"You parked on the roadside again?" Jet asks, chuckling to hide his suspicion.

I nod, preferring to lie without words.

“Do you want a ride to your car?” Hope echoes in his tone. He has offered me a lift every night the past week. I always deny his request.

"I need to stretch out my muscles or they'll seize up." Because I am not lying, it comes out sounding as it should—honest.

Jet sighs heavily. “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow?” Every night without fail his farewell is a question. I just don’t know if he is questioning his dedication or my own.

“I’ll be here,” I reply, holding back the remainder of my reply. Will you?

Like he heard my unasked question, Jet replies, “I’ll see you then.”

After a hesitant wave, he guides his sedan out of the empty parking lot. I grimace when my eyes drop to my watch. It is a little past 4 AM. My nights are getting later and later the past two weeks.

Since I don’t want anyone to know I’m without transportation, I make sure I’m the last to leave each night. Pete sees it as dedication. Jet isn’t as convinced. Thankfully, with my performance at Maison’s scheduled for the end of next week, my walking days are numbered. Eight more nights—the countdown is on.

A short time later, the sound of tires rolling over gravel booms into my ears. I move to the far edge of the asphalt, protecting both myself and the driver. Rarely do any cars pass me at this time of night, but when they do, they’re more startled by my presence than I am by theirs. I should probably get out in the sun a little more often, then my bright white legs wouldn’t be so glaring.

My heart rate breaks into a canter when the vehicle fails to pass in a reasonable amount of time. They slowly creep behind me, scaring me more than the prospect of an alligator having a late night swim.

Snubbing the bile burning the back of my throat, I quicken my pace. I’m at least half a mile from the nearest residence, so screaming won’t help, no matter how badly I wish it would. It doesn’t matter how many steps I take, the distance between me and the vehicle tailing me remains the same.

When my brisk strides break into a jog, the moisture gleaming in my eyes nearly topples down my cheeks. I tell myself on repeat that I am safe and unknown, and no one will harm me, but my panic doesn't weaken in the slightest. I got too comfortable. Even if I believed I wasn't being followed, I should have changed my route more regularly.

God—how could I have been so stupid?

I’m practically panting, crying, and out of breath when the reason I’m being tailed is unearthed. A set of red, blue and white flashing lights illuminates the nearly pitch-black sky, stopping both my sprint and my heart. You’d think I’d be relieved a member of law enforcement is following me. I’m not. I don’t trust anyone, much less those who think they have the power.

Besides, why are they following me? There is no law against walking on the roadside. If there isn’t a sidewalk available, pedestrians are within their legal rights to use the edge of the road.

Believe me, I checked.

I secure my first full breath in nearly five minutes when a gritty voice streams through the passenger window of a dark blue sedan. “Car troubles?”

After clearing any evidence of panic from my eyes, I crank my neck to the voice a million years couldn’t erase from my mind. Ryan.

“Yeah, something like that,” I breathe out heavily. Not having a car is technically a car problem. Isn’t it?

“Get in. I’ll give you a ride home,” Ryan offers, his speed as slow as my steps.

I smile, hoping it will soften my rejection before replying, “No, it’s okay. I need the exercise.”

My feet are killing, but with my ego still nursing bruises from our exchange at Chris’s gravesite last week, I’m not eager to amass more damage.

“You’re a mile out of town. Three from your apartment. No one needs that much exercise,” Ryan interjects.

I feign shock at his admission. It’s not my best acting job. I knew the instant I ran into Brax in the foyer of our building three weeks ago that my cover was blown. I was just grateful it occurred there and not at work.

“Savannah. . .” Ryan grumbles, sounding annoyed at my lack of response.

I stop walking so I can take in some deep breaths. I'm not tired; I'm panicked. This could create an attachment I can't afford to make. This isn't just about me anymore. I'm not only risking my heart. I'm risking hers as well.

Sensing my hesitation, Ryan pulls over then clambers out of the driver seat. He doesn’t approach me or utter a syllable. He just lets his eyes speak on his behalf. You can trust me, Savannah.

I wish I could believe him. I'd give anything to pretend he never deceived me as he did. But ignoring one lie only opens the door for more. I let Ryan betray me once; I won't fall for the same trick twice.

“Thank you for the offer, but I’m fine walking.”

Ryan's lips tug as he struggles to hold in his sneer. "Alright. Have it your way." He curls back into his driver's seat before mumbling, "I'll just follow you the next three miles. . .with my lights on. . .maybe even my siren."

I swallow the brick suddenly lodged in my throat. He’s joking, right? He wouldn't follow me through town like I'm a criminal. Not only would that be highly embarrassing, but it would also gain me attention—attention I don't want or need.

