I Stole His Car (Love at First Crime # 1)- Jessica Frances(ang.)

I Stole His Car Love at First Crime #1

By Jessica Frances

All rights reserved. Copyright ©2017 Jessica Frances This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited. http://www.facebook.com/pages/Jessica-FrancesAuthor Cover Design by MGBookcovers Editing by C&D Editing

Dedicated to my granddad, An absolute gentleman who is missed every day.

Table of Contents Title Copyright Dedication Synopsis Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Epilogue Note to Readers Where to find Author More Works by Author

I Stole His Car (Love at First Crime, #1) She stole his car, so he stole her heart… I saw something I never should have seen. I took something they wanted back. I was desperate. Alone. Hunted. So, I did something I never would have normally done. I stole a car. Not just any car. His car. Now I have no choice but to trust him. Only he can help me get out of this mess. Then, when we both become hunted, And when feelings begin to complicate things, Can I still count on his protection? Can I trust what is happening between us to be real? Because, as some people say: there is nothing

quite like love at first … crime.

Chapter 1 I glance around myself nervously, anxious over being out in public and worried that someone is watching me. I feel scrutinized, my entire body one tense ball of stress. Even though it is almost May, the weather is a little on the warmer side than what is average for Chicago, meaning I should still be wrapped up in warm clothes. However, I’m sweating badly and feel overheated as adrenaline pumps through my body. I have never done anything illegal in my life. I have never even returned a library book late. Okay, I also don’t think I ever borrowed a library book, but still! No criminal record, nothing in my life needing to be covered up. I not only have a clean record, but an equally clean conscience.

Until now. Because, now I am contemplating stealing a car as a means of escaping the hell I find myself trapped in. And given my lack of criminal history, how exactly am I supposed to steal a car? I doubt there is a book labeled Stealing Cars for Dummies. Even if there is a book that helpful, I certainly can’t afford it in my current situation. But, I’m stuck. In my attempt to remain hidden and safe, I can’t keep travelling everywhere on foot, constantly dodging into alleyways and crouching behind parked cars. Any sort of public transportation I have attempted has been a bust. I have been to several different bus and train stations, only to find familiar faces searching for me. Not to mention all the cameras they have in those places. It is way too easy to track me. Hoping I can simply be lucky enough not to be seen is a sure way to get caught. I can’t go home. Ideally, I would have some friends my ex-boyfriend Brian doesn’t know about, or long-lost family with a safe house that is off the grid, but I don’t.

In fact, I have no one I can rely on. And that is entirely my own fault. I have been too wrapped up in myself to even consider branching out enough to make more connections. What twenty-four-year-old resides in one of the most populated cities in America yet has no close friends? Me, apparently. The few I have, who aren’t just friends through Brian, I only speak to via chatrooms and email. I should probably have some sort of physical friendship to show for in my life that wasn’t gained purely because of my boyfriend. Regrettably, the only thing likely considered normal for a twenty-four-year-old, which I did have up until recently, was a boyfriend. Three days ago, though, I discovered that was anything but normal. So, now I’m a twenty-four-year-old woman on the run, who has no home she can go to and no friends or family to rely on. What the hell am I supposed to do? I’m not sure I am skillful enough to survive on the run, and I certainly am not capable to handle the information I found out about Brian. But I have to

at least try. Therefore, I need transportation that isn’t traceable to me. I glance around the quiet parking lot in front of me. There are many parked cars. Plus, the immediate area and the main street leading past isn’t busy. There is only one reason people are parking here at seven-thirty on a Wednesday night —the strip joint open across the road. From where I am crouching, I can see anyone approaching. The too small parking lot on the side of that building is full. All the other buildings, plus this side of the street are closed for the night. Therefore, this is an ideal place to steal a car. And chances are, the car I steal will have an owner who will be occupied for a while, giving me more time to get away. It isn’t like I haven’t tried to avoid this. Public transport is out, I don’t have enough money for a taxi, and my own vehicle is stranded at a police station that I can’t go back to since they definitely have cameras there, and no doubt it is being monitored for any sign of me. I did attempt to hitchhike. The vehicle that stopped happened to be

a rundown looking van. The creepy guy who eyed me up and down several times before smirking and offering me a lift set off several internal alarm bells. Safe to say, I declined his offer. So, here I am, in a deserted parking lot, looking at a bunch of cars, and wondering if I can possibly steal one. Morally, I can get past it, purely because of my dire situation. Desperate times call for desperate measures. If I ever get out of my shitty situation, I will write the person an apology note and a check for whatever inconvenience I have caused them. My issue now is that I have no idea how to break into a car. Where do I even begin? In the back of my mind, I suddenly hear a soft bass pumping through me, driving up my adrenaline. It matches my heartbeat. I can’t tell if it is helping or hindering my ability to think. If I can’t do this delicately, then maybe I need to just bite the bullet and smash a window. There most likely isn’t going to be an alarm on the older cars. Besides, I’m in a less than stellar neighborhood. I bet car alarms are a dime a dozen

in Englewood. Especially if I wait for the sun to set, which should be less than an hour away now. Then the music in my mind changes to something softer. I don’t understand why that is. In fact, why the hell do I have music playing in my mind at all? Sure, I love music, but I have never had unfamiliar tunes stuck in my head before. I’m embarrassingly slow to notice that the music is real, and not a figment of my crazy brain. I guess I’m not yet losing my mind, just brain cells. Not sure if this is a good idea or not, but drawn to the music, I make my way slowly through the parked cars, keeping low to the ground and checking the entrance of the strip joint every few steps to make sure no one is approaching. By the time I reach the car where the music is coming from, no one has exited the building and the stillness in the air helps me believe I’m alone out here. The car has a window open, and a quick glance inside reveals it’s empty. What kind of idiot would leave their keys in the ignition with their music

playing? I have been trying to psych myself up to steal a car in this area for at least half an hour. This car was already here when I arrived, so where is the owner? Did they just forget to do something as normal as take their keys out of the ignition? It’s like they want it to be stolen. Could this be a trap? Some sort of awful TV show where you are caught committing a crime on camera? Certainly no one is stupid enough to leave their car like this, not in this neighborhood, or anywhere in this day and age. Am I just seriously this lucky? Does the world feel a little bad about the shit hand it just dealt me, so it is trying to make it up to me by gift wrapping this car for me? I would be an idiot to walk away from this, right? In fact, I might be doing this person a favor by taking their car. They can learn a seriously valuable lesson from this. Don’t leave your keys in the car and your window down! The music changes again, this one to

