Get it together, Kit.

I silently urge her to look at me, but she's checked out completely.

Can't say I blame her. Not only is a lunatic holding a gun up to her head, she just witnessed two people get shot and killed.

I shift my weight to one foot and then the other, wondering how the fuck Kyle managed to get out of jail in the first place.

I doubt he made bail, considering he shot a nurse at the hospital before he tried to attack Breslin. And God knows he isn't savvy enough to not only hatch but effectively carry out an escape plan in the few short hours he was locked up.

And let's not forget the alarming fact he has not one, but two guns.

I watch as Kyle turns one of those guns on Landon. “You—get the bag from under the table and pull out all the bungee cords. Then, I want you to secure the doors shut with them. I'll be watching you, so make sure you make it nice and tight. Got it?”

When Landon nods in agreement, he digs the gun into Kit's temple. “If you run out those doors, I will kill her and then him. Their lives are literally in your hands right now, four eyes. Understand?”

I don't know a lot about my brother's boyfriend, but I do know he's a stand-up guy.

However, this is life or death, not giving up the last slice of pizza.

What we think we know about others doesn't mean shit when the stakes are this high.

I'd walk right out that door and never look back if I had the same opportunity.

My eyes fall on Kit again, and the sheer terror I see in those hazel orbs makes something in my chest pull tight.

I have to divert my attention back to Landon because looking at her so scared and fragile is fucking my head up and I can't think straight.

I watch in bewilderment as he pulls out a black bag with the word Police on it from under the table before he locates the bungee cords.

My brain attempts to put some pieces together again, but then Kit chokes out, “Please don't.”

How Kyle snagged himself a police bag is now the least of my worries...because all I care about is doing whatever it takes to keep that sorrow out of her voice.

“I'm not gonna run,” Landon assures her. “I promise.”

I can practically hear her heart beat with every step he takes toward the doors and it strikes me just how brutal this must be for her.

If Landon bolts, Kyle will kill us.

But in Kit's case, it's not just the fear of death that has her panicking.

It's the fear of being abandoned and left to die like her parents were.

Primitively, I take a step in her direction.

“No one move until those doors are secured,” Kyle barks at me. “Then we can get this party started.” His eyes narrow. “Maybe I'll take another bite of a juicy apple off the Holden family tree and make it a real party.”

Rage pumps through my blood and if it wasn't for Landon almost dropping the bungee cords and Kit's loud gasp—reminding me there are other people here with me—I'd lose my shit and do something that would be liable to get us all killed.

Suffice it to say, their reactions tell me they know exactly who Kyle is now.

However, it occurs to me Kyle has no idea who Landon is—because I'm positive if Asher's deranged stalker knew he was my brother's boyfriend...he would have killed him already.

Landon looks spooked; and for a split second, I think he's going to make a run for it.

I keep my eyes trained on him as he finishes securing the doors... until the elevator on the opposite end of the cafeteria chimes.

The heavyset guy holding a camera looks absolutely horrified when the doors open and he sees a man pointing a gun at him.

A millisecond later, Kyle pulls the trigger and fires two bullets into his chest, causing his large body to drop between the elevator doors.

His entire life ended in the blink of an eye.

Kit starts sobbing hysterically and Landon staggers back over to us.

And Kyle, bastard he is, latches an arm around Kit's waist before he proceeds to drag her around the room like a toy.

“Now that that's all taken care of,” he says, fastening his grip on her.

Kit winces through her tears and my blood simmers because he's clutching her so tight there's no doubt he's hurting her.

Abruptly, he stops moving and zeros in on Landon. “You know, I'm not sure what to do with you.” He gestures to me and Kit with the gun in his right hand. “The bestie and the brother are valuable assets in my revenge plan. But you? You serve no purpose, which means you're dead weight in this scenario. Pun intended.”

His statement is so wrong it's almost comical. If he really wanted revenge against my brother and Breslin, Landon would be the perfect way to extract it, given they're both in love with him.

Christ, it's downright bemusing how unaware Kyle is. You'd think someone would have been more diligent and done their homework before going through with something so extreme.

Then again, the emotionally disturbed aren't known for being meticulous.

The gun in Kyle's hand shifts to Landon. “Which means you have to go.”

Fuck, that backfired with a vengeance.

“Wait,” I yell at the same time Kit does.

I need to know his endgame so I can figure out a way to get us out of here alive. “What do you want, Kyle? Tell us and we'll do it.”

