A Lady Gaga song pierces my eardrums and I wake with a jolt, cursing Juan for making it his ringtone.

Stretching my arm out, I reach for my phone on the nightstand and end up knocking over what sounds like a bottle of water instead. I open my eyes to investigate the damage, but the second I do; sharp shooting pain steamrolls down the center of my skull and I burrow under the covers.

Much better. Aside from the fact that my mouth tastes like I’ve been gargling with sewer water, and my jaw is so sore it feels like I’ve been grinding my teeth all night.

And Juan is as relentless as a coupon hoarder running for the Sunday paper.

“Hello?” My voice sounds like it belongs to an eighty-year-old chain smoker.

An image of my nanna whizzes through my head and I cringe. Unfortunately, that only makes the steamroller zipping through my cranium kick up a notch.

“Where are you?”

Before I can process Juan’s question, he adds, “The first workshop started a half hour ago. I had to sneak into the bathroom to call you.”

Workshop? I bolt up quicker than lightning when I realize I’m not at home in my bed, but a hotel in Vegas. Where I’m supposed to be attending a workshop for my job.

“Crap, I can’t believe I overslept.”

“I know, Jess is pissed.”

Throwing the covers off, I stumble out of bed, my brain feeling like scrambled eggs. A feeling that only gets worse when I take in my surroundings.

A television from the early 90s sits on a dresser that has seen better days. A crooked row of empty beer bottles lines the dingy windowsill, along with an ashtray; which explains the faint stench of stale smoke. But all that pales in comparison to the fact that there’s only one bed. Juan and I are roommates—yesterday, there were two queen beds in our room.

It looks nothing like the hotel I remember checking into yesterday.

I clutch my chest, panic settling in. I know who I am and who Juan is…but I can’t recall where I am or how I got here. It’s like some men in black suits zapped me with a mind eraser and expunged my memory from last night. Or rather, parts of it, because I do remember some things. Enough to know something’s terribly wrong.

“Juan?” I gulp. “How much did I drink last night?”

I can almost feel his own bewilderment on the other line. “I don’t know, I chased after Ronald after you accused him of being a murderer, remember?”

“I don’t—wait, yes that I do remember.” I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m still freaked out, but maybe it’s not as bad as I thought. As soon as Juan told me what happened, my brain automatically caught up and put some of the pieces together. Unfortunately, thanks to me insulting Ronald, Juan can’t fill in the rest of the blanks for me.

“Okay, you’re kind of scaring me. Where are you?”

“That’s the thing, I’m not sure.”

“What do you mean you’re not sure? I figured you ended up hooking up with someone after I left the bar last night and that’s why you never came back to the hotel.”

“I don’t know. It’s possible, I guess. The last thing I remember is you being upset with me and chasing after Ronald like you said.” I rub my temples. “Wait, no. I remember Jess. I saw Jess at the bar and—”

“And what?”

I squeeze my legs together, the urge becoming unbearable. “Holy cow, I really have to pee.” My eyes scan what I can only assume must be the door to the bathroom and I jet for it. “Is it weird to use the bathroom in a place I have no recollection of entering?”

“Are you asking me if it’s weird to use the toilet belonging to a possible killer who could have drugged you, tied you up, and done Lord only knows what to you last night? No, Kit. That’s not weird at all. Get the hell out of there.”

“I will, but nature is calling.” I plop down on the toilet so I can take care of business. “It’s a biological impulse beyond human control.”

He tuts and I take the opportunity to look around the small area. There isn’t a tub in here, but I hear water running from the other side of the door. Must be one of those connecting bathrooms.

“I think whoever I came here with is taking a shower.” I inspect my arms and legs. “But I don’t think they tied me up or hurt me. I’m not sore and I don’t have any bruises.” I notice a few small cuts on my knees. “I take that back. My knees are scraped.” My memory jogs something free and I close my eyes, trying to connect more dots. “I think I might have tripped and fallen on the sidewalk.”

“Great, so when I talk to the police, I’ll be sure to say, ‘Golly gee, officer, I told her to get out of there, but she was too preoccupied trying to play investigator herself, and that’s when he killed her.’”