something grungy. I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. It is time to make a decision. My hand shakes as I reach for the door handle, darting a glance inside the car and finding it a little messy. There is a large tartan rug bunched up on the passenger seat, hanging halfway onto the floor, a few books and pencils on the backseat, and a backpack on the driver’s seat, with a half-eaten sandwich sitting on top. Not exactly what I expected to see inside a nice car. Then again, if the owner is on the younger side, then perhaps that might explain why they are stupid enough to leave their car unlocked, with keys inside, and an open window alerting passersby to their idiocy. I touch the door handle and take a deep breath, trying to calm myself as I glance over the hood of the car and see a man approaching. He looks like one of Brian’s friends. I could be wrong, since I only see him for a few milliseconds before I duck down. Fear is a powerful motivator that propels me

into action. I rip open the door, throw the bag and the sandwich haphazardly onto the backseat, and plonk myself down heavily, causing the car to rock. I turn the keys to get the engine running and, within seconds of opening the door, I am exiting the parking lot and making my way out onto the road, heading in the opposite direction of the man who looks too familiar. I have met a lot of Brian’s friends over the years, and not once did I feel the need to fear any of them. But now I know better. For one brief moment, I breathe in the cooling air that hits my face and feel a second of relief. I did it. I not only got away from Brian’s man, but I’m out on the open road. My chances of escape just improved. Then, the next second, I realize that I fucked up. Massively fucked up. Epically fucked up. Have I ever done something so stupid before in my life? Well, besides deciding that dating Brian

was a good idea, that is. Because, I haven’t just stolen a car, but I have also kidnapped a child! Under all that tartan, lying next to me, is a young boy! He pushes his arms out of the blanket, surprising the hell out of me and almost forcing me to swerve off the road. I’m even more shocked to see him staring at me in curiosity instead of fear. I open my mouth a few times to speak, but no words come out. I want to assure him that he’s safe, that I’m not a bad person, and this is all just a crazy misunderstanding. Unfortunately, my voice has momentarily deserted me. All I can manage to do is turn the music down low. Music that I am slow to realize this kid must have turned on. He was obviously already in the car when I walked into that parking lot. He likely decided he wanted to listen to the radio, which is why I never heard the music earlier. How could I be so stupid? Finally, he nods, seemingly coming to some sort of conclusion about me.

“You are in so much trouble,” the kid tells me on a smile, clearly not at all concerned that I kidnapped him. He pulls himself up into the seat better, his butt no longer hanging off the edge as he must have been seated in a position only a child could find comfortable. Then he shoves down the blanket that was covering him completely until it is by his feet. “What are you doing in here?” I finally manage to squeak out. “Me? What are you doing in here? And where are you taking me?” He crosses his arms over his small chest. I again glance over his small stature, his messy dark curls, and innocent baby blue eyes. “I asked you first!” I cry, trying to collect my scattering thoughts. What am I supposed to do? I can’t kidnap a kid! Stealing a car is one thing; taking a child is a line I cannot ever cross. “Well, I was supposed to be doing my homework,” he answers, shrugging one shoulder. “I decided I was due for a nap.”

“Do you know how dangerous that is? You can’t leave your windows down and sit in a car alone in that neighborhood!” “Why?” He sounds genuinely confused by this. “Why? Why?” Okay, I sound hysterical now. Time to tone it down. “I think where we are right now is proof of why that is a terrible thing.” “Where we are? You mean, because we’re near Hamilton Park?” “What?” I wonder over his reference before shaking my head. I need to get back on track. “No! I mean, because I am a stranger and I’m alone in a car with you.” “Oh. Are you here to hurt me, then?” Again, he doesn’t sound scared. I wonder if there is something wrong with him. What child wouldn’t be terrified right now? Does this happen often enough that he considers it normal? “No! Of course I’m not going to hurt you!” I assure him as I try to stop myself from pulling my hair out. What am I going to do now? With my window down, the air is cold, but I’m afraid to wind it back up since I’m pretty sure the

only thing keeping me from panicking completely is the air pummeling my face. It feels a little like I’m being slapped. Without it, I fear I will faint, freak out, or just stop breathing altogether. Also, I haven’t bathed in several days. I’m certain I don’t smell well. “Then, what is the big deal? I mean, you’re pretty small. I could fight you.” He says this cockily. My mouth drops open. “I’m sorry, but you’re a child. A child could not beat me.” I sound indignant and know part of the reason is because I have seen kids these days. Some of them are built like tanks, while I am scrawny and weigh less than a hundred and twenty pounds. I would be no match for those kids. This kid, though, looks like he is short and definitely scraggy. I’m sure I could take him. I think … Oh shit, what if even this small child could beat me? What hope do I have against Brian if I can’t even make this kid muster up any sort of fear when I have accidentally kidnapped him?

“I definitely could beat you in a fight. You want to see?” he offers coolly, maybe even sounding a little excited. I guess he’s confident. No one is excited if they think they are going to lose. “No!” I shout as my mind scrambles again. I consider what my options are. They do not look good. I have to turn back. I have to take this kid back … Back where? What was he doing alone in a car at night, anyway? “Whatever,” he mumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. “So, what do you want with Zander’s car, anyway?” “Who is Zander?” I ask as my mind races. I can’t take him back to an empty parking lot. He wasn’t under supervision there, and a child needs someone looking out for them, especially close to nighttime in a not-so-safe neighborhood. “He’s my brother.” “And how old is your brother?” I think of an equally scrawny boy, older than this kid by only a couple years. I’m certain, having zero knowledge or care about cars, that this one is a nice car. How did

his brother afford it? “He’s old.” He pulls a face while I consider what age this kid thinks is old. When I wave my hand for him to continue, he rolls his eyes at me. “He’s twenty-eight.” He pulls a face like he can’t even believe people can be so old. This surprises me, since I expected much younger, and it annoys me because twenty-eight is not old. “How old are you?” I enquire, already guessing his age to be around ten. “Twelve, almost thirteen!” He sounds a little proud about that. I suppose he’s likely small for his age, or I’m just way off since I don’t spend any time around children. “You have a big family?” “No.” He looks down at his lap now, his once calm features twisting as a cloud settles over him. Okay, not sure what that is about. “And this Zander just left you alone for you to do your homework?” I ask to confirm. Where are his parents? Do they know of their