“Unless you kill him,” Kit adds jutting her chin at Landon.

Kyle shrugs. “We're all gonna die today anyway. What's a few more minutes.”

As far as responses go, that one has to be the worst.

History has proven assassins and terrorists never fare well...because they always die along with their victims.

Nevertheless, I was hoping Kyle was delusional enough to think he'd end up getting whatever he wanted out of this ordeal. Like Asher telling him he loved him and promising they could live happily ever after, and in turn; he'd set us free.

But the fact that he's already accepted his own death...means we don't have a chance in hell of making it out of this room alive.

I swallow and it feels like acid going down my throat. “What exactly do you want before that happens?”

As usual, the gambler in me can't help but roll the dice.

A smile stretches across Kyle's face. “Call your brother and tell him about the little predicament you’re in. Make sure you put him on speakerphone so I can hear the agony in his voice as he pleads for your life.”

“Okay.” I inhale deeply. “I can do that, no problem. But first, can I ask you for a favor?”

To say he's surprised at my request would be an understatement. “What?”

If my life is about to come to an end...I want to pay my debts.

And I owe Kit far more than I owe anyone else.

Because for a few hours on a bridge one night...I knew what it felt like to have a genuine connection with another person.

And if I died three months ago...I never would have experienced that.

“Let me trade places with her.”

I know Kyle won't let her go, but at least now he won't be hurting her. Or holding a gun to her head.

Kit's glassy eyes widen and I'm not sure what to make of the look on her face.

Not until she gives me that angry scowl...and I bite back a grin.

She wouldn't be scowling if she wasn't angry, and she wouldn't be angry if she didn't care.

Kyle scratches his head with one of the guns, interrupting our little impasse. “Look, I'm not interested in whatever star-crossed lovers shit you two have—”

“We're not lovers,” Kit interjects. “I don't swing that way.”

I smirk—her proclamation affirms I've gotten under her skin too—and her scowl deepens.

Kyle rolls his eyes. “Christ almighty, I don't think you people understand the meaning of the words not interested or dead.” He sighs. “Fine, but no funny business. Make it snappy.”

When he shoves her forward, her eyes cut through me like a hot knife through butter.

“I owed you one,” I mumble as we exchange places.

She starts to respond, but Kyle holds the gun to my head and we start walking backward until we come to a stop near the elevator. “Call Asher.”

I pull out my phone and press the number for his speed dial.

“I was just about to call you,” Asher says through the speakerphone. “Don't go to Woodside today, there's a shooter on campus and the police called—”

My skull practically vibrates when Kyle hits me with the gun, urging me to talk. “Yeah, I know. Because Kyle Sinclair is currently holding me at gunpoint in the cafeteria.” I look at Kit. “Kit's here too and—” I look at Landon who's silently pleading with me not to say his name.

I wasn't planning to, considering Asher's reaction to that news would make Kyle go apeshit and shoot Landon.

I open my mouth to continue talking to Asher, but then Landon does something peculiar.

He subtly rolls the sleeve of his shirt up, almost like he's trying to communicate some secret message to me.

But the only interpretation I can draw from that action is he's preparing to do some work, which wouldn't make any sense.

Well, either that or he...

Holy fucking jackpot.

Landon has an ace up his sleeve.

“Yeah, that's pretty much the situation right now, brother.”

Asher's breathing turns ragged on the other line before he says, “Kyle, I know you're listening right now. Tell me what you want and I'll make it happen. I'm driving to the campus, I'll be there in less than five minutes. Let Preston and Kit go, they don't deserve this.”

There's muffled crying in the background and a voice that sounds like Breslin's chokes out, “Please, Kyle don't do this. Take me instead.”

“Tell that stupid bitch to shut the fuck up before I make her friend’s murder long and painful instead of quick and painless,” Kyle screams behind me and Kit goes rigid.

“You don't have to kill anyone,” Asher says. “We can work this out, I know we can. Talk to me about what's going on and tell me what you want. I'm listening.”

Kyle laughs maniacally. “You know, I thought killing Breslin would be enough. This way, I could make you both suffer for what you've done. Her for being a dumb trailer whore that took you from me, and you for still being obsessed with a dumb trailer whore when you know how much I love you.”

The irony of him calling someone else obsessed isn't lost on me as he continues, “I hid out in the cafeteria today hoping I'd spot her, because we all know that was Breslin's favorite place to hang out in high school and it was only a matter of time before she'd show up.”