I flush the toilet and go to the sink. “What makes you think it’s a he? Maybe I really did get too drunk and have a one-night stand and we’re both overdramatizing this whole thing.”

Although, one-night stands aren’t really my thing. Not when I’m seriously into someone else. Like my boss.

I release a sigh. My memory spacing is worrisome, but I don’t feel violated…not physically anyway.

There’s a deep ache in my chest that’s awfully unsettling, though.

Before I can scrutinize the thought further, a slew of Spanish curse words flies out of Juan’s mouth like rapid fire.

“Okay, I’m going.” I turn on the water and pick up the bar of soap. “I just have to wash my hands first.”

“Because germs are so important right now.”

I finish up and get ready to leave, but dizziness barrels into me so hard I have to brace myself against the sink. “Whoa, I need another minute.”

Juan’s saying something, but I tune him out and lower my head so I can splash some cool water on my face and get my shit together.

It works because a vision of me hanging out with Jess at the bar flashes through my head. “I was definitely with Jess. I remember being super nervous and embarrassing myself while admitting I had feelings for her.” I splash my face again as I recall attempting to tell her about the situation with my nanna, and her telling me to relax before they showed up. “But then we were interrupted by some druggie porn stars—”

“That explains how you got the ecstasy,” a deep and oddly familiar voice interjects.

I look up and catch the reflection of some towel-clad guy in the mirror. Or rather, a portion of him due to his tall stature. Not that I need to see anything else, because there’s no mistaking that he is very much male…not the gender I’d willingly agree to spend the night with.

Instantly, terror crawls up my spine and I scream so loud it echoes off the walls. Or maybe it’s Juan’s high-pitched scream coming from the floor where I dropped my phone. Doesn’t matter, I grab the only weapon at my disposal—a toothbrush, and spin around.

I had every intention of plunging the damn thing through my assailant’s jugular, but shock roots me to the spot as I come face to face with the last person I ever expected to see.

“Preston?”

A whirlwind of flashbacks burst through my head, most of them painful ones from the past, but one is recent—very recent—which only makes everything even more mystifying.

In one casual stride, he’s standing in front of me. “In the flesh.”

I don’t miss the way he smirks when my eyes involuntarily fall to his towel and then back up to his face before I look away.

He takes the toothbrush from me. “Thanks.”

And then, like me being here is an everyday occurrence, he elbows past me to the sink.

“Preston.”

“Kit!”

That comes from Juan who’s still screaming on the other line.  

I pick up my phone. “I’ll call you back in a few.”

“What—”

I disconnect the call and focus on the guy in front of me. The guy I haven’t seen in three years. The guy responsible for breaking my heart and ruining my life. The guy behaving like everything is perfectly fine and dandy.

“You’re brushing your teeth.”

He spits, his face expressionless. “Hygiene is very important.”  

My mouth drops open in disbelief. So help me God, I hope Juan doesn’t call the police, because I might end up committing homicide.

His eyes meet mine in the mirror. “You look like you needed the reminder.”

I rear back, seeing red. I’m perfectly aware of my appearance this morning—and no, it’s not pretty. My hair is a tangled mess, my eyes are puffy, my mascara isn’t coating my lashes like it should be, but smudged under my eyes in a look I refer to as racoon chic, and my breath is a cross between a rotting onion and road kill, but it still doesn’t give him any right to act like such a douche canoe.

Especially when the last time I saw him…he was the one who hurt me.

Worse than that. He broke me…for no other reason than he knew he could.

Because he wanted to.

Preston received the paternity results proving he wasn’t the father before the shooting, and yet, he chose to lie to me about it in the elevator and at the hospital where he held me like a friend…and then stuck his dick in Becca’s mouth like an underhanded enemy. After I disclosed to him that I still had intense feelings for her.

After he tried to kiss me.

Even three years later, I still can’t wrap my head around it. Why he would do something so callous and cruel. Becca was a two-timing witch who didn’t deserve me, but I loved her…I loved her so damn much, and he knew it.