sons’ whereabouts? “Yeah, he usually does that. I don’t like to go in there.” The dark cloud remains over him, and his eyes almost look watery. Is he going to cry? Shit, what can of worms have I opened now? Can I really blame him? The only place open in that area is the strip joint, which is no place for a twelve-year-old. Besides, I’m positive it would be illegal to allow him entry. “Well, I think your brother sounds like a right tool-bag,” I say, unwilling to use a swear word in front of him. Tool-bag is appropriate language for a twelve-year-old, right? The kid smiles at me, his hunched shoulders straightening a little. “Yeah, he is a tool-bag. A big, giant, pain-in-the-ass tool-bag.” Okay, is ass a swear word? Where are the rules on this written? “I take it you don’t like him much, then?” I mumble, aimlessly driving around. I don’t know this area very well, add in my jumbled thoughts and I’m completely lost. How can I return the kid if I

don’t even know where I am going? Shit, can I mess this up any more than I already have? What is wrong with me? “I hate him.” His eyes narrow as he says this, and I sense his body vibrating with anger. “Hate is a strong word.” “I know.” His confident response is a reminder of how young he really is. You can be so decisive and confident when you are young. You don’t have to overthink things, or worry about consequences, or have any selfdoubt. Many things are just so black and white. “He hates me, too,” he confesses, pulling at my heartstrings painfully just thinking about how anyone could hate this kid. I hesitate to ask the question, sensing there won’t be a nice answer, but I need to know what I’m dealing with. “What about your parents?” He glances out the window, tightening his arms around his middle, going back to hunching over himself. That cloud from earlier has returned with a full-blown storm. “It’s okay, you don’t have to answer that.” I

don’t want to be the reason he’s in pain, but if his brother really was happy to just abandon him to go to a strip joint, and his parents aren’t around or in a good place, either, then what am I supposed to do? I have gotten myself into a huge mess. I am nowhere near equipped to handle this. “They died a few months ago. Zander took me in after that.” His voice is barely a whisper. I only heard it because the music, which is still quietly playing in the background, was paused between songs. “I’m sorry to hear that.” I want to reach out and comfort him, but I’m still too much of a stranger to do that. “And sorry to hear you don’t get along with Zander. Does he often leave you alone in cars to do your homework?” “He says it isn’t safe to leave me at home alone.” My eyebrow rises as I consider how idiotic that reasoning is. It’s not safe for him at home, yet it’s safe for him to be alone in a parking lot while he’s watching women strip? “Well, I am going to have to take you back,” I

tell him, wondering if I should just drop him off at a police station. That will show this Zander person how irresponsible he clearly is. Maybe it might scare some sense into him. How is he able to care for a twelve-year-old? Can I trust myself to get close to a police station, though? What if they see me? Things didn’t go well before when I was in one. And if they see me, then they will see this car, so driving it anywhere would be pointless. “No! Please don’t! I don’t want to go back to Zander,” he begs, his bottom lip quivering. “Does he …?” This is a hard question to voice. “Does he hurt you?” He stares at me for a while. I get the feeling he’s sizing me up. Maybe seeing if he thinks he can trust me. Then he finally shakes his head, looking annoyed to be doing so. “No,” he grumbles, turning his head to stare out the window again. In its reflection, I see him pouting as he glares at the passing scenery, his almost tears gone. “Does he call you names?” I try to guess where his anguish comes from.

“Just my own,” he replies cryptically, which reminds me that I don’t have a clue what this kid’s name is. That probably should have been one of the first questions I asked. “What is your name?” “Van,” he says on a sigh. “My name is Ava. Nice to meet you.” I give him a small smile and try not to feel too selfconscious when he just stares blankly back. “So, then, why don’t you like Zander?” I get us back on track as I make another left. Am I driving around in circles? “Because!” he suddenly barks. For a moment, I think that might be all he says. I know I used that line a few times to “win” an argument when I was a kid. It never really worked, though. “He is strict and mean, and nothing I do is right, and I’m never good enough, and I hate him. I wish he died instead of Mom and Dad.” I’m stunned by his outburst and saddened by his words. I don’t know much about Zander, and what I do isn’t great, yet I feel some sort of need to

reassure Van that I’m sure things aren’t as bad as they seem. Life has a funny way of making a situation feel worse than it is when you are in the moment. Although, I can’t say that works for my own situation. I don’t think any length of time will make the situation I’m trapped in seem any less awful. Still, it’s worth a shot if it makes Van feel less shitty about his brother, right? “I’m sure Zander is trying his best.” “Well, for once, his best isn’t good enough. He’s the failure this time.” I almost hear a penny dropping as this piece of information clicks into place. “Is he one of those annoying siblings who is perfect at everything they do?” I ask, getting a better picture of who Zander might be to Van. “He was always Mom and Dad’s favorite. I was never as good as him. I always came second,” he rants. I hold back mentioning that it is a bit hard to beat someone who is sixteen years older than you. Van likely needs to feel like someone is on his side.

“I was the same. My older sister got to have everything first. She got perfect grades, had a perfect boyfriend, and nothing I did ever measured up to her,” I tell him. Van looks up at me. I can tell he is at least a little relieved to know he’s not the only one with a too-perfect sibling. “Is she your parents’ favorite?” “I used to think she was.” “But, let me guess, you now know it is all in your head, and you’re going to tell me I’m overreacting. And you are sure my parents loved us both equal amounts,” he grumbles, telling me he’s definitely heard that before. “No, I’m not going to say that. I have a feeling she really was their favorite. Or, at least, she was our mom’s. Our dad ran off when I was young. I don’t remember him much.” I have apparently stunned Van with my answer, so I take this moment to redirect the conversation. “I know you don’t want to go back to your brother, and I can’t say I want to take you, either, since it means returning you to that seedy neighborhood, but I can’t afford to keep you with