“Fine,” I snarl, spotting the determination in his eyes. I mumble incoherently under my breath while sliding into his passenger seat and fastening my seat belt. “I can’t pay you anything.”

My eyes dart to Ryan when he says, “Good. I wouldn’t have any place to put crumpled-up bills, anyway.” He keeps his eyes facing the road, acting like he didn't say what he just did. It is a pity the tick in his jaw undoes his Oscar-worthy performance.

“I’m not a . . .I don’t remove my clothes,” I mumble, incapable of saying the word “stripper.”

Ryan’s teeth graze his bottom lip before he swings his eyes to me. “I know.”

His blasé response knocks the wind from my lungs. He isn’t confirming my admission because he believes me. He’s stating a fact. He’s seen me perform?

“How many times?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

When his eyes return to the road, I twist my torso to face him head-on. “How many times, Ryan?” Before he can answer me, the truth smacks into me. “You’re the man in the suit the girls have been raving about all week.”

I don’t know why I sound peeved. Ryan isn’t mine, so my colleagues have every right to get giddy in his presence. I just preferred not knowing who they were gushing over. It didn’t sting as much when I assumed it was a stranger.

Feigning disinterest, I stammer, “You’re a fool for knocking back Melena’s offer. Her lap dances start at two hundred dollars. I heard she offered you the full package for free.”

When Ryan smirks, my back molars smack together. I return my slit eyes to the scenery whizzing by my window. I couldn't sound more jealous if I tried. Although shocked by the excited rumblings through the dressing stations the past week, I didn't give two hoots who the gentleman in the suit was. Vipers attracts a range of men, so I just brushed it off as one of the many new clients amassed the past two months. I had no clue it was the man who hasn’t left my thoughts for a second the past decade.

While peering at Ryan’s reflection in the window, another truth smacks into me. “Oh my god! That was you!” I rummage through the stash of notes in my purse like a madwoman, seeking the rare hundred dollar bills I’ve gained five times this week already.

“I knew Jet was full of shit. My tips didn’t drastically increase because of my new routine. You sweetened the pot.”

Ryan doesn’t deny my claims. He doesn’t do anything. That fuels my agitation even more.

I was blown away Monday night when my tips jumped from the low two hundreds to mid three hundreds. I had been mixing up my routine to keep things fresh for the regulars, but I was still anticipating a dip in tips, not an increase. Now it makes sense.

“I’m glad you enjoyed my performance, but I am not a charity case,” I snarl, throwing three one hundred bills to Ryan’s side of the cab.

I’m reasonably sure I owe him another two hundred dollars but considering my comment about not being able to pay him for the ride wasn't a lie, the remaining bills must wait until a later date.

The money I was once ecstatic to earn floats through the air like feathers on a warm summer night. When they come to rest on Ryan's splayed thighs, he doesn't gather them in his hands or acknowledge their presence. That pisses me off more than anything.

“You have nothing to say? Nothing at all?”

He scrubs his hand over the stubble on his chin, praying it will hide its manic tick.

It doesn’t.

“Say what you want, Ryan. I’m a big girl. I can take it.”

I clench my stomach, expecting his words to hit me square in the guts. I should have prepared an organ a few inches higher, as my heart is the only one sustaining a brutal blow when Ryan snarls, “What would your dad say, Savannah? You work at a. . . Club. You’re a. . .” He is as incapable of saying “stripper” as I am.

His words slice through me like a knife, but they don’t stop my retaliation. “He’d be proud I’m putting one foot in front of the other. Doing anything I can to keep my head floating above the water—”

“By working at a strip club?!” Ryan interrupts, shouting.

“Yes! If that is what it takes, that is what it takes!” I reply, my vocal cords hindered by tears begging to be released.

My body jerks to the side when Ryan abruptly yanks on the steering wheel, bringing his patrol car to a stop just before the "Welcome to Ravenshoe" sign.

“Then take my money, Savannah. Use it for whatever the fuck you seem to think is more important than living with morals.” He tosses the three hundred dollar bills at my chest.

I gather them in my hands, scrunch them up, then toss them back at him as if they are trash. “Unlike some people, I do have morals.” The way I sneer “some” leaves no doubt to whom I am referring: him. “I don’t lie, steal, or cheat. I’m earning a living. An honest living.”

The fury blackening my veins doubles when my yank on the door handle fails to open it. I scan along the doorframe, seeking the lock. There isn’t one. Knowing self-locking doors are usually only installed in the back seat of patrol cars, I lean across Ryan’s torso—ignoring his scrumptiously inviting scent—press the lock button, then throw open my door.