I trusted him.

And I thought that he…that we…

I don’t know what I thought. But I do know I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. Nor am I going to stand here and let him treat me like I’m the one who should be apologizing for waking up to what I’m hoping is a bad dream.

“How did I get here?”

He rinses his mouth and reaches for a hand towel. “Sounds like someone forgot to have the birds and bees talk with you.”

I clench my hands into fists. “This isn’t a joke, Holden. I don’t know how I ended up in this motel room with you of all people. I don’t remember much of anything from last night other than a few bits I can’t piece together.”

He turns to face me. “I found you walking the streets of Las Vegas by yourself at two a.m. You were pretty strung out. I was going to drop you off at a hospital, but you begged me not to because of your grandmother. My options were to either let you sleep on the sidewalk, or bring you home with me.” He hitches a shoulder up. “I was feeling generous, so here you are.”

For some strange reason, that’s when it dawns on me that I’m not wearing any underwear.

“You didn’t.” I lick my suddenly dry lips, trying to get the words out. “We didn’t…”

Slowly, he drags his gaze up and down my body, leering at me. “You honestly think I would fuck you?”

I feel my face turn beet red. Obviously, I have absolutely no interest in him, but the insulting way he answered was uncalled for. I don’t know why he’s going out of his way to be so vicious.

He hurt me more than enough the last time we saw each other.

He leans against the sink. “I don’t need to screw intoxicated girls to get laid, Bishop. I brought you here, gave you some water, and let you sleep in my bed while I slept in a chair. That was pretty much the extent of our time together.”

A lump fills my throat. I can’t stand him, but if he wasn’t there last night who knows what could have happened to me. “Thank—”

“You can thank me by leaving.” He juts his chin out. “The door’s that way.”

“Right.” I curl my arms around myself, preparing to do a walk of shame I don’t deserve. I’m confused and still a bit out of it for reasons I can’t pinpoint. You’d think he could muster up some compassion.

I’m halfway to the door when it hits me. “Wait, this is your home? You live in Vegas?” My eyes swivel around the tiny, grubby bathroom. “You live here?”

No wonder he’s miserable. Who wouldn’t be? A seedy motel room isn’t a home. It’s a holding container when you’re out of options. A roof over your head when you’re one breath and one bad decision away from being homeless.

On the bright side, I know Asher will be happy about this. Not about Preston’s living situation, but that he’s alive. His older brother’s been searching for him for three years with no luck. Figures a gambler would be in Vegas of all places. Talk about hiding in plain sight.  

He snorts. “Sorry your stay wasn’t up to par. Feel free to leave your complaints with the front desk, princess.”

“I didn’t—” I swallow and try again. “I didn’t mean that the way it came out. I’m not a snob, I just thought maybe I could—”

“Could what?”

I inhale, knowing my parents would be proud of me for this. Preston Holden might be Satan in a towel, but he didn’t leave me there like he could have. It would be gracious of me to do something nice in return. Put some good karma out in the world. It’s what they would do.

“I don’t know if my purse is here, but—”

“I don’t need your charity.” His stare turns hard. “What I need is for you to leave.”

I stand speechless, my mouth nearly hitting the floor. When I make no move to exit because I’m too shell-shocked by his rudeness, he strides past me out the door, nearly knocking me over in the process.

And that’s when the part of my brain holding the events of last night captive…unleash them all in rapid succession.

Jess. The old dude. The alcohol and drugs. Getting knocked over by some guy being chased, then watching him get beat up by two men because he wouldn’t give them his duffle bag.  

I remember freezing when a gun was pointed at me…for the second time in my life.

And I remember Preston giving up the duffle bag before the man could pull the trigger.

I remember nearly everything up until the moment I fainted. Everything after that is too murky to make any real sense of. Kind of like a dream you didn’t retain after you wake up, but you know you had one.

Not that it matters, I know all the important parts of the evening. Like the reason for the ache in my chest.

But I can’t focus on that right this second…I have a bone—actually, make that an entire skeleton—to pick with someone first.

I exit the bathroom, feeling more in control than I did a minute ago. “What was in the bag?”