me any longer. I am already in some serious trouble, and adding a kidnapping charge is not going to make my life any easier.” “You’re in trouble?” He seems to perk up at that, letting go for a moment that he is trying to get me to not take him back. “You could say that.” I barely hold in my snort that tries to follow those words. Understatement of the year. Silence follows my words. I wonder what Van is thinking. Not that it matters. I need to figure out how to get back to that parking lot, and since I’m unfamiliar with this area, I don’t hold a lot of hope in succeeding. “You don’t seem like a car thief,” he finally says, back to looking me over carefully. “Though your clothes are dirty.” His observation embarrasses me. Being on the run for three days hasn’t allowed for a change of clothes. It has barely allowed me any sleep or food. “I’m just in a little trouble. Nothing you have to worry about,” I attempt to assure him. I don’t believe it myself, so I doubt it comes across as

truthful. “Why did you need to steal this car?” he presses. Because I’m in serious trouble. Because I can’t trust the people I should be able to. Because, if I’m caught, then I am positive my death will soon follow. I don’t say any of this to him. Instead, I glance down at the time on the dashboard to see it is close to eight at night. Soon, it will be pitch-black outside. How much longer until Zander notices his car and brother are missing? What if he’s in the parking lot right now, completely freaking out? “I took this car because someone is after me,” I murmur. When his eyes light up with curiosity, I quickly shut that down. I shouldn’t have said anything. “How about I tell you after we talk to your brother? If he’s noticed you’re missing, then I need to make sure he hasn’t called the police.” “Zander can help you with your problem,” Van offers confidently, nodding as if confirming his own words.

“I somehow doubt that.” “He runs his own P.I. business. He has for years.” A little pride leaks into his voice. “Oh really? And is he working on a case where a suspect is visiting a strip joint?” I snidely reply. “Huh? You mean the place across the road? Why would he be there?” Van sounds genuinely confused. “What do you mean?” I begin to feel uneasy. “If he’s not there, then where is he?” “Working in his office.” Van’s tone sounds like he wanted to end that with a “duh.” “His office?” My eyes widen as that implication sinks in. “Yeah, it’s in front of the parking lot you took me from.” Took implies kidnapped, which I don’t love. But, is that what I am now? A car thief and a kidnapper? “But all the lights were off,” I jump to argue. There were no signs of life in any of those buildings to suggest I was reading this wrong. That area was dead, and the car looked empty. Leaving a kid

alone in a bad neighborhood must be equally as bad, right? “They turn the front lights off once Sasha leaves. She’s the receptionist. His office is in the back. He had to go back in to talk to a client and get some papers, or whatever,” Van drawls. Clearly, this news is incredibly boring to him. “Why don’t you do your homework in there, then?” He shrugs, no longer looking at me as he stares down at his hands in his lap. Okay, obviously a touchy subject. “Shit,” I hiss. Then, realizing that is a swear word, I quickly add “vers” to it. Given Van’s smile, I’m not fooling him. Forgetting my curse slipup, I consider what Van’s words mean. I have had this entire situation wrong from the beginning. “Do you have a cell phone I can use?” He nods, undoing his seatbelt to search his backpack that I threw into the backseat. Once he has it, he hands it over to me. I pull over, still having zero clues about where

we are, and hand the phone back to get him to unlock it. “Can you get your brother’s number up? I want to talk to him.” When he hands me back the phone, I see the name written on the phone isn’t Zander like I assumed it would be, but Asshole. Not a good start. “I might need a map to get you back to him,” I mutter, connecting the call and placing it against my ear to hear it already ringing. I turn the music down until it’s basically nonexistent. “I know my way back,” Van mumbles, crossing his arms again as he watches me, annoyance clearly winning out over anger or hope. When Zander finally answers the phone, I get even more insight into Van’s life and his hatred for Zander. “What now?” a voice snaps at me. I glance over at Van, wondering if that is seriously how his brother greets him. I almost want to lecture this Zander about it, but I remind myself that, not only am I a stranger and it’s none of my business, I also need to

remember that I have currently kidnapped this man’s brother. I should likely give him a break. “Hi, my name is Ava, and I am currently with your brother. I just want to assure—” “You’re with him? What has he done now?” Zander cusses. I narrow my eyes slightly, feeling annoyance at his attitude toward Van, who appears perfectly sweet to me. “He hasn’t done anything.” I glance over at Van and see his eyes narrowing as he pouts at the dashboard. “There has just been a little misunderstanding. I’m bringing him and your car back now.” “My car? Wait, what the fuck is going on? Did he take my car?” he growls down the line, his accusatory tone annoying me. “No, I did!” I quickly snap, wincing at myself for admitting that. This guy would have been less likely to call the cops if he thought Van stole his car. “You did? Who the fuck are you again?” Zander yells into my ear.

“My name is Ava. I’m bringing both back to you now.” I try to find my calm and remain matter of fact, but inside, my heart is racing. I’m not sure if it is from nerves, anger at Zander, or both. “And I’m calling the police! Put Vaughn on the phone right this second!” I gulp loudly, knowing that begging to leave the police out of this won’t help matters. Then I hand the phone over to Van and glance out the window to stare at the packed pizza place down the road. I can’t remember the last meal I ate before all this happened. God knows I have barely eaten anything since. If I had enough money, I would jump out and grab a slice, especially since it sounds like this might be my last meal. “What?” Van grumbles into the phone, his glare getting fiercer as he listens to whatever Zander says to him. “No! If you call them, I’m going to tell them that I don’t want to live with you anymore,” Van cries into the phone. I wonder what Zander is saying to get him so upset. “Don’t call me that!” he screams into the

phone then throws it at the windshield. I halfexpect it to either smash the phone or the windshield. It does neither. However, Van doesn’t make any attempt to pick it up, either. “You okay?” “No,” he snaps. I hesitate to ask, but I can’t leave it at that. “Want to talk about it?” “I hate him!” he cries, his outburst momentarily shocking me. I let that hang in the air for a bit, not sure how to respond. In the end, Van carries on so I don’t have to. “He thinks he knows everything, and that he’s so perfect. Well, he doesn’t know everything, and he’s not perfect!” “No one is perfect,” I say gently. “And no one in the world knows everything.” “Yeah, well, my parents thought he was perfect.” “I think parents usually have blinders on when it comes to their kids,” I explain carefully. This isn’t an easy discussion, given I never met them.

However, I’m pretty sure this is rather universal to most kids with siblings. “They didn’t love me like they loved him,” he whispers like he’s telling me a confession. My heart tugs again as I wonder over how much I feel for this kid, only having known him less than an hour. “My older sister was perfect, too. Our mom adored her. Growing up, I always knew they had a special connection. People say being the youngest makes you special because you’re their last everything. But I think it’s much more special to be their first. It’s a connection we can never compete with.” Van nods in agreement before fully catching on to what I said, proving to be a sharp kid. “Why do you say she was perfect? What happened to her?” Now my heart pulls for a different reason. I never talk about this, but maybe something good can come out of this story. If I am to be caught soon, then at least I can say I did something helpful with my life, even if it was just something small.