He chuckles. “But then an opportunity presented itself and I thought to myself—Self, there's a better way to make them both pay. I can kill the two people they love the most. This way, you'll both have to live the rest of your lives with the agony of losing someone you love. Then maybe you'll know how I felt, because you'll feel that ache every moment of every day.”

“Kyle,” Asher says calmly. “That doesn't have to happen. I know you're hurting and I know you're upset. I get it. But it doesn't have to be like this, you can still have what you want. I'm standing in the parking lot of my dorm right now. Come and get me. I'm yours.”

“Too late for that now,” Kyle spits. “Do you hear that?”

The sound of sirens in the distance has my heart beating hard in my chest.

We're nearing the end of our rope.

“You had your chance, Asher. I loved you so much, but you blew it. Now it's game over. The only way any of us are coming out is in a body bag.”

Both Asher and Breslin start begging for our lives, which only makes Kyle even more irate and he begins shouting all sorts of vile things to them.

Jesus, this guy has so much rage, so much venom inside him.

Blood whooshes in my ears and the pain that slams into my rib cage is sharp and searing as I recall what I overheard Asher tell the police.

I know exactly why Kyle is the way he is.

The knowledge sits like the weight of a thousand bricks on my chest.

I look at Kit who's so distraught she's no longer paying attention to anything around her, and then at Landon who's focused on Kyle.

I once read some safety article that said if you were ever held hostage you should keep telling your assailant your name and some other things about yourself...because it forces them to acknowledge you're a person and not their pawn.

And while I don't think rambling off a bunch of fun facts will help any of us because Kyle's too far gone, and it will only make him angrier; I do think there's something I can tell him that he might identify with.

But that would require disclosing the one thing I'd rather die than ever tell another soul about. Literally.

My shoulders slump in defeat, because even if it meant saving my life...I can't do it.

The only thing I can do is hope that whatever Landon has up his sleeve will work.

It's probably the only time in my life that I wish I didn't have hope.

Because hope isn't solid, concrete, or tangible.

It's nothing more than an illusion we believe in because we hate our reality.

The goddamn irony of it all.

I walked into this cafeteria today with a heart full of hope and determination, even after my life went to shit...hoping to convince a girl who detests me to take a chance on whatever this thing was between us...whatever she was willing to give me.

But I got far more than I bargained for because it turns out that hope—the magical entity that always lingered deep in my soul, despite all the pain...can be fatal.

Kit Bishop. Her name carries a weight that wasn't there before.

She's the girl responsible for the reason I'm here, and the reason I'm going to die here.

I should hate her for this. Part of me wants to. But it's my fault for letting her impact me in the first place.

Landon's gaze locks with mine again and he turns his head to the left...silently motioning to the elevator that's a few feet away.

The one being held open by a corpse.

I'm pretty sure he's trying to insinuate the elevator is a good way to escape, given the cafeteria doors are all tied with bungees.

I raise an eyebrow at him. Although he's not wrong, I think he's failed to realize Kyle would shoot us before we'd ever make it inside.

It isn't until he looks at Kit who's still a shaking, sobbing mess—then at me again—before his eyes rest on the phone I'm holding up for Kyle...that I connect the dots.

It might work if Kyle was distracted. But the only way he would be distracted is if one of us attacked him, giving the other two a chance to run.

And the look in Landon's eyes tells me he's already stepped up to the plate.

I shake my head. That's not a motherfucking option. We're all in this together.

He narrows his eyes, but pink hair in my peripheral vision claims my attention.

Kit.

I don't want her to die.

I don't want Landon to die, either, but if I have to choose...

I choose her.

I choose us.

Fuck. My brother's never going to forgive me for this, but it's the only option.

Kyle's not going to spare our lives. Our death warrants were signed, sealed, and delivered the moment he stepped foot inside this cafeteria with a gun.

It's up to us to change our fate.

I take a deep breath and give Landon one final look. We have one chance at this, and our best course of action is to act now while Kyle's still preoccupied on the phone.

I don't want my brother to hear what's about to happen, so I slide my finger over the end call button...right before I drop it.

“Pick that up,” Kyle barks, like I hoped he would.

As I sink down to my haunches, I say a silent prayer that Landon knows how to throw a punch, and Kyle doesn't pull the trigger.

Everything happens so fast, it's all a big blur as Landon charges for Kyle and I maneuver away and run straight for Kit.