He tugs up the zipper of his jeans and I can’t help but study him. He looks different. Not in the unrecognizable sense, but in the harder, edgier, more filled out sense. Grown up. Nothing like the teenager in suits I remember. He’s not as bulky as his brother Asher, but I can tell he works out regularly. You don’t get those abs and muscles from sitting on your ass all day. Unfortunately. God knows I’d love to not have to get up at the buttcrack of dawn to go to the gym five days a week before work.

Work…crap. I have to call Juan back.

“You have this annoying habit of mistaking me for the door.”

My archnemesis crosses his arms and my eyes fall to the tattoo on his bicep. It’s large but far too detailed to ascertain what it is from where I’m standing.

As if sensing my curiosity, he pulls a shirt over his head, covering it. Then, he points. “It’s that way, Bishop. Don’t let it hit that sweet ass of yours on the way out.”

“I know where the door is, jerk. Answer the question.”

“Fine.” He gives me a lewd smile that makes me feel all kinds of uncomfortable. Jesus, even his dimples aggravate me. “What I’m about to tell you is important, so you need to pay close attention, got it?”

I nod, and those dimples deepen. “Good.” His smile falls. “Because it’s none of your fucking business. Now get the hell out.”

Oh, that’s it. I am done trying to be civil and cordial to this brute. I don’t know why I even bothered in the first place.

“I had a gun pointed at me because of you. That makes it my business,” I yell, shaking with irritation.

“Well maybe if you had minded your own business instead of walking over and involving yourself, you wouldn’t have,” he yells back. “Seriously, what the fuck were you thinking?”

I look down, feeling both vulnerable and chagrined. “You wouldn’t understand. Besides, I was out of it, remember? So it doesn’t matter.” I look up at him. “I just don’t want whatever trouble you’re in to fall back on me or anyone I care about, okay?”

He crosses his arms. “What makes you think I’m in trouble?”

My eyes zero in on the scratches marring his neck and the deep bruise on his jaw that’s visible under the dusting of dark stubble, before settling on the knuckles of his left hand which are swollen and discolored.

“You mean aside from them chasing you and whipping out a firearm? How about the fact that you fought them back when they attacked you? Anyone else would have given up the stupid bag, but not you. No, you almost lost your life because of it. It’s safe to assume whatever was in it was a big deal.”

A shudder zips down my spine because something tells me if I wasn’t there…Preston might not be here now. Not that I should care, but I can’t take another death on my conscience.

His jaw tics. “They won’t come after you, they got what they wanted.”

“You don’t—” Juan’s ringtone cuts me off mid-sentence.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack? What the heck is going on?” Juan screeches when I pick up. “Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t want him to snap and kill you. Just tell me if you want pepperoni on your pizza or not.”

My stomach rumbles at the mention of food. “You can put the pizza on hold, everything’s okay. He’s not a murderer, he’s…” I clear my throat because I don’t think telling Juan that Preston’s a giant asshole will ease his concern. “I’m leaving in a few. Tell Jess I’ll be there in time for the second workshop.”

“Are you sure?”

I’m sure I’m not going to let them fire me without a fight. I’m finally good at something and have a career, I don’t think it’s fair I end up heartbroken and unemployed.

“Positive. And in case I forget to say it when I see you, thank you for being a good friend.”

With that, I hang up and look around the room for my purse and whatever else I might have come here with.

Preston’s jaw works. “You’re going to continue working for a boss who took advantage of you?” His tongue finds his cheek. “Man, some things never change.”

I find my purse tangled in the bedsheets. “It’s called being a responsible adult. Unlike some people, I confront my problems head on, not run away from them.”

Not anymore.

I locate my shoes under the bed. “And she’s not technically my boss now. There’s been a merger between…” I pause, glaring at him. “You know what? You’re one to talk. Here you are living in a shithole and mixed up with bad people.” I walk over and poke him in the chest. “Do you have any idea how much you upset Asher when you left and never contacted him? Some people would do anything to have a family member who gives a shit, and yet you disregard your brother who does, like he’s yesterday’s paper. Not cool, bro.”

