I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. No—I refused to believe it. It couldn’t be true, because that would mean Maggie hadn’t been honest with me. Not that I’d been completely straightforward with her, either, but at least I hadn’t taken advantage of her and left her with nothing. Which was exactly what she’d done to me—left me emptyhanded.

Sitting in the back corner of the dimly lit motel bar, I stared over the tabletop at an empty, cracked, red-patent leather bench and tried to understand how I could’ve possibly missed the signs. How she could’ve done this. And more importantly, how I never saw it coming.

I pictured her hooded, sapphire eyes, wondering if they had mesmerized me, obscured the ugly truth that lived within her. Then I recalled how they’d transformed into a hypnotic, powder-blue color when she laughed, and how they squinted more than normal when she smiled. If it wasn’t her eyes that had cast a spell on me, then it was the prominent Cupid’s bow in her top lip, the deep V that came to two sharp points before sloping down on both sides and settling into the corners. Glossy, bare, colored…it didn’t matter. Her mouth had a way of stealing my attention…and every thought from my head.

The one part of her that didn’t scream angelic innocence were her eyebrows. They were perfectly arched, radiating deviousness, like she was up to no good. When she looked at me, sadness filling her eyes, they’d begged for safety. Safety I thought I could provide. When she was excited, they rose high on her forehead as if in celebration. Although, they were the most telling when she slept. Sometimes, they’d knit together, protecting her from whatever nightmare played in her mind. And other times, such as when she was asleep in my arms, they were relaxed, almost smiling.

That’s what gutted me most. How even then, while asleep, she’d managed to fool me.

Maggie was like a shot of heroin—offering the promise of better things, yet full of lies.

Not only was she addictive, I would’ve done anything for her. Anything. It’d taken one taste and I was hooked. In two days, she’d become my drug of choice and turned me into a junkie. And now, as I stared at an empty seat, alone and betrayed, I understood what addicts must’ve felt like when they woke up and realized their stash was gone.

Anger.

I was so pissed I could’ve punched a wall. In fact, I had to fist my trembling hands under the table to keep from following through with those overwhelming desires. My brows were pulled so tightly together that my forehead ached, and I clenched my jaw with enough force I could’ve broken a molar. In the last two days, Maggie had saved me from this all-consuming, fiery rage. And now…she was the cause of it.

Desperation.

No matter how ticked I was, a large part of me was desperate to find out why. Why she did this to me. Why she’d leave tonight of all nights. Why she didn’t feel like she could be honest when all I’d done was show her support—regardless of what I had learned about her. The answers wouldn’t make it right, but at least I’d stop questioning every aspect of our time together. Right now, I’d make a deal with the devil just to hear her explanation—no matter what she had to say or how it’d make me feel.

Anxiety.

Sitting idle only ensured she’d get even farther away. I should’ve jumped up and gone after her the moment I noticed my keys and phone were no longer on the table. Except I couldn’t move. At first, I worried if she was okay. Then the reality of the situation hit me, and apprehension set in. She’d stolen my car, my phone, and left me with nothing other than a motel room and a nearly empty wallet. And thanks to her, I was in an unfamiliar town with no way to get home. My hands shook the longer I stayed seated, and I had no idea what to do next.

Physical pain.

I had so many thoughts, fears, and questions running through my mind at lightning speed that my head pounded. My shoulders were stiff, and my forearms burned from the tightly coiled muscles. Mindlessly, I’d bounced my knees so much that my thighs were on fire, as if I’d just run a marathon. And my palms stung from the edges of my nails digging into the flesh of my balled, hard fists.

And still, nothing hurt as bad as my chest.

The punch of her betrayal had knocked the air from my lungs and left me winded. And her departure felt like a shotgun had gone off and obliterated my heart, filling me with holes.

I grabbed her phone off the table and slid out of the booth, slipping the cell into my pocket. Even though it was pointless, I took one last look at the bench she’d occupied before she headed for the bathroom to wash up. I knew her backpack wouldn’t be there, but I had to be certain. Once I realized the seat was completely empty, I ducked to check below the table in the event it’d fallen to the floor. And just like my brain tried to tell me, it wasn’t there, either.

She seriously left me with nothing.

Again, hope kept me moving. It took me outside toward the parking lot, whispering words of encouragement in my ear that Maggie had just gone to the room to change, or had to get something out of the trunk. It sang promises against my chest that I’d get out there and find my car exactly where I’d left it, and all this would be something Maggie and I would laugh at in a few minutes.

Needless to say, Hope was a hateful, lying bitch.

The spot I’d parked my blue, 1969 Oldsmobile 442 sat empty—just like the bench across from me at the booth. Other than her phone, it was like Maggie didn’t exist. As if I’d made her up in my head. Like the last two days were a figment of my imagination and I hadn’t just spent the best moments of my life with someone who saw me for me—something I never believed was possible.

A cool breeze ran over my arms. It reminded me that she’d even taken my jacket. And that thought caused a burning rage to ignite within my chest before spreading throughout my entire body. My ears rang and my face flamed, proof of my blood pressure spiking. Fury clenched my fists even tighter than before and caused my breaths to become ragged, harsh…livid. My boots scuffed along the sidewalk in front of the parking lot as I continued to walk. Blinding hatred filled me until its weight prevented me from taking a step without dragging my feet.

I couldn’t hear anything around me.

I couldn’t see past the fear and rage clouding my vision.

And the moment I was surrounded by the brilliant flashes of blue and red, I couldn’t move.

I was trapped, and there was no way out of it this time.

All thanks to Maggie Abrams.

One thing was for sure—she’d never get away with this.