I hear Kyle howl in pain behind me, but it becomes background noise as I wrap my arm around Kit and proceed to drag her, kicking and screaming, toward the elevator.

My blood turns to ice and my heart pounds out of my chest when a bullet whizzes by my head.

She's still fighting me, so I have no choice but to pick her up and force her through the gap in the doors.

“Landon,” Kit cries out as I shove the dead body that's in my way to the side and step in.

The last thing I see right before the doors close is what appears to be an insulin needle stuck in Kyle's eye.

I start to smile because that was a bad ass move, but then Kit dives for the button panel like a lunatic. “Get out of the way, asshole. I'm not leaving him.”

I push her back. Landon's sacrifice won't mean a damn thing if those doors open and Kyle kills us too. “Are you out of your fucking—”

I'm cut off by the sound of bullets firing in rapid succession.

There are only four buttons on this piece of shit, including the emergency stop button, so I press the only one I can...the one for the floor above us.

“What's upstairs?”

Generally speaking, if there's an elevator, then there are stairs leading to the same destination.

I don't get a response from her, but it doesn't matter. We won't be getting off until I know it's safe. And since I'm almost positive Kyle's the last man standing, that won't be for a while.

I slam the stop button when we're between floors...and that's when a fist goes sailing into my jaw.

I'm too flummoxed to speak. I know she's upset, I get it. I don't like what happened to Landon either. But I don't understand why she's treating me like I'm some kind of villain.

If anything, I'm her hero. I was the one who tossed her ass in this elevator, despite her kicking and screaming.

“We have to help him!” She shoves me and when I don't budge, she pounces for the panel again. “I can't let him die. He's my friend.”

I place my hands on her waist, holding her in place. “Stop.”

She tries to knee me in the balls, but I twist before she can make contact. “Calm the fuck down, Bishop.”

“How could you do that to him?”

My heart tugs and I know the guilt I feel is something I'll carry around forever. “There was no other choice.”

“There's always a choice.” She points to herself. “I'm not the kind of person who leaves someone to die. I'm not—”

She collapses in my arms and sorrow wraps around me like one big cloak of grief.

God, my heart is so heavy. So heavy for what happened to Landon. The choice I was forced to make. So heavy for how it will destroy my brother. How it's already destroying Kit and making her relive what happened to her parents.

The worst part is, there's no way I can fix this. I can't lie and reassure her everything will be okay. I can't turn back time and refuse to go along with Landon's plan.

The only thing I can do is hold her as she falls apart. “I'm so—”

I don't have a chance to finish that sentence because she reaches around me and hits the button, causing the elevator to jolt back to life.

I don't know whether to be impressed or pissed.

I'll go with pissed. Pissed will keep us alive.

I punch the button and it shakes to a stop...and then I do the only thing I can do. For her safety and mine.

I back her into the wall, lock her wrists in my hand, and pin them above her head. “If Kyle kills us, then Landon will die in vain. He chose this, Kit. This is the plan he came up with. Get that through your fucking cerebellum and let it marinate, because I am not the bad guy here. I'm the guy who saw his chance and took it.”

Her body goes slack, her expression defeated. “I hate you.”

“Duly noted.”

Her chest heaves right before she lets out a scream. Or whatever's between a scream and a wail...all I know is that the sound shreds me.

But not nearly as much as when those tears come again. So much faster now. Only this time, they're mixed with giant waves of shivers that wracked her entire body, and with each ebb of the tide, she cries out for her mom and dad.

My God. I never knew a person could cry so hard. So severely.

It's like she's sobbing from the very depths of her soul. Falling apart piece by broken piece right in front of me.

Not only is it one of the most personal things I've ever witnessed. It's the saddest and most gut-wrenching.

I despise the things it does to me.

Her breathing speeds up, coming in short tattered bursts. I need to figure out a way to calm her down before she passes out.

I cup her face with my free hand. “I won my first poker game when I was twelve.” I wait for her to look at me before I go on. “My father had a few of his old football teammates over one night, and even though he told me I wasn't allowed in the room with them, I snuck in anyway.”

I run my thumb over her jawbone and she sucks in a breath. “He decided to teach me a lesson for disobeying him, so he made me sit down and play. If I won, I'd get whatever I wanted. But if I lost, I'd be grounded and confined to my room for the rest of the summer.”

Her eyes widen, and I continue. “The stakes were pretty steep, but to everyone's shock, including mine, I ended up winning. It was the first time I ever beat him at anything. The first time I ever truly felt like I won in life.”