“Wasn’t aware you were such a fan. Last I checked, you hated him.”

“I never hated him. I thought he was a heartless prick who wasn’t good enough for my best friend.”

A quality that seems to run in the Holden family.

“And now?” For a fraction of a second, I see something resembling concern in his eyes before they turn to steel again.

I think for a moment before I answer. “He’s still a bit of a conceited jerk sometimes, but he loves the shit out of Breslin and Landon, and they love him. They’re really great together, hap—” I bop him on the nose with my finger. “No, I’m not doing this. If you want to know about your brother, I suggest you pick up the phone and call him yourself like a big boy. Or do one better and drag your stubborn ass to Louisiana. I don’t know if you’re aware, but he did just lose the biggest game of his career, I’m sure seeing you would cheer him up.”

The stubborn ass scrubs a hand down his face. “It’s not that simple. It’s better for us both if I stay away, trust me.” He walks over to the mini-fridge and takes out a beer. “If you really want to thank me for last night, you can do it by not telling him where I am or that you saw me.”

Lord almighty, I’m certain advanced physics is easier to understand than the inner workings of Preston Holden’s psyche.

I stomp my foot in exasperation and look up to the heavens, asking whatever higher power’s currently listening for the strength to get through to this jackass. “No matter what you two fought about, he doesn’t deserve to be shut out permanently. He is your brother. Your brother who loves you. It would kill him to see you living in a crappy motel and being beat up by men with guns. How can you not understand that?”

I grab him by the shoulders when he starts to object. “Good God, man. Stop being so obtuse and reach out to him. The lad just bought three freaking Ferraris on a whim last week. Heck, I think the dog would have gotten one too if he knew how to drive and stopped peeing on his lucky jersey.”

He peels my fingers off his arms. “Did you really just refer to him as lad?”

I rub my temples. “Focus, grasshopper. You’re missing the point. Asher will have no problem helping you get back on your feet and out of this dump. But more importantly, you’ll have your brother back in your life.”

His glare is cutting. “No.”

“But why?”

He gets close to my face. “Because I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

I jump when he hurls the beer bottle and it shatters against the wall behind me. “Get out.”

I stand my ground. I can be stubborn too. “No. Not until you tell me why you won’t talk to your brother or what was in the bag. The choice is yours.”

His expression is so hard, it’s like he’s carved from granite. “This is your last warning, Bishop. Get out, or I will make you. You don’t want that.”

I hold my arms out wide. “Go right ahead.”

“Kit,” he growls through clenched teeth.  

“I know you won’t hurt me.” I take a step in his direction, determined to chip away some of his shell. “Not physically anyway,” I amend. “You might as well tell me, so I go away. I can be very persistent when I want something. I once camped outside the local Walmart for three whole days for a chance to win Demi Lovato concert tickets. I thought Breslin was going to kill me for making her poop in a bag.”

He stares at me like I’m crazy. “Why didn’t you just buy the tickets yourself? It’s not like you couldn’t afford them.”

“Oh, I totally could, but I wanted the experience. And I wanted Demi to know that I was willing to sacrifice for our love.” I point to my face. “Now spill it, Holden. Or you’ll be staring at this mug for the next three days.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re such a pain in the ass. Like I told you before, I don’t want to talk to my brother. For reasons you’ll never understand. It’s not because we got into a fight, or because I’m mad at him. I just don’t want to be around him. I can’t, okay?”

There’s so much torment in his eyes it punches me in the heart. “I’m not dense, but if you guys didn’t fight and you’re not mad at him, what possible reason could you have for staying away for three years? Is someone threatening you? Forcing you to keep your distance?” When he stays silent, I sit down on the bed. “I know sports aren’t your thing, but are you jealous because he’s a famous football star? I won’t judge you if—”

“No one is forcing me to stay away, and I’m not jealous.”

I clutch my chest when I realize. “You’re scared to be around him because of what Kyle did.” I sit up straight. “I know it was scary, Preston, I still have nightmares about it, but it wasn’t Asher’s fault—”

He rolls his eyes. “I know it wasn’t. That’s not it.”