“She died a few years ago. She was mugged and shot; killed for the thirty-eight dollars in her purse.” I sound robotic, but I can’t bring emotion into it. If I do, then I might cry. If I cry, then this whole situation will overwhelm me, and then I will be a snotty mess for a long time. Long enough to be distracted and easily caught. Van, however, doesn’t seem shocked or saddened by this, more like curious. “So, your mom loves you more now?” “No, she died before my sister died. When I was fourteen, she got cancer. My sister was even perfect throughout that—nursing her and helping her while still maintaining great grades. She graduated with top marks. I couldn’t even manage anything close, and I wasn’t up half the night, cleaning my mom up after she …” I glance down at Van and decide those details are best left out. “Anyway, what I’m saying is, I understand what you’re saying. But just because things felt different, doesn’t mean they loved you less.” “You don’t get it.” Van sighs loudly like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders and no one

to understand him. “Mom always talked about him. She always told me how much she missed him once he moved out. She never missed me.” “How often did your parents see Zander?” Van shrugs. “He used to come over once a week for family dinner.” “One could argue that she missed him more because she was able to spend a lot of time with you. One could also argue that, if we were to go on how much time you spent together, you would win that round since you still lived with them.” “Doesn’t matter. They still loved him more,” he stubbornly states. I sigh, realizing this isn’t a battle I’m ever going to win. “Okay, but that’s probably not Zander’s fault.” “You’re on his side now? Even though he wants to call the cops and get you arrested?” I gulp, wondering if the cops are already waiting for me, or are they prowling the streets searching for us? “I’m not on his side. I’m on yours. Look, you seem incredibly smart, no doubt much smarter than

a man who runs a P.I. company, who can’t even stop his car from being stolen,” I rush to say, hoping to get Van back on my side by throwing Zander under the bus. It works. Van immediately releases a small giggle. It isn’t much, but I will work with it. “I’m just saying that, if Zander is the only family you have, do you really want to spend all your time hating each other? It just seems like a lot of effort that doesn’t accomplish much.” “But he’s so annoying,” he quickly states like this explains everything. “He beats me at everything, and he acts like I’m some bratty, stupid loser. But he’s the loser!” “Zander might be older and more successful than you are now, but truthfully, he will always be ahead of you.” Van pulls a face, and I quickly rush to continue. “Which means, by the time you reach the prime of your life, he’ll be way over the hill. Old man style. He’ll be the first to lose his hair, first to wear adult diapers, and the first to be doing fulltime drooling and misplacing his false teeth. Plus,

you’ll be able to beat him at everything. Younger, fitter, stronger, and definitely smarter.” I wink at him and am grateful when he laughs again, this time more openly, and the smile stays afterward. Inside, I remind myself that Zander is only a few years older than me. I should be careful before I wish old age on anyone. Although, in my predicament, I will be lucky to reach such an age. “So, who do you have then if your sister and parents are gone?” Van finally asks, his attention completely on me. I smile sadly at him, never feeling more alone than I do right now. “No one.” I shake my head and hope to loosen my self-pity that has wrapped tightly around me. I need to stop making this about me. Wasn’t I trying to cheer Van up? “But Zander can help you,” Van is quick to interject. “You can hang out with us, and then you won’t be alone anymore.” It’s such a simple answer, full of innocence. It sounds so easy said like that. Then I remember I am a complete stranger with only a few dollars to my name. Plus, I

basically kidnapped Van, as well as stole Zander’s car. Every possibility from this situation ends with me being arrested, and then I will be back in Brian’s hands. Then, my life will be over. “You seem sure Zander can help me; that he will be willing to help me,” I point out, my voice shaking a little as I try to put my inevitable future out of my mind. “He loves a challenge. I bet he would help you out just because it sounds difficult.” Again, a simple solution. If only it could be true. Difficult, I could handle. My situation is more than that. It’s complicated, messy, and beyond dangerous. My situation is deadly. “Then, what you’re saying is Zander is a good person, if he is willing to help me.” Van frowns a little at that. “Are you trying to make me feel bad for hating my brother? Because, he’s an asshole. You heard him. He’s the worst.” “I’m not trying to make you feel bad,” I rush out. No way do I want him to turn on me now. “I’m just saying that you seem to be describing two

different people.” “That’s because he’s nice to everyone else. He’s an asshole to me.” “To be honest, the way he answered the phone sort of gave away that might be true,” I admit, and Van nods eagerly. “But he also sounded worried when he realized you were gone. I bet he doesn’t let much worry him, but he definitely cares about you.” Van seems to consider this before shaking his head. “He’s worried about his car.” I can’t really dispute this since I don’t know Zander. Maybe he is the asshole Van is convinced he is. God knows I have seen the worst humanity has to offer. I know better than most that monsters come in all forms. “Okay, I’m only going to say one more thing, and then I’m going to shut up about this.” I wait for Van to nod, which he does reluctantly. “I was angry at my sister for a long time. I never bothered to see things from her perspective. Hell, even a part of me blamed her for dying. Like she even had a choice in leaving me. Not until a long time after she died did

I begin to think on things from her point of view. “She was going through all the same things as me, except I could let out some of my grief. She held all of hers inside to be strong for me. She lost our mom, too. She had to grow up way faster than anyone deserves, and I didn’t care at the time. So maybe, just remember that Zander lost his parents, too. He also suddenly became in charge of a very headstrong, smart, fearless twelve-year-old boy. I bet that is pretty daunting. So maybe give him a break every once in a while.” Van doesn’t say anything for a while. I hope it’s because he’s letting my words sink in, and not because he’s tuned me out. I fear I might have overstepped, and since I honestly have no idea what his situation is like, or if his brother is as good as I have tried to make him out to be, I hope I haven’t just screwed up another person’s life. I have done a great job with my own already. “It’s a left up here,” he finally says. I breathe out in relief and restart the engine. It’s almost completely dark now, so I turn the

headlights on, as well. “Thanks. I’m sorry about all this. I promise you I’ll shut up from now on.” We drive in almost complete silence. The only words spoken are when Van gives me some directions. Part of me wonders if he’s not giving me a bit of a runaround, considering it takes us much longer to get back than the amount of time we were driving. I don’t comment, though. All too soon, I begin to recognize a few buildings. We are only a couple blocks away now. “Why is someone after you?” Van asks me quietly. I look over at him, finding him looking more quizzical than nosy. “I dated the wrong man,” I answer, which is the only part of my predicament that is safe for Van to hear. “What does that mean?” “It means that not everyone in life are good. My ex is finding it a little hard to let go.” I oversimplify things, hoping he won’t keep pushing this. My situation is not for the ears of a child. Hell,