I reach into my pocket and take out the small blue disk. “This was one of the chips from the winning pot that night. I took it when he wasn't looking, and since then, I've always considered it my lucky poker chip. I know most people will say there's no such thing as luck and that it's nothing more than an illusion, but I believe in it. I feel calmer and more in control of my life when I have it.”

She gasps when I slide the chip inside the pocket of her jeans. “Illusions aren't always a bad thing, Kit. Sometimes it's your mind's way of saving you when reality keeps trying to break you. A way of giving you something to believe in when you don't have anything left.”

I rest my hand on her hip. “Our reality sucks right now, and unfortunately for you, I don't know the first thing about comforting someone. But if you can pretend I'm not your mortal enemy and work with me, I'll do my best to get you through this. Deal?”

She gives me a small nod. “Deal.”

She looks like she wants to say something else but decides against it.

“What?”

“I...” She hesitates, looks down at her feet. “Breslin told me what happened to your father. I feel like I should apologize, but I know how horrible he—”

“Kit.” My voice is low, lethal. “I don't want to talk about it.”

“If you change your mind—”

“I won't.”

Not now. Not ever. Not with her or anyone else.

That mouth of hers starts to protest again, but I pin her with an icy stare, issuing her a final warning.

“Okay, fine. I'll drop it.”

Her gaze swivels around. “How long do you think we're going to be in here?”

“Not that long.” I look down the length of her body and tell my cock not to react. “Do you have your phone on you?”

She shakes her head. “It's in the cafeteria. Probably dead by now.”

She flinches, and I tamp down the urge to ask her why she never called me back.

It's not like it matters anyway. Her reaction to me showing up was loud and clear.

“Well, in that case, it could be hours. Maybe days.”

It's a cheap shot. I know she's scared and my ego is bruised.

Her eyes go big. “Days?”

“Worst case scenario.”

“What's the best case?”

“We walk out of here in one piece,” I deadpan.

She swallows. “Right.”

When she starts to tremble, I feel like a dick. I told her I'd get her through this and I'm doing the opposite and making it worse. I need to put my sour grapes aside before she has another meltdown.

“We'll be fine.”

Her stare ping-pongs around. “I'm feeling a little claustrophobic.”

I don't want to let go of her wrists because I don't trust her not to lunge for the button, so I tug down the zipper on her jacket. “Better?”

“Not really.” She looks up. “Mind giving me my extremities back?”

“That depends. Are you planning on punching me again?”

“Do you think I would tell you if I was?”

Can't argue with that logic. “Fair enough.”

I release her and she wastes no time schlepping her jacket off her shoulders before reaching for the hem of her sweatshirt.

Heat ripples down my back and settles in my cock when she pulls it over her head and I catch a sliver of her toned abdomen and belly button piercing.

“Preston?”

I'm so fixated on the hint of black ink peeking out above the waistband of her jeans, I almost don't hear her. “Yeah?”

“What if he finds us?” She cranes her neck, looking at something behind me. “He could climb the elevator shaft and find a way in. It's not like it would be that hard, there are only two floors in this building, including the cafeteria. It happens all the time in movies.”

I follow her frantic gaze to the blood on the floor and alter my stance, blocking her from looking at it. “He won't.”

She clutches her throat. “How can you be so sure? He's clearly a psychotic murderer who—”

I bring my finger to her lips, silencing her. “I won't let him kill you.”

She pales. “You can't promise something like that. And why would you in the first place? We're not even friends. And you left L—” Emotion clogs her throat. “I don't want to die.”

She's so vulnerable in this moment, so pliable. It chips away at the ice around my heart.

“You're right, I can't promise you that. But what I can promise is, I'll do everything I can to make sure we make it out of here alive. Both of us.” I frame her face with my hands, forcing her to look at me. “It's me and you, angry girl. Until the end, got it?”

She wraps her fingers around my wrists, holding me in place. “You make it sound like we're some kind of dynamic duo.”

I grin. “Who says we're not?”

She snorts. “If that's the case, I think you need a better sidekick. I'm kind of a pussy when it comes to dying.”

“I gave you my lucky poker chip, remember? So, if by some freak chance he finds us, you'll be okay.”

She smiles and even though her eyes are puffy and that black shit is smearing her cheeks, I'm awestruck by how gorgeous she is.

“You really believe in that thing, huh?”