“Is it what Breslin said at the hospital? Because I know she didn’t—”

“No. Jesus, stop trying to figure this out! If I wanted you to know, or I thought you could understand, I would tell you. I know in your world everything is either good or bad. Evil or benevolent. But things aren’t always so black and white. Sometimes they’re gray.” His eyes drift to my hair. “And sometimes your reasons for doing things make no sense to anyone else but you.” He punches his chest. “And I don’t have to stand here and justify my reasons or my feelings to you or anyone else, because they’re mine.”

“I get it.”

He scoffs. “No, you don’t.”

“I do. Look, no one believed me about my uncle. And even though all the evidence proved otherwise, in my heart, I know he had something to do with their deaths.” I blink back tears because I understand what he said more than he’ll ever know. “So, yeah, I get not wanting to talk to someone, even a member of your own family for reasons that don’t make sense to others. And you’re right, whatever is going on with you and your brother is none of my business. Sorry for not respecting that.”

He looks surprised. “Does this mean you won’t tell him where I am?”

“You have my word.” I reach for my purse and shoes again. If I don’t haul ass, they’ll have a legitimate reason to fire me. “I’m gonna go, but for what it’s worth, I hope everything works out for you.”

I don’t know what to make of the look he gives me. “Take care of yourself, Bishop.”

I stand. “You too. I can’t believe I’m about to say this but—” A forceful knock cuts me off mid-sentence and I flinch.

“I’m telling you, Matteo, he’s not here. Something about a family emergency. But he assured me he’ll be back in a few hours and I know he’s good for it. He won the game last night,” some guy says and Preston, Mr. Poker Face himself…pales.

When I open my mouth to ask him what’s going on, he places a finger over his lips.

“Campanelli’s not stupid, it’s awfully convenient of him to not show up and make the drop off after last night’s game,” another male voice says. “Now, I suggest you stop covering for your friend and open the fucking door, or I’ll open your fucking skull and force feed you your brain.”

I barely have time to process what’s happening before Preston is covering my mouth with his hand and dragging me to the closet with him.

I’m about to point out that a closet is the most obvious place for someone to look, especially a spacious one like this, but then he uncovers an oversized trunk, and the next thing I know, we’re both crammed inside of it.

If I thought being trapped in an elevator with Preston was claustrophobic, it has nothing on this. That elevator was a huge breezy island compared to the matchbox we’re stuffed in currently.

Every single appendage of his, with the exception of the one digging into my ass, is wrapped tightly around me—like a snake coiling and suffocating its prey.

Holy hell. I’ve never been so fused to another human being before. I’m literally folded and tucked into his body. I’m grateful he showered.

Grateful and scared. Which isn’t fair, because I’m not the one who pissed off whoever this Campanelli guy is.

Darn it, if only I left one minute earlier, I wouldn’t be in this predicament. Preston’s right, I really need to start minding my own business.

I can hear things being tossed around, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to blow our cover because my heart is pounding like a feral animal stuck in a cage.

The frantic thumping only gets worse when I hear footsteps approaching. The poor thing is thrashing so hard it physically hurts.

If this guy doesn’t kill me, I’m confident a heart attack will.

I nearly pass out when I feel a hand move up my stomach. I’m about to scold Preston for trying to cop a feel, but his palm skates past my breast, coming to rest over my heart.

The pads of his fingers draw slow, gentle circles around it, almost like he’s telling the organ it’s okay and vowing he’ll keep it safe.

It’s the strangest exchange I’ve ever been a part of, but to my surprise, the action works because I no longer hear it drumming in my ears.

That is until the closet door opens and it takes off, galloping like a stallion.

Oh, God. This is how my life ends. I’m going to die jammed in a box with the person I loathe. Maybe this is fate’s cruel way of punishing me for making it out of the school shooting alive when three innocent people didn’t.

I’m about to lose what little composure I have and breakdown, but then Preston’s fingertips slide down the top of my dress…and he finds the poker chip.