My ass hangs midair when a grumbled, “I didn’t cheat on you,” booms through my ears.

Believing the anger enveloping every inch of me is the cause of my poor hearing, I continue scrambling out of his car. My steps crunch on the asphalt, grinding the heels of my stilettos as severely as my teeth are gnawing together.

I know my dad would have never wished for me to live this life, but I still believe he is proud of me. The beliefs he raised me with are what has kept me fueled the past five years. If I didn't have him guiding me, my life would be a hundred times worse. Ryan may think I've hit rock bottom, but he's not seeing the entire picture. My morals might not be as shiny as they once were, but my self-respect is at an all-time high.

My dad’s favorite quote will never leave me: "Work for a cause, not for applause. Live to express, not to impress." If I had other options, I would take them. But when you're required to work forty hours a week just to pay the exorbitant rent on a rundown apartment, you must look at alternatives. It may be unfair and unjust, but it isn't unreal. Many people in America are worse off than me, so who am I to complain?

The sky opens up, adding to the moisture gliding down my cheeks. I lower my hoodie to shield my eyes. Although Ryan hasn’t said anything, I know he is still following me. I can see his headlights, but they’re not the reason I can sense his presence. I can feel it in my bones.

When the sprinkling of rain turns torrential, Ryan’s patrol car glides to my side. "Get in the car, Savannah, or you'll catch pneumonia."

I continue walking, acting like I didn’t hear a word he spoke.

“Savannah. . . for once, stop being so goddamn stubborn.” His pause was worthless. He is angrier now than he was at the gravesite last week.

His remark rolls off my shoulders like water rolling off a duck's back. He thought I was stubborn when we were younger—he has no clue.

“Savannah. . .” He lines up the front quarter panel of his patrol car to within an inch of my bare, quivering thigh. “Get. In.” He’s not asking; he’s demanding.

My steps don’t slow. I know Ryan won’t hurt me, so I’ve got nothing to fear.

I sneak a glance out of my hoodie when a deep rumble booms through my ears. The source is obvious when I spot a furious Ryan stomping my way. Before I can demand he stop, he curls one arm around my waist while his other hand clamps my shrieking mouth.

I wail with so much force, I lose a stiletto halfway to his patrol car. When kicking his shins fails to loosen his grip, I shift my focus to his hand covering my mouth. I bite down without reservation, returning the pain his snarled comments inflicted to my heart.

“Jesus Christ, Savannah,” Ryan sneers when my teeth break through the skin on his hand. “You’re not an animal. You don’t bite people.”

When his damaged hand falls from my face, I scream with all my might. I’m not in fear for my life; I’m fearful of my body’s response to his closeness. My nipples are budded, and the wetness between my legs can’t be entirely blamed on the rain. I’m angry. I should not be horny.

My screams for help muffle when Ryan throws me into the back seat of his patrol car. I really shouldn’t say throw. He didn’t quite throw me, but he didn’t place me gently either. He kind of tossed me in there.

After sucking in a deep breath to clear the inane spark of lust in my eyes, I crawl to the door Ryan is in the process of slamming shut. My body’s reactions are ludicrous but also anticipated. Ryan and I had many late night discussions my first three months of college on what we were planning to do in the back seat of his patrol car. My memories are detailed—very, very detailed. They have kept my “self-coping” mechanisms well stocked the past ten years.

My endeavor to flee like a criminal is lost when the back passenger door comes to a stop within an inch of my nose. Like I could act any more idiotic, I bang my fists on the window. “Let me out. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

My thumps wobble the glass, but they don’t incite a reaction from Ryan. He merely collects my discarded shoe from the roadside before curling into the driver’s seat. Because his anger is so white hot, steam billows around him when he cranks the heater up.

“Let me out,” I demand, speaking through the little circles in the plexiglass wedged between us. “This is illegal. You are an officer of the law; you can’t kidnap people.”

“I’m not kidnapping anyone,” Ryan snarls, tugging on his seatbelt. “I’m arresting you.”

I balk. “Arresting me? For what?” Shock resonates in my tone.

Ryan swings his squinted gaze to me, forcing me to swallow. I’ve never seen him so angry.

“You attacked an officer of the law. That is illegal. I am well within my rights to arrest you.”

“I didn’t attack you. I defended myself.” I lean back in my seat and fold my arms over my chest, acting unaffected by his threat. “Go ahead, arrest me. Then when my charges are thrown out of court, I’ll sue you for every penny you have.”

I see the pegs of his teeth in the rearview mirror when he smirks an angry grin. "I already gave you every penny I have, Savannah." The divider blocks me from seeing what he nudges his head to, but I don't need to see the bills to know what he is referring to. "I ain't got any more to give."