“I'm a gambler, Kit. Superstition is our religion, casinos are our churches, and Lady Luck is the God we worship.”

The corner of her mouth tugs up. “I think you mean Goddess, given Lady Luck is a female and all.”

I smirk. “That she is. Makes getting down on my knees to pray a whole lot of fun.”

She makes a face. “Wow, even in the face of danger you still find time to be a perv.”

“Priorities, baby.”

She scowls. “Don't call me baby.”

There she is.

She crosses her arms with a huff and the logo on her t-shirt catches my attention. It's a hideous goat drinking coffee. “What's the deal with the ugly goat?”

She looks down. “That's not a goat, it's a llama. And he's not ugly.” The offensive bite in her tone is adorable. “I work at the Java Llama Cafe.”

“You have a job?” There's no point in hiding my surprise. “I thought your parents were billionaires and you got an allowance every month.”

She jabs a finger in my chest. “Okay, first—that was rude. And second—yes, I have a job.”

“Why? It's not like you need the money.”

“I went with Breslin when she applied. Figured it couldn't hurt.” She shrugs. “Plus, I hear it looks good on resumes. I'd like to do something more than shop my life away after I graduate. Especially since my Nanna keeps insisting on these—” She waves a hand. “Never mind, it's not important.”

The fact that she won't tell me proves otherwise. “What's not?”

She rolls her eyes. “Why would I tell you when I said it's not important?”

“I'm allergic to seafood.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “What?”

“I just told you something that's not important. Your turn.”

“Well, that's kind of important—”

“Why?” I blatantly run my gaze from her small and perky tits down to the curve of her hips and back again. “You planning on taking me out to dinner, Bishop?”

“Sure.” Her eyes narrow. “How does an all-you-can-eat seafood buffet sound?”

“Like something you'd really enjoy.”

Her mouth drops open in shock, and then she bursts into laughter. Not just ordinary laughter either. She tosses her head back and clutches her stomach, her small frame convulsing.

The girl laughs just like she cries...with every part of her.

I want to point out that it was more of an amusing retort than it was funny, but the sight of her looking so carefree steals my breath.

She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “You're a jackass, but I needed that.” Her expression goes slack. “You really want to know?”

I nod.

“My Nanna makes me go on dates with guys for money.”

“What?” I roar, causing her to jump.

Grandmothers are supposed to give you ugly sweaters and butterscotch candy, not pimp you out.

Then again, from what Kit told me, her grandmother is a real piece of work.

Anger rolls through me and all I can think about is finding that old geezer and giving her a piece of my mind.

Making her granddaughter sleep with men for money. That's some fucked-up shit.

“I think I understand why you told me your parents were rich now. Man, everything makes so much sense. No wonder you're a lesbian.”

Her brows furrow in confusion, but I hold up a hand. I don't want to judge her, but she needs to know she's better than this.

“Look, I know the money's good. And clearly you're very talented, given your expensive car and other perks. But you don't have to suck dick—”

“You think I'm a prostitute?” she screeches.

I blink. “Is that a trick question?”

Just how far down the rabbit hole is she?

She groans. “I don't have sex with them, you ass. I told you, I go on dates. In turn, she gives me my monthly allotment from my parents. I can't believe you thought I was a hooker.”

My shoulders rise in a shrug. “In my defense, I've never been on a date that didn't at least end in a hand job.”

“Right, well, there's none of that going on. The guys she chooses are sweet and respectable for the most part. Usually we just grab fast food and hang out.” She chews on her thumbnail. “It's a pretty simple arrangement. I go on a date with a guy of her choosing, I get my allowance. It's only once a month, so it's really not a big deal.”

“Except it is. Because she's forcing you to do something by manipulating you with your parents' money.”

She sinks against the wall. “I know. I guess I keep hoping she'll eventually get it. Give up trying to change me and accept me for who I am.”

“Is the money really that important?” When she gives me a look, I say, “No judgment here. Trust me, no one understands what a powerful aphrodisiac money is more than I do.”

“It's not about the money. I mean it is, but not because of monetary greed. The money is all I have left of them.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “And whenever she threatens to cut me off, I get scared. Like if I'm not careful, everything they left will slip right through my fingers and it will be like losing them twice.”

On some level, I can understand that. Although different reasons and circumstances entirely, the result is still the same.

She's not getting the money she rightfully deserves either, because someone else is in control of it.

People who deserve it far less than we do.