Otherwise known as the lifeline he handed me three years ago when I needed something to hold on to…because I had nothing left.

The one I started wearing on a necklace when the nightmares became more frequent and more terrifying—because I needed to have it close to me at all times.

I don’t have a chance to wonder how he knows it’s there though because the guy who wants to crack open skulls and feed people their brains orders the other guy to open the trunk we’re in.

I hold my breath and focus on the poker chip Preston’s pressing into my skin. I need the illusion of security. I need to know I’m safe again.

And the only time I’ve ever felt truly safe after my parents’ death was in an elevator with this dipshit.

“I wish I could, boss, but no can do. This thing hasn’t been opened in over fifteen years. Someone left it here back in the day and there’s no key for it. Evidently, it’s an antique. You’re welcome to try it yourself, though.”

Preston’s heart batters my back when there’s tugging on the latch followed by a hefty kick.

“You weren’t kidding,” the guy says. “Fucker is heavy.”

“Between you and me, I think it’s filled with cement. Don’t know what’s in the cement, but…” His voice trails off and they both laugh.

“Listen, Max,” the guy says. “Campanelli likes you. Your wingman though, not so much. But, since he’s a pal of yours, and you’re an associate of ours, here’s what’s gonna happen. Tell your buddy he has until tomorrow morning to give Campanelli his money. Otherwise, he shouldn’t bother coming back, because we’ll be on our way to him—and we’ll have no problem making a few pit stops and spending some quality time with his family members along the way. After we visit yours. Then you’ll both have a family emergency on your hands.”

Underneath me, I feel Preston’s entire body tense and my heart jumps to my throat…only to make a U-turn a second later when Juan’s ringtone goes off.

I’m about to piss myself until I realize my phone’s not in the trunk with me. I must have dropped it outside the closet during all the commotion.

“What the fuck is that?”

“Not sure,” the other guy answers. “Some chick he was screwing probably left her phone behind. Wouldn’t be the first time. You know how the clingy ones are, always looking for a reason to come back and get more of that vitamin D.”

Wow, this Max guy is super charming. A real Casanova that one.

The other guy grunts. “Ain’t that the truth.”

Soon after, their voices become distant and there’s nothing but silence. Before I can speak, Preston clamps a hand over my mouth.

After what feels like an eternity, he whispers, “Max should be back soon to let us out.”

My lungs strain against my chest with those words and the already confining trunk we’re in becomes downright suffocating.

“Breathe, Kit. Everything’s okay.”

I clutch my throat. Everything is not okay. Far from it. I’m trapped in a coffin with the card shark of the underworld, and the people I care about are on the butcher’s block.

I’m shaking, downright seething with rage that by the time Max opens the trunk and I climb out, it’s all I can do not to wrap my hands around Preston’s throat and squeeze.

“I owe you one,” Preston says to the short guy who let us out as we exit the closet.

“Yeah, man, you do. I thought Matteo was going to blow my head off.” He looks between us, his stare settling on me. “Who’s the chick?”

I pick up my phone off the floor. “The chick has a name.”

He starts to say something, but I brush him off and focus on Preston.

“You told me you weren’t in trouble and they wouldn’t come after me.”

“They won’t.” His jaw hardens. “They’re not the same people from last night.”

I’m no longer seeing red, I’m seeing black. “Not the same people from last night? Like that somehow makes all this better?” I shove him. “They just threatened to go after your family. I know you don’t want to talk to Asher, but he doesn’t deserve to be killed over your fuckups.”

“Hey, relax, doll face,” Preston’s friend interjects.

I glare at him. “Stay out of this. And the next time you call me doll face, short stack—I’ll rip your testicles off and pretend they’re a piñata.”

He looks at Preston. “Chick’s got spunk. She must be wild in bed.”

“You have no idea,” Preston mutters and I lose my shit.

I push him with every ounce of anger pumping through me. “Why are you such a sociopath!”

Preston motions for his friend to leave, but I charge at him again. “Don’t you care about anyone other than yourself?”

He doesn’t budge, as usual, he stands tall, completely unaffected, and it only makes me more enraged.  

