Monday. See if there's any way we can get Jace's trust fund loan disentangled from the corporate accounts.”

“Wait, wait, embezzlement? Don't tell me...” I trail off. It's hard, resisting the urge to race upstairs and thrash my drunken, reckless brother. “Jesus. Was he even managing things for a solid month?”

“Long enough,” dad growls. “That fool thought the accounts were his to raid the second he'd put his skin in the game. I never should've let him buy my stake, even ceremonially. The rest of the board thinks Usher did us a favor, shining the light on his untoward withdrawals so quickly.”

He pauses, sighs, digesting the terrible news. “God. If we hadn't caught him for months, he might have cashed out millions before accounting caught up to it.”

I hang my head, unsure whether rage or disappointment will get the best of me. “Make him give it back. Every damn penny,” I snap.

Dad lifts another hand. “Of course, he says he will. Whatever he's able to prove was wrapped up with the company. I'm just hoping our lovely daughter-in-law will wait before her lawyers pounce. This could get very messy. Already is, honestly. As it stands, we'll never have a Chenocott in charge of the company again.”

Guilt spasms through my heart. If life tread a different path, it could've been me in Jace's place.

But I would've gone to law school. Would've taken it seriously. Would've let myself be groomed for the career I know dad secretly hoped I'd always want.

Regrets do nothing. I might as well wish Trent hadn't made us ground zero for his dirty, destructive secrets.

“How much does mom know?” There's no point ignoring the other elephant in the room.

Dad blinks, leans in his chair, stroking his short beard. “Very little. That's how I'd like to keep it, just between you and me, peanut. She doesn't need the grief. I'm more worried about the divorce than the business with the firm, honestly. It'll be a terrible shock. When she finds out her only chance at grandkids is gone –”

He stops. We lock eyes.

Shame heats my blood.

So does a steady anger.

It's no secret he gave up on me having a normal family life since leaving Washington. Still, it stings to have it brought out openly.

“Forgive me,” he says, averting his eyes to the huge bookcases on the wall. “Your mother's as lovely as ever these days, but her state of mind can be...difficult. Always focused on the future. Oh, how can I blame her? Our best years are behind us. We desperately hoped for something more. Jace's woes are just one more blow.”

“Jeez, it's not a funeral, dad. I get it. There's a lot to worry about, but Trent isn't controlling our lives. Whatever he does to Jace, it only ruins us if we let it.”

“I hope you're right,” he says in a hushed way. “Now, enough ugliness. That's not the homecoming my daughter deserves.”

Dad pulls his flannel shirt tight, as if putting himself back together. “Make yourself at home. Haven't touched your old room upstairs except for the routine cleanings. Dinner is...anything you'd like.”

“Dad, forget it. I'll feed myself. It's getting late, anyway. We'll talk through this more tomorrow, okay?”

Smiling, he nods once. “I'm glad you're home, Amy Kay, however briefly. Lord knows we need you.”

I hate feeling like the golden child again as I step out of his huge makeshift office and close the door. It's a burden I never wanted. Jace never gave us another choice. His screw ups are the reason running off to Spokane and doing my own thing hurt my parents even more.

They'd tried to get over it, too. Tried to make a life here with their son, who led them to believe he was finally getting his crap together. He was the one who got married, after all.

Pretended he'd twisted himself in knots trying to be better. Cleaned up his act. Convinced dad he was worthy of a seat at the firm and it's big financial rewards.

Now, we know everything was a lie.

We know no thanks to Trent freaking Usher.

My lips purse together in a tight, painful line every time I think about what only happened hours ago in the hotel downtown. I still don't understand how my backstabbing ex put our entire family on the run.

But I do know one thing: next time he shows up – and he will – I'm not turning tail.

If Trent Usher comes after me again, if he's so hellbent on smashing Jace he hurts us, there'll be no backing down. I'll fight.

Whatever it takes to put him in prison. Exactly what he deserved the first time.

* * *

I flop over in my PJs, staring at the clock. It's after midnight and I'm wide awake, using my inner cheek as a surrogate to chew on my own anxiety.

I don't know how I ever slept in this room. There are too many memories in this old double bed, these spartan walls, even in an old teddy bear I left years ago. It peeks out at me through the crack in the closet door, as if to say, I saw everything. You and him. Happy.

The best of times were here. So were the worst.

Everything, under this vaulted ceiling, and the old Victorian lamp that makes everything glow like an oil painting.

Memories are incredible things. They make ghosts real. They make us cry. Sometimes they drive us completely insane.

Then I hear the noise, and I know there's something very wrong in my head. I'm losing it, aren't I?

It sounds like a short, staccato tapping on my big bay window. Almost identical to the night six years ago when I gave him my virginity.

I wonder if I'm dreaming when I throw my legs to the floor, grab my robe, and step up to the window holding my breath. You've got to be kidding.

Oh, but if this is a joke, my own sadistic eyes playing tricks on me, then it looks exactly like the man who chased me out of the hotel today.

Trent. Here. In the flesh.

He stands just a few feet away, a long branch in one hand, methodically scratching at the glass. At least he isn't smirking – he looks about as excited as a man waiting for the bus.

Like this is routine, and totally not a monstrous invasion of my privacy.

Swallowing my shock, I unlock the window and throw it open. “What the holy hell are you doing here?”

“Waiting. Not leaving till you listen, darling. Same thing I told you this evening.” There's the smirk I want to wipe off his face forever. “Let me up for old time's sake? Bet I can climb this tree faster than I did then.”

“I'm not your darling and you're not coming up here. You're going home, or I'm calling the cops.”

“Then we'll have a lot of explaining for the boys in blue. Like why you've got your asshole brother here. He's lucky there isn't a warrant out yet for his arrest with all the white collar crimes he's had a hand in. Sure is a shame some things never change.” He shrugs his broad, damningly sexy shoulders. “Oh, wait. Except, this time, I'm not the dumb kid being framed. And I've got plenty more ways to make him suffer.”

A scowl replaces his sharp smirk. Those blue eyes are almost scary. So full of moonlight. So much like the wolf I remember stamped on his chest, feral and dangerous.

For a second, I think what it'll do to mom, having the cops show up here. I stare into his baby blues, beaming hatred, wishing I could magically open a pit to hell in the ground under him.

Trent's taunting eyes go huge a split second after I slam the window shut.

I can't do this. No negotiations.

There's no use in talking to him, I decide. Or in making demands I know he'd love to throw back in my face.

There's nothing to do but throw myself on the bed, bury my head in a pillow, and try very hard not to scream bloody murder.