“You haven’t got any more to give," I correct. I’m not so annoyed that I’ll miss an opportunity to correct his grammar as he had always done to me.

Ryan huffs but remains quiet. I mimic his stance. I’m not worried. Ryan doesn’t have a vindictive bone in his body. He’ll drive me home; I’ll leave without thanking him, then he’ll go back to avoiding me like he as the past few weeks. No skin off my nose.

Yeah, right.

My calm, collected composure continues to crack the further we travel. Ryan didn't take a left on Rainer Circle. He turned right. There is no way we can reach my apartment building by traveling this route. It has one entry and exit point only. It is the reason I chose to rent it.

“You’re not really arresting me, are you?” I ask, scooting to the edge of my seat.

Ryan lifts his baby blues to the rearview mirror but remains as quiet as a mouse.

“Please,” I beg, my tone revealing I’m not below getting down on my hands and knees.

After the tumultuous few years I’ve had, the last thing I need is my name on an arrest warrant. I don’t care about facing charges. It is who may see my name that has my heart sitting in my throat.

I stop peering at Ryan in the rearview mirror when we come to a stop outside a large, mansion-like house on a pretty tree-lined street. Nothing against Ryan, but I’m fairly confident this isn’t his home. The clothes I’ve seen him in the three times we’ve run into each other indicate he is more financially stable than his parents ever were, but he wouldn’t have the means to purchase a house like this. Ravenshoe’s real estate prices didn’t just boom in the years since I left; they skyrocketed out of the universe. Even an average apartment costs more than a standard home in other states.

“Whose house is this?” I ask Ryan, confident I’ve never seen it before.

This area was nothing but dirt hills when I lived in Ravenshoe. Ryan, Chris, Brax and I used to ride our bikes through the tree-studded landscape when we were kids.

Before Ryan can answer my question, a shiny gold Mercedes reversing out of the driveway solves my confusion.

Shit.

“You willingly entered the car of a man you didn’t know,” Ryan growls, his words as low as my heart rate. “What if he was a rapist? Or even worse, a murderer?”

“He wasn’t—”

“But what if he was?!” Ryan interrupts, yelling so loudly the veins in his neck bulge.

He glares at me in the rearview mirror, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with mine. “You were so desperate to get away from me you put your life at risk.” Once again, he isn’t asking a question; he is stating a fact.

I return his stare, preparing to lie, but unable to.

“Jesus Christ, Savannah,” Ryan seethes when I nod, agreeing with him. I was desperate to get away from him.

“That night hurt me, Ryan,” I mumble, my words barely a whisper. “You were so angry. You are so angry.” I glance down at my hands, incapable of looking him in the eyes while admitting, “I don’t understand why you hate me.”

"I don't hate you!" He lightens his stern tone before saying for the second time, "I don't hate you. I'm just. . . confused. Angry. Annoyed."

Air puffs from my nose. "Take what you are feeling and multiply it by a hundred, then you'll experience half of what I felt when the man who promised he’d never let me down did."

The rawness of my words shocks me. It has been ten years, yet I still can't get past his betrayal. Losing my father broke me—but Ryan’s betrayal utterly destroyed me.

My eyes float up from my hands when Ryan says, “I didn’t cheat on you, Savannah. I would never betray you like that.”

“You—”

“Lied. I lied. That’s all I did. I didn’t cheat.” He swivels his torso to face me head on, ensuring I can see the honesty in his eyes. “I broke my promise. I deceived you. But I didn’t cheat. There was never anyone else. There has never been anyone else.” His last sentence is so low, I’m unsure if he meant to express it out loud.

“Why would you do that? Why pretend you had moved on?” I try to mask my shock. I fail. I’m so stunned, I’m surprised I can speak.

Tears pool in my eyes when Ryan replies, “I wanted you to leave me.”

“Then why not just break up with me?” I ask, my words hindered by the sob I’m struggling to contain.

His Adam’s apple bobs up and down twice before he mutters, “I couldn’t give you up. I still can’t.” His low tone reveals I wasn’t supposed to hear his last confession.

He tilts his torso back to the front, starts his patrol car, then begins to drive again like he has no clue he’s left my heart hanging by a thread. I want to speak. A million thoughts are streaming through my brain, but not a syllable escapes my mouth. I'm not just shocked into silence; I'm heartbroken. I gave up my entire existence because I thought he had betrayed me. My god—that lie changed my life in more ways than Ryan could ever comprehend. Some were good, but the majority were bad.

“Thank you,” I force out when Ryan releases me from the confines of his vehicle at the curb of my apartment building.