It's like a glimpse of what I can look forward to in the future.

I know my brother will gladly give me some of our father's money, that's not the issue. The issue is that it will come with his own contingencies and I'll be at his mercy. A lap dog to the rich and powerful NFL star.

Screw that noise.

I've already spent my life being controlled by a man I hate, and I'll be damned if I'm going to sit back and let it happen again. No matter who it is.

Kit shouldn't stand for it either. The money will be all hers in another four years. She should tell her grandmother to go get fucked and live her own life.

“Why do you put up with it? I know the money is your tie to them, I get it. But do you really think your parents would want you to accept the way she treats you?”

“I'd like to think they wouldn't but...” Her voice trails off and she bows her head.

“But what?”

Her eyes are glassy when she looks at me. “The more time that passes, the more things I forget about them. Like the sound of my dad's voice. Or what my mom's hands looked like.” She sniffs. “I'm fortunate I have a video and pictures to help me remember those things...but lately, I'm starting to forget the things that can't be captured. The things I won't get back. Like how soft my mom's skin was. Or how precisely she applied her lipstick.” Her voice cracks like crystal. “The way my dad used to hum to himself while he was coding on his computer. Or the robot skit he did whenever I'd wander into his office.”

She folds her arms around herself. “I'm beginning to think my uncle was right that night.”

The heartbroken look on her face makes my chest ache. “About what?”

“Remember when I told you I came home early from the Caribbean because I got into a fight with my Nanna?”

“I do.”

It was only a few days ago. Although now that I think about it, it feels longer.

Is that how it is when you meet someone who's supposed to be a permanent fixture in your life? Like actual time doesn't apply to your relationship because you feel like you've known them forever?

She wrinkles her nose. “Well, the reason we fought was because he showed up.”

“Shit.”

She gives me a tight nod. “I know. I haven't seen him in years, not since they pulled my parents out of the river, and he had the nerve to show up at my grandmother's condo like a king greeting his peasants. On the anniversary of my parents' death no less.”

She balls her fists. “Turns out she invited him. Meanwhile, he couldn't even be bothered to come to their funeral.” She makes a noise in the back of her throat. “Which is probably a good thing because I'm pretty sure I would have spit on him and caused a scene.”

Her lips pinch. “Needless to say, I lost my shit during dinner that night and ripped him a new one. I threw my drink in his face and threatened to stab him with a steak knife if he didn't crawl back under the rock he came from like the snake he is.”

Pride swells in my chest and I smile. “Atta girl.”

She doesn't return my smile. Instead, her shoulders hunch and her gaze draws inward. “She told me to leave. She chose him, just like I knew she always would.” A breath shudders out of her. “As I was packing my bags, he cornered me in my room.”

Instantly, I'm on alert. Like a guard dog ready to attack. “Did he hurt you?”

I'm all but foaming at the mouth, ready to draw and quarter the motherfucker like they did in the old days.

“No,” she says softly. “Not physically anyway.”

Dread coils my gut as I watch her try to get a handle on her emotions. “He told me I was crazy for thinking he had something to do with their deaths, and that I was just looking for someone to blame because I was angry. And to further drive his point home, he brought up the pilot...and the pictures.”

When I give her a questioning look, embarrassment floods her features. “I...um. I had a lot of issues when I was younger. I would flip out for no reason in school—attack my peers, teachers. Basically anyone and everyone for no real reason. And when I wasn't doing that, I was drawing pictures of the pilot. Violent and disturbing pictures. Pictures that scared people.” She clears her throat. “My personality did a complete one-eighty. I was no longer the happy and cheerful little girl that I used to be.”

My urge to defend her is instinctual. “Who could blame you?”

“That was pretty much everyone's standpoint for the first few years. Until my behavior became worse and I was kicked out of school. After that, I had a private teacher and my grandmother put me into therapy. My therapist informed us both that it wasn't normal for me to still be so triggered about what happened, and my unhealthy obsession with seeing the pilot suffer...was just that...unhealthy. I was put on a few mind-numbing medications that caused me not to feel anything, good or bad, and eventually—I stopped arguing with people and stopped drawing pictures. I was allowed back in school by the time high school started.”

Her words punch a hole through my chest and I wait for her to continue.

“My uncle brought all of that up when he cornered me. He told me it was proof I was mentally unstable and making things up in my head. He said I needed to get over it and move on because it happened so long ago. That there was no reason for me to still be mourning my parents when it's not like I even knew them to begin with.”