I don’t think my own ears can handle the story and I’m an adult, stuck living it! “What happened to your car, then?” “I can be traced with it.” “Can’t you go to the police?” he suggests, his little forehead crinkled as he tries to come up with an answer to my problems. “My ex is the police,” I say on a sigh. Things would be so much simpler if that statement wasn’t so true. “Oh … My brother can help you,” he offers me again. “Honestly, I doubt anyone can really help me,” I mutter, more to myself than Van. I wish I didn’t sound so foregone about my situation, but the truth is, I’m tired, I’m hungry, and I know I will eventually be caught. With no proper money and no help, what exactly do I have out here, anyway? I have no idea how to survive on the run. I couldn’t even manage to steal a car right! “Zander can help. He has people who work for him, and they’re badass. They help people every

day,” Van says quietly, reading my pitying demeanor. He knows I’m ready to give up. “I don’t even have money to pay him.” I also know there is a huge chance police will be waiting to meet us when we return. “He doesn’t care about money.” “Then his business is doomed,” I joke, giving Van a smile to let him know I’m not worried. The last thing I need to leave Van with is any sense of guilt. I don’t want him to worry. I have burdened him enough by kidnapping him. “It’s just a right here.” He points at the parking lot across the road from the strip joint. I see a man standing at the edge, watching us with hawk eyes as we pull in, a cell phone to his ear. I fear he is likely on the phone with the police. At least there are no flashing lights waiting for me. Perhaps I will have enough time to make a run for it. “That your brother?” I confirm. “Yeah.” Van sighs like he has the world on his shoulders again, as only a kid can feel. I glance out to see if I can spot the man from

earlier, but I thankfully see no sign of him. “Back safe and sound,” I say to Van as I put the car in park then turn off the engine. I glance back at Zander, seeing his foot tapping and his eyes narrowed on us. Regardless, I can’t help noticing how in shape he looks. Van is a scrawny kid, but Zander looks like he’s in training for the Olympics’ weight lifting competition. His long-sleeved shirt is stretched to the max over his chest, and his biceps bulge as he fists one hand at his side, the other still attached to his phone at his ear. “He’s not really that scary,” Van says, reading my apprehension. “He sleeps in Captain America pajamas, and he hasn’t had a girlfriend since I started staying with him. One woman was yelling at him the first night I stayed and said he was a twominute wonder. I don’t know what that means, but I think that’s why they broke up.” If I had any liquid in my mouth, I would have spat it out. It’s almost comical, if the man in question wasn’t looking so thunderous. It’s as if he can hear what we are saying. When I realize my

window is still down, I suppose there is a good chance he can. “Time to face him,” I say, opening the car door just as Zander finishes his phone call. Was that to the police? How long do I have until they are here? When he stalks over to meet us, I’m surprised when Van settles in beside me, reaching over to take my hand. I’m certain kids his age would rarely do something like this, and especially not to an almost stranger. I can’t help thinking this is his way of protecting me. I’m touched. “Vaughn, get over here,” Zander grounds out, his jaw barely moving to allow the words through. His clenched fist morphs to make a finger pointing beside him. Van squeezes my hand harder, his defiance obvious by the lock of his jaw and the glare on his face. It’s sad, but in this moment, with them both looking furious, I see the family resemblance. “No,” he snaps at Zander. “Van, you need to go with your brother,” I say softly, hoping he doesn’t feel betrayed by them. I’m

already on the outs with this guy. I don’t need to be considered turning his brother against him. “Why? I don’t want to.” “Unfortunately, we rarely get what we want in life. Remember what I said to you in the car?” “Yes,” he mumbles, glancing down at his shoes, his grip loosening from around mine. “Can you maybe just give it a try?” I plead. “But I hate …” He looks over at Zander, his sentence vanishing. I know what he was going to say, and I’m sure Zander does, too, if he’s said it to him enough. Regardless, I consider it progress that he stopped himself. “I know, but I think you both will feel better if you just gave him a chance.” I’m surprised Zander hasn’t stepped in, insisting I stop talking to his kid brother and hand him over. For all he knows, I’m some crazy psycho who could be putting bad thoughts into Van’s head. “Fine.” He releases my hand and walks woodenly over to Zander. Zander places his hand on top of Van’s head,

but Van is quick to scoot out of his reach. I’m allowed a brief moment to observe them together. I swear I see relief and even love directed at Van from Zander. His brother was concerned for him. Their similarities are obvious, with the same blue eyes and tanned skin. Zander’s hair is shorter and has less curl to it and more wave, but it’s clear that Zander is a look into Van’s future. Then Zander’s gaze turns back to me, and I don’t feel so warm and fuzzy toward him anymore. Instead, I feel as though I’m facing a judge and ready to hear the verdict on just how many years I’m about to be thrown in jail. “You stole my car,” he growls. “Yes.” No point denying it. “You kidnapped my twelve-year-old brother.” “Technically, yes. However, I wasn’t aware he was in the car at the time,” I pathetically try to defend my actions. “You came back, though, even after I told you I was calling the police.” His stance is stern, but I see the same expression of curiosity that I saw

earlier in Van. “Yes.” I glance around again, waiting to see the flashing lights of a police car approaching in the distance. Instead, I see a lone officer in uniform approaching us. I don’t recognize him as one of Brian’s friends, but that doesn’t mean he won’t hand me over to him. I barely even got to enjoy my freedom away from Brian. Well, it technically wasn’t freedom since I was chased the entire time. Why can’t I just catch a break? I can’t stop myself from stepping away from the young officer, my body back to being tense and shaky. I hate that this feels normal to me now. It never used to be. Now it feels strange to feel relaxed. “What’s wrong?” Van asks me, his concern sweet. “Excuse me, but did I just hear you accuse this woman of stealing your car?” the officer asks, swinging his hand to rest on his side arm in what looks like a reflex.