I lean in to press a kiss to the edge of his mouth before stopping. His confession didn’t change anything. He still deceived me. It may not have been with another woman, but he still lied.

“Savannah,” Ryan whispers when I pull back, leaving his cheek untouched.

“I just. . . “ I sigh heavily. “I need time, Ryan. We need time,” I add on when I see the strain on his face.

I'm not the only one who has had a difficult few weeks. He appears just as exhausted as me. Dark circles ring his alluring blue eyes, and his usually clear skin is mottled. He’s missed as much sleep the last decade as I have.

“I’ll. . . uh. . . see you around?” I don’t know why that sounded like a question.

When Ryan nods, I spin on my heels and head to the foyer of my building.

I halt midstride when Ryan asks, "Will you stop working at Vipers?"

I exhale a deep breath before pivoting to face him. “No,” I reply, hitting him with the straight-up honesty I wish he had bestowed upon me ten years ago. “It may not be a reputable job, but it is still a job nonetheless. It pays my bills.”

A deep groove settles between Ryan’s brows. “The people you work with—”

“Are my friends,” I interrupt, stopping him before he says something he may regret.

“Jet is—”

“I know, Ryan. I know. But before you judge Jet or any of the women I work with, remember their family and friends are judging me in the same light. Anything you say about them, you are saying about me."

The torment on his face doubles. “You’re not them, Savannah.”

Pretending we aren’t standing in the middle of a downpour, talking like strangers, I take a step closer to him. “I’m not like all of them, but I wish I were some of them.”

When Ryan’s brows stitch in confusion, I add on, “Syndi, the young brunette manning the main door. . .”

I wait for him to nod, acknowledging he knows who I am referring to.

"She works at Vipers to pay her brother's college tuition. When he gets drafted, she plans to join him at his host city. Chastity, Rowena, and Nelly are only months from graduating. And Jet. . . he's clean and getting his life back on track. Some women strip for the wrong reasons, but there are just as many who do it for the right reasons. But even then, it isn’t our job to judge them, Ryan.”

Up until only a few short weeks ago, my mindset matched Ryan’s. Once I learned more about my coworkers, I realized I had no right to ridicule them or their decisions. They welcomed me into their group with open arms, yet I was judging their choices instead of their personalities. I was wrong—both then and now.

“I’m sorry you don’t agree with my decision, Ryan, but it is my choice to make. This is my body, which means I am the only one who chooses what to do with it.”

He scrubs at the stubble on his chin before nodding, once again agreeing with me. He's not happy, but his beliefs on women having the right to choose what they do with their bodies means he’ll concede—for now.

After dropping his hand from his face, he lifts his eyes to me. “Are you going to continue walking home like you have every night the past week?”

Hiding my shock that he is more aware of my routine than he first let on, I reply, “Yes.”

His hands ball into fists at his side before he asks, “Can I drive you?”

“No,” I reply, shaking my head.

I'm not denying his request to be spiteful. I'm doing it because he looks so tired. His position puts his life in jeopardy every day. If anything happened to him, I'd forever wonder if I was at fault. I've got enough guilt on my plate; I don't need more.

Ryan’s chest puffs high as he sucks in a large breath. The rain hasn’t let up the past fifteen minutes, but we stand amongst it, not the least bit enticed to seek shelter. I’m happy for the downpour to hide the wetness brimming in my eyes, and Ryan uses it to cool his flaming cheeks.

After what feels like an eternity, Ryan says, "Sorry, let me rephrase it in a way you will understand. I will drive you home every night."

The demand in his voice shouldn’t be exciting, but it is. Ryan isn’t an overly cocky guy, but a lack of confidence has never been his weak spot. He exudes self-assuredness, but without the arrogance that usually comes on the side.

“Thanks for the offer. . .”

The remainder of my sentence rams into my throat by Ryan spinning on his heels and stalking away from me.

“Just like I have no right to tell you what to do, Savannah, you can’t moderate my decisions. I’ll wait for you out back tomorrow.”

“Ryan. . .” I pace closer to him, equally angered and pleased by his determination.

He continues walking, acting as if he didn’t hear me.

“Ryan!” I shout, annoyed by him ignoring me.

“Goodnight, Savannah,” he says, curling into his driver’s seat. He glances at the clock on his dashboard. “Or should I say good morning, considering it is 5 AM?”

“You can say whatever you like, I’m still not accepting your offer!” I shout my last six words to ensure he hears them through his now-closed door.

Grinning in a way that heats up every inch of my body, he reverses out of the parking lot and drives away.

“You don’t need to drive me. I like walking!”

I’m such a liar.