She curls her arms around her waist. “I can't help but think that maybe he's right. Maybe I am crazy. And maybe, I never really knew my parents in the first place. How could I? They died when I was eight. I turned twenty-one last month. They've been dead for more than half my life. And now that my memories are fading and I barely have any, it's almost like they never existed at all.”

She tucks her chin down and covers her face with her hands like she's trying to shield herself from a dangerous storm.

It breaks my goddamn heart.

“Kit.” I don't recognize my voice. There's a note of warmth in it that I've never heard before.

She looks at me through her fingers and our gazes clash.

Everything inside me stirs, sends me spiraling into unchartered territory.

The connection between us feels like a tangible thing. A stream of energy that you can reach out and touch. It's enough to knock me right off my feet.

But I won't let it. Because if she's headed for a crash, I want to be the one to soften her landing.

No, more than that. I don't just want to break her fall, I want to crash with her. This way, she never has to go through it alone.

I hold out my arms and her response is automatic. A gravitational force that pulls her to me like a magnetic tether. Permanently binding us.

The moment she's in my arms and all four of her limbs wrap around me, something changes.

For the most part, I tend to operate on supersonic speed—lights, colors, all sorts of stimuli whiz through my brain. It puts my body in a constant state of fight or flight as it desperately struggles to keep up with my impulsive need for more, more, more. The only time my neurons aren't firing rapidly is when I'm drunk or sleeping.

But right now? It's like my circuits have been regulated.

Kit doesn't drown out the noise, dull the colors or slow things down.

No. She centers me. Makes it easier to take everything in.

Like the smell of her hair. It's some kind of fruity mixture, maybe blueberry or raspberry. Whatever it is, it's intoxicating.

My hands slide down her lower back, stopping when I reach the little indents above her ass, and fuck me sideways because her skin feels like warm satin. So delicate and smooth.

It makes my heart shift into overdrive.

Or maybe not, because it's not my heart thumping wildly against my chest like a feral animal stuck in a cage.

It's hers.

It throws me for such a loop, I briefly forget the reason she's in my arms to begin with.

“You're not crazy.” I cup her cheek, waiting for her to look at me. “You're colorful and beautiful and unconventional. A unique blend of heart and fire that should never be diluted. A girl who's so imperfectly perfect, she steals my breath.”

Tears fill her eyes and she clutches me tighter.

“They existed,” I whisper when she lays her head on my shoulder. “I'm holding the evidence right here in my arms.”

And I don't want to let her go.

The seconds stretch between us for what feels like forever before she speaks. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

She sniffles. “For this. For not calling me a basket case. For saying the nice things you did.”

I want to tell her she never has to thank me for that, because I meant what I said, but she lifts her head.

I'm not sure what to make of the expression on her face.

“I have to ask you something important and I need you to tell me the truth.”

“Not a problem.”

“Are you still with Becca?”

I shake my head so hard I'm surprised it doesn't detach from my body. “No.”

She eyes me skeptically. “You swear?”

I meet her stare. “On my life. We are over. So over I'm gonna have to find a way to resurrect the ancient Egyptians so they can invent some new hieroglyphics for the word.”

“Are you sure—”

“Finito.”

“So you don't have any—”

“Niet.”

“Okay, because s—”

“Caput.”

“Preston.”

“Persona non-fucking-grata, Kit. We're done.”

Relief flashes across her face. “So it's really true then. God, I was so worried you two were still together and I was some kind of homewrecker. Or worse, that you still had feelings for her and we—”

I cut her off because I need her to believe me. Especially now that she's made it clear she wants to pursue whatever this thing is between us just as much as I do.

“You have nothing to worry about. In fact, part of the reason I came here today was so I could tell you we were over.” I tip her chin. “Believe me, the only feelings I have for her are the murderous kind. If I never see her again in my lifetime it will be too soon.”

Her eyes narrow into tiny slits. “Won't that be a little difficult considering she's—”

“Still living with me?” I grind my molars. “Yeah, not for long. I'll be getting rid of that succubus and her bastard baby for good.”

Kit's mouth drops open and she frantically motions for me to put her down.

The moment I do, she shoves me. “What the fuck, Preston? Becca told me how bad you treated her last night, but it's so much worse than I thought.”

Her statement roots me to the spot and I shake my head, certain I must have misheard her.

Right as I open my mouth to ask her what the hell is going on, an authoritative voice shouts, “Police!”