Silence falls over us. Van looks as panicked as I feel. I can’t read Zander’s face, but he hasn’t confirmed the man’s words. That gives me a small amount of hope. Maybe he is the most forgiving man in the world. “No! She’s my brother’s girlfriend. She just took me out to get dinner!” Van blurts, leaving Zander’s side to rush to mine, grabbing my hand like he did earlier. I wince, not wanting Van to get into trouble for me. “Van, you shouldn’t—” “Yeah, babe, why don’t you take Vaughn back to my car. We’ll head home in a sec,” Zander says, and Van beams at him. I try to not look shocked as I nod at him, like what he said isn’t unusual at all. Then I walk stiltedly to the car I only just vacated and hover outside a while before I can bring myself to get in. Van gets into the backseat, and I take the passenger side, since I suppose this would make more sense than me being in the back with Van. I push aside the blanket by my feet as I watch Zander exchange a few more words with the cop

before making his way over to us. I then hold my breath as I wait for him to tell me to get out and that the cop is going to take me into custody. Instead, he opens the door and gets in, slamming it shut. “Belt,” he mutters. I look back to see Van hastily putting his seatbelt on. It isn’t until Zander sends a stern look my way that I realize I haven’t placed mine on. Once we are secure, he takes off, leaving the cop behind, watching us, and me feeling confused. What the hell just happened? Have I gotten myself into a bigger mess now than what I just came from?

Chapter 2 After driving a few blocks in silence, I can’t take it anymore. “Why did you do that?” I ask the windshield, not able to make my eyes shift to Zander. “You mean, why did I lie to a police officer for a woman who just stole my car and kidnapped my brother? I have no fucking idea,” he snaps, and I have to bite my lip to prevent myself from telling him not to swear in front of Van. “She’s not a bad person,” Van angrily defends me from the backseat, his previous gratitude toward Zander vanishing quickly. “It’s okay, Van,” I tell him softly, feeling my own annoyance deflating a little in the face of his own. “I sort of am a bad person at the moment.” I am well aware that stealing and kidnapping do not

make me a contender for the best citizen award. “But you didn’t have a choice. You should tell him about—” “Vaughn, that’s enough,” Zander barks, anger tightening each word. I close my eyes. The tension in the car is rising to uncomfortable levels as I wait for the outburst. I’m not disappointed. “Stop calling me that! I hate when you do that!” Van screeches, and I wince at how it echoes loudly around the small interior. “It’s your name!” he shouts back. “It’s not my name. My name is Van!” “Your nickname is Van,” Zander is quick to retort. “I am not your friend. I am your brother, and our parents gave you Vaughn, and I refuse to not call you by your proper name!” This feels like an argument that has likely happened many times before. I glance back at Van to see tears in his eyes. My heart breaks to see him so upset. Doesn’t Zander see this? Why can’t he give Van a break? He’s supposed to be the adult here,

and Van isn’t asking for something unreasonable, even if I don’t understand the big deal. Still, Van is clearly saying this is a big deal to him. “I hate you so much. I wish you were—” “Van,” I quickly interrupt, glancing at Zander to see him grimacing at Van’s words, clearly hurt, before I face Van again. “I know you’re angry, and I definitely think your brother is being a tool-bag to you right now.” I watch as his shoulders drop a little at my agreement. Zander clears his throat as if to remind me that he can hear everything. “But yelling at him and saying hurtful things is not going to change that. I have a better idea.” “You do?” Van eyes me warily. He seems torn between hoping my idea is awesome and assuming my idea will be an adult-type—boring and sensible. “Yep.” I don’t. I have no idea why I said that. Since being on the run, I have learned new things about myself. Like, I am nosy and enjoy listening in on other people’s conversations. I am incredibly cynical, and have assumed the worst of every person I have seen the last few days. Well, except for Van, but he’s a kid. I am also apparently

able to steal a car, although not too successfully. And now I know I am a pathetic liar. But, since he’s staring at me expectantly, and even Zander is giving me a side-eye, I have to say something. So, I give myself a moment to let my mind race and piece together a likely stupid idea. “How about, every time your brother upsets you or is being a mega tool-bag, you tell me something embarrassing about him? I bet he’ll learn much quicker to not be so hard on you,” I suggest, my voice getting louder and more confident as the idea sparks happily inside Van’s eyes. “Ava …” Zander growls, and I involuntarily shiver at how that sounds coming from him. Brian was a quiet guy whose voice barely rose above or below a flat monotone. He never said my name in anger or excitement. Hearing Zander say my name, all grumbly and annoyed, gets my heart racing a little. “Are you for fucking real?” he finishes. His eyes leave the road briefly to direct a glare my way. I wince at the swear word. I’m not entirely sure tool-bag is now appropriate, but it’s better than

saying fuck every other sentence. These are newer things I have just learned about myself. I don’t agree with swearing in front of children, and I have zero concept of keeping my nose and opinion out of people’s business. I bite my tongue to stop myself from speaking, but even that doesn’t hold me back. “I think it might be appropriate to not swear in front of your twelve-year-old brother,” I tell him, completely aware that I have stepped so far over the boundary of what is acceptable that I’m in an entirely different city. I think I must be in some sort of hysterical state, just without the uncontrollable laughter. Maybe that is still coming. And maybe that is why I’m being utterly ridiculous right now. What am I doing? I should just shut up and hope to not be dropped off at a police station. First, I steal this man’s car and kidnap his brother, then he lies to a cop for me, and now he’s driving me somewhere, hopefully far away from that cop. And what do I do? I lecture him about how he speaks to his brother.

What is wrong with me? Zander’s glare is piercing, freezing me in place, as he carefully growls out, “How about you stay out of what is most definitely not your—” “Zander used to have dreadlocks. And once, a spider set up a nest in there. He screamed when Mom told him,” Van rushes to say all in one, long breath. My mouth drops open in shock for a second before I find myself laughing at the image. Zander had dreadlocks? This bulky, Navy SEAL, commando-looking guy once had dreadlocks and screamed over a spider in his hair? “How in the hell do you know that?” Zander gasps, his cheeks reddening when he glances at me and sees me laughing. “Mom told me once. She had some photos of you, and you looked stupid.” Van doesn’t hold an ounce of apology in his words, obviously happy to embarrass his brother. “That is”—he takes a deep breath, his hands turning white as his grip tightens on the steering wheel—“never to be repeated again.”