“Why do you like to hurt people?” My vision becomes blurry and my voice starts cracking, but I don’t let up. I’ve snapped and there’s no going back. I pound on his chest with my fists. “I hate you.”

It’s not a lie, I really do hate him.

I hate him for hurting me.

I hate him for making me think we could be friends.

I hate him for breaking me.

But mostly? I hate myself for still trusting him, despite all the reasons he’s given me not to.

He grabs both my wrists and backs me into the wall. “Calm the fuck down, angry girl.”

“Go to hell.”

He deflects the kick I send him. “Asher isn’t in danger. I’d turn myself over to Campanelli before I’d let anyone else go down for my shit.”

I try to twist out of his grip, but his hold is too tight. “Liar. You’d throw anyone in the fire if it meant saving your own ass.”

“That’s not true.”

When I give him a look, he drops my wrists and sighs. “Okay, it’s mostly true. But there are exceptions.”

“Like what?”

“Who.”

I blink. “What?”

“It’s not what my exceptions are. It’s more like who are my exceptions. I have three. My brother is one of them.”

“Who are the other two?” I ask, my throat tight.

He holds my gaze for a long beat, those dark gray-blue orbs cutting through me like a blade, causing a rush of emotion to wrap around my heart and squeeze.

Preston doesn’t have to say it. Just like I didn’t have to ask.

Because we both already know the answer.

I’m his exception.

He leans his forehead against mine and I clutch his t-shirt, loathing him for making me feel things I don’t understand. Despising this unspoken bond between us that makes no sense.

He catches the tear I didn’t know I shed with his thumb. “You should go. I don’t want you to be here if he decides to come back.”

Taking a breath past the ache in my ribs, I peer up at him. “How much money do you owe this guy?”

“Don’t worry about it. I got this.”

My eyes narrow. “That’s not what I asked you.”

“I’ll have the money by tomorrow morning.”

“What happens if you don’t?”

His silence hangs in the air between us like a bad omen and it makes my throat lock up.

The corners of his lips turn down in a frown, and then, as if we didn’t just share a moment, he backs away; his expression flat, his eyes void of any and all emotion.

That vacant mask of his on display once again.

He points to the door. “Go.”

When I start to argue, he takes hold of my elbow and leads me to the door. I barely have time to catch my shoes and purse he tosses behind me before it slams shut. “Have a nice life, Bishop.”

Indignation pricks my chest as I bend down to put on my heels. The nerve of him throwing me out like I’m garbage when I was only trying to make sure he didn’t end up dead in a ditch somewhere.

Excuse me for daring to give a shit.

I curse when my foot slips and I nearly break an ankle. I hate these stupid death traps.

That’s a lie, they’re secretly my favorite, but every time I take them out, stick my foot inside, and start the tedious process of lacing them up my calf, I’m reminded that a few hours of pretty aren’t worth the effort it takes to put them on or take them off.

Until the next time that is. My love affair with these shoes is a vicious cycle.

It hits me approximately ten minutes later when I’m exiting the grungy motel and getting into a cab.

I didn’t take my shoes off last night. Preston did.

He didn’t take a scissor or knife to them either. He went through the monotonous process of undoing each knot, and then unraveling each delicate lace strap from my calf and then my ankle so he could take them off.

I’m still thinking about him taking off my shoes twenty minutes into the third workshop I managed to make it to.

He did that for a girl he can’t stand. A girl he threw out of his crappy motel room because he wanted to protect her.

No strings attached.

I never in my life thought I’d say this about Preston, but he’s exactly what I need.

I hate him, but I trust him. He’s not too fond of me either, but he’ll protect me.

He needs the money, and I need a husband.

A husband with no strings, and no feelings. A husband who can hold up his end of a business deal. A man who knows how to con, because my nanna wasn’t born yesterday.

The air around me stills, almost like the universe is agreeing with me.

A smile touches my face as the meeting ends. The only thing I have to do now is excuse myself from the rest of the day’s workshops, take a shower, and trek back to that god-awful motel.

So I can save my soon-to-be husband’s ass.