“Are you sure? The photo was pretty grainy…and lots of men—”

“Yes, I’m sure,” I said, chewing the inside of my cheek. “He had a small, triangular shaped birthmark on his forehead. Above the right eyebrow.”

“Did you know he had a record?” Ryder asked.

“No. I didn’t. I didn’t even know he was on parole. I’m so stupid, and naïve.” I thumped my forehead against the steering wheel, as if that would somehow knock some sense into me.

“It’s not your fault, Cally. Everyone makes mistakes.”

“He’s been stalking me for weeks. And he’s dangerous! I should’ve called the cops a lot sooner.”

“What did Nathan give you? On that slip of paper?”

“What’s it to you?” I asked, arching my brow.

Ryder shrugged. “Just curious, that’s all.”

I handed him the slip of paper and he read it. “Oh. Wow. His digits? Real smooth.”

“He’s always had the hots for me,” I explained.

“Isn’t he a bit…old for you?”

“I think he’s thirty-six,” I said. “Used to work for my dad as a bodyguard. And he’s not that old. How old are you? Forty?”

“Thirty-nine,” Ryder said. “Close enough.”

“You were scared shitless back there.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘shitless.’”

I arched my brow. “Your sweaty palms probably left stains on my seat.”

“I was a bit nervous.”

I groaned, my entire body vibrating from the stress. “I’m a terrible judge of character. I dated Tony for two months and never suspected anything.”

“Why didn’t you tell Nathan that you recognized Anthony? That he was stalking you?”

“And have him take us down to the station for a statement? After everything that happened tonight? Are you crazy?”

“So you were protecting me?” Ryder asked, a small, roguish grin lighting up his face.

“I’m just too tired to make a trip downtown this time of night.” I looked at the dashboard. Almost midnight. And I had work the next morning. “Where do you want me to drop you off?”

“I’m not letting you go back home alone, when your ex turned stalker is a dangerous criminal on the loose.”

“Like I’d be safer with you, Ryder? In case you forgot, you pulled a gun on me an hour ago. And you’re also a felon.”

“You don’t seem traumatized, so I’m off the hook?”

“You are definitely not off the hook. I just…I took pity on you, but I don’t forgive you. What you did was—”

“I panicked,” Ryder admitted, resting his hand on my arm. “I’m so sorry, Cally. Seriously. I won’t betray you like that again.”

“Why did you bring a gun to my dad’s party?”

“Self-defense. In case shit hit the fan.”

“Okay. What would you have done if that security guard hadn’t caught us?” I continued.

“We’d be doing the same thing we’re doing now. Riding together in your Porsche.”

“Except?”

“Except?”

“Except, Ryder, if my dad’s men hadn’t caught you, I’d probably have a gun to my head right now,” I pointed out, teeth clicking. Ryder had dropped his gun back at the estate, and Dad’s men had taken it. That made me feel only slightly safer. But he could still overpower me at any point and take control of the vehicle. What had I been thinking? All I knew at the time was that if I didn’t pick him up, he would’ve been caught and at the mercy of my father. And my dad was not a forgiving man. I shuddered to think what Dad would’ve done to Ryder.

“I wasn’t going to hurt you, Cally. You have to believe me. It was just for show.”

“It was a dick move.”

“I didn’t know how else to convince you.”

“I’m dropping you off here.” I stopped outside Carnegie Central Library. “You can find your own way from here.”

“Cally—”

“I might’ve saved your ass back there, but that doesn’t mean we’re friends,” I said, unlocking his door. “Now get the hell out before I change my mind and call the cops on you.”

“What about Anthony?”

“I have security in my building. I’ll be fine.”

“He works for the Russian mafia.”

“What?”

“He’s part of the mafia,” Ryder repeated, opening the car door. “I recognized him too. Once, a few years ago, your dad hired me to pay him off. Several thousand dollars in cash.”

“Bullshit.”

“His name isn’t Anthony Weinstein, Cally, it’s Anthony Prushkev. He’s the Russian mafia boss’s lackey.”

“How the hell do you know this?”

“I saw him in prison. During my last year at Maxfield. I heard things. Never spoke to him, but I heard plenty of nasty rumors.”

After all the lies he’d told me, I was naturally skeptical. “You’re just making shit up so I’ll take you home with me.”

Ryder stepped out of the car and rested both hands on the roof. “I’m just repaying the favor. You saved my ass back there in the woods. So I’m just thanking you by giving you a heads up. Anthony is seriously fucked up. You think I’m dangerous? He’s the fucking devil. Anyway, have a safe night, Cally. Thanks for—” Ryder paused mid-sentence and looked down at the dark stain spreading across the passenger seat. The one he’d just gotten out of.

I followed his gaze, and it took several seconds before everything clicked. “You’re bleeding.”

“Apparently. But I don’t feel—” I watched as Ryder grabbed his ass. There was a tear in his dark slacks, and when his hands pulled back, they were crimson.

“We need to get you to the hospital.”

“Hell no. Cops could be looking for me.”

“I’m telling you, Dad didn’t call the cops.”

“Too risky. I can manage. It’s not that bad,” Ryder insisted, limping away.

“Stop! Not that bad?” I gestured to his injury. “My seat is covered in blood! You can hardly walk.”

“I’ll be fine.” Ryder waved at me dismissively.

I got out of the car and ran after him. Then, I grabbed his wrist and dragged him back to my Porsche. “Trust me, if your ass wasn’t bleeding, I wouldn’t care what happened to you.”

Ryder laughed. “Why does my bleeding ass change how you feel?”

“This isn’t funny, Ryder. You could die.”

“It’s just a scratch. A bullet probably just grazed me.”

“You might need stitches. I’ll have to take a look when we get home.”

“Have you take a look at my ass? In your dreams, lady.”

“What? You think I want to look at your ass? I’ve got so many better things I could be doing with my time.”

“Then don’t play doctor.”

“Just get in!” I cried, my frustrations mounting. Here I was, trying to literally save this man’s ass, and he was acting like a dick about it.

Ryder followed me back to the car, his gait off-kilter now. But before he slid back into the passenger seat, he warned, “No matter how bad it is, I forbid you from stitching up my ass.”

“I’m qualified to do it. If it needs a couple stitches, I will do it. End of discussion.”