Shutting the fridge door, I pop the lid off of my beer and squeeze my eyes shut. All that’s flashing through my head right now is Ella fucking dirty dancing to some slutty hip-hop song. There’s a loud bang at the door, jolting me out of the nightmares I’m creating for myself. Dropping my beer to the counter, I walk toward it, fuck the peephole, no motherfucker will knock at my door like the police if he knew what was good for him.

I swing the door open and it slams against the wall.

“Wow!” Raze throws his hands up. “Calm down.”

I instantly relax. “Fucking knock like you’re the damn po po, man. Get you killed.”

Raze laughs humorlessly.

Yeah, solid. I’d still give him a go, though.

I step aside to let him in anyway, and he walks straight to the living room. I shut the door before joining him on the lazy boy opposite. He pauses, running his index finger over his upper lip. “You heard from Ella?”

That catches my attention instantly. “Yeah, why? Something happen?”

Raze shakes his head. “Nah. There’s just something that interests me is all. Where’d you grow up, man?”

“Like from from? Here. Don’t know where the fuck my mom and dad went after they dumped my ass at an orphanage when I was four, but here.” I pause. “Why?”

He keeps his eyes on mine. “Your mom and dad, remember their name?”

The fuck?

“Yeah, I have it on record I think. Why?”

“Any chance you could have a sister?”

My blood turns to ice. “Fuck if I know. Probably. After they failed with me it wouldn’t surprise me if they tried again.”

Raze’s face turns serious, then he takes out a photograph from his pocket. Dyed red hair, bright eyes, heart-shaped face with long dark eyelashes and little petite figure. Pretty. Then it sinks in. She’s the hoodie girl from the lights. What the fuck. “Meet Willow Ambers. Aka, Willow Walters. Daughter of Sebastian & Charlotte Walters—” My blood turns cold, my jaw pulsing in annoyance.

“—Why you telling me this?”

Raze pushes the photo back into his jacket. “They assumed she suffered from the same condition as you.”

“So they got rid of her too?” I should be asking why he’s bringing this up, but it’s Raze, I know he’ll get there eventually. The man just likes to take the scenic route when he wants to make a point.

Raze shakes his head. “No. She ran. And she’s also…”

“What?”

“Ella’s roommate at NYU.”

“What!” I snap, launching off the chair.

“Calm down, bro. I don’t think she’s a threat.”

“Yeah?” I tilt my head. “Well, I don’t feel like taking chances. Not when it’s fucking Ella.”

Raze doesn’t answer, and it’s then that I realize what I had said. “Well, shit.”

I drop down onto the lazy boy, ignoring Raze trying to hide his laugh.

“I’ll be fucking damned.”

I drop my head into the palm of my hands. “Brother, I’ve been really battling internally with what the fuck is going on lately, and I ain’t going down that road with her. She’s enough while still not being enough if that makes sense.”

Silence, and then, “Ella? Brother. You sure you know what you’re getting yourself into?” Raze warns, but I know he means it lightly.

“I don’t fucking know. Can’t help it.”

Raze stands. “You should speak with Miles sometime. He’ll probably be the only person who knows how you,” Raze gestures to me, “feel, or lack thereof.”

“Miles?”

Raze smiles. But it doesn’t reach his eyes. In fact, it’s more of a haunting smile. Dark and musty. “One of the many things he deals with on a daily basis, I guess you could say.”

“What are we going to do about this shit?”

Raze stops at the threshold. “Well, you have two options. Wait until this shit blows over with me taking over the operation and let her graduate, but risk the chance of her moving on without you, or go get her ass now, drag her back into it, and to fucking hell with anyone else.”

“Fuck.” I know what I needed to do, and so did Raze. He leaves, shutting the door behind himself and I sink back into the couch. Three fucking years.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and hit her name. She picks up on the third ring. She sounds a little soberer now, not slurring as much. Her voice instantly paralyzes me. Fuck.

“Frost?” she whispers, her breathing heavy on the other end. I leave it for a couple beats, trying to find the right words. Fuck it. Never been good with words. I drop my voice to a low growl. “Three years, Ella. Three-fucking-years, then your ass is mine. Don’t fucking talk to another guy, or I’ll fucking kill him, don’t fucking breathe the same air as someone who is remotely interested in you, or I’ll rip out his fucking throat and send it to you as a souvenir. Three years, Ella. And when you graduate, I’ll be there, on my bike, ready to bring your ass home, on my dick, as my woman, in my house, where the fuck you belong.” Then I hang up, throw my phone across the room until it shatters into a million pieces on impact and reach for the keys to my Harley.