I look back at Van and wink. “Dreadlocks? How long did it take you to get them?” I ask, grateful to focus on something easier than my own situation. “Doesn’t matter,” he mumbles. “They went halfway down his back,” Van supplies. “How long did you have to not wash your hair for that?” I grimace at what the likely answer will be, which is way too long. “Doesn’t matter,” he grits out again. “Mom said his hair smelled so bad that she thought a rat must have died in there.” “She did not say that!” Zander glances back at Van to glare before facing forward again. “She did, too.” Van sounds smug, his smile telling me he’s unperturbed by Zander’s grumpiness. I laugh again, appreciating this lighter topic and the moment it gives me to forget about my own pressing matters. “I bet you looked a real sight back then,” I tell him, then listen as Van laughs from the backseat.

“I think the photos are in a box somewhere in Zander’s office. I’ll show them to you. So funny!” he says between giggles. I feel a small pang of sadness that I’m not going to get the chance to hang around Van much longer. He seems like a good kid, and he’s likely the only reason Zander didn’t hand me over to that cop. He’s also the only reason I came back to return the stolen car. So, I guess there is that. “If such photos exist, they’re being destroyed!” Zander snaps. I think maybe he’s putting this angry act on a little thick since I see some humor in his expression that wasn’t there before. The twitching of his lips as he tries to hold back a smile, the mirth in his eyes, and the way he tracks Van by watching him in the mirror. Then silence descends over us. It feels stifling how the lighter mood begins to give way into the darkness that likely surrounds them as much as me. Theirs comes from grief, and mine is from a monster I can’t seem to get away from. To keep the lighter mood, I share a story I

haven’t repeated to anyone before. “Once, my sister gave me a haircut. I thought she would screw it up and I could get her in trouble, so I agreed to it. But she cut it perfectly. I was so annoyed that I took the scissors and chopped off a huge part of my bangs, and then another random chunk in the back. I looked ridiculous and laughed as my mother told Amanda off. Then I realized I had to live with the haircut. It was too short to make the rest match, so I had to wait until it grew out a little. It took a year before it started to look normal.” I smile, recalling the look of horror on Amanda’s face when she saw what I had done, which then quickly transferred over to my face when I realized what I had to look like. Van laughs at me, stretching his seatbelt as he leans forward until his head is near ours in the front. “That is hilarious. How old were you?” “I don’t know.” I think back, surprised that these memories don’t hurt to think about as much as they used to. “Maybe ten or eleven.” “Was your sister mad at you?” “No.” I look back and give him a small smile.

“I think she caught on quicker than I did that I had just made myself look like an idiot. I sort of dealt myself my own punishment.” Van laughs again, and I can’t help noticing Zander again tracking Van’s movements, his expression a mix between surprise and maybe a little sad. “My friend at school stuck gum in his sister’s hair once. They had to cut it out, and he was grounded for a month,” Van informs me. “Now that is definitely not cool. I hope you’ve never done that.” “No, no way. Never.” He shakes his head vehemently, which makes me wonder if he’s protesting a little too much. “I thought about it once, but I was too chicken,” he finally admits, his eyes on Zander. “You thought about it when?” Zander asks. Van ignores him, stating, “I’m hungry.” I suppose there is no point in implicating himself in an act he never went through. “There are leftovers at home.” Zander’s tone is short and final, not that Van heeds it.

“But I want pizza.” “Too bad.” Immediately, the mood in the car plunges again. We drive for a while in silence, and I begin to wonder where exactly he is taking me. “What are you going to do with me?” My voice shakes as I dare not to hope for too much. “I haven’t decided yet.” His tone is still harsh from his previous talk with Van. Or maybe he’s just as annoyed with me as he is with Van. “Where are we going, then?” “Home.” He doesn’t elaborate, and while it insinuates his own home, I have to wonder why he trusts me in his domain. Is this guy just super stupid or super cocky? “Oh,” is the only lame response I have. As if he hears my thoughts, or maybe just my surprise, he explains further, “I need to hear exactly what is going on, and that means everything. You leave something out, I will call the police.” My eyes widen at that, yet Van appears

satisfied with Zander’s words. “You can have my room. I don’t mind sleeping on the couch,” he excitedly offers. “That’s sweet, Van, but I won’t need your bed.” Like I could kick a twelve-year-old out of their own bed. “Are you going to sleep with Zander in his bed?” he asks innocently, or perhaps he is purposely trying to embarrass me. “No! I’m not sleeping in anyone’s bed,” I rush to declare. That isn’t what this is about, right? Surely Zander isn’t that hard up for sex. He’s far too attractive for that to be an issue, two-second wonder or not. Yet, it is a good point. While I haven’t seen any reason not to trust Zander, after what I now know, my faith in people is shaken to my core. Should I blindly trust him? Should I walk into a place I don’t know? With people I don’t know? Ignoring how much of a sweetheart Van is, that is. Shouldn’t this whole experience have taught me to be more cautious and smarter? But what choice do I have? I have to

eventually trust someone, right? “Where are you sleeping, then?” Van asks. This is a good question. Assuming Zander is going to want me out of his house as quickly as possible after he hears my awful story, where am I going to go tonight? After two nights out on the streets, am I ready to go through that hell again? Would it be safe to find a women’s shelter? Brian and his friends will have to give up searching for me sometime … right? Even if that will one day be the case, it likely won’t be three nights into his search. I might be in for many nights on the streets if I can’t get out of Chicago. Even then, will there ever be a place safe for me? One that is truly out of Brian’s reach? “Vaughn, just let it go and sit back.” Van grumbles under his breath as he does as he’s asked, and then the remainder of the drive is done in complete silence. We pull into a small apartment block in the West Town district. The area looks modest and secure, yet I know nothing is quite that safe

anymore. After parking the car underground, Zander walks past the elevator and opens the door to the stairs. I wonder if the elevator is broken before Van confirms that it isn’t. “Zander thinks using the elevator is a wasted opportunity to get some exercise. We are only allowed to take it if we’re missing a game on the TV, or there is a serious bathroom emergency.” I look to Zander to see what his reaction is, but he’s already racing up the stairs, so my gaze focuses on his ass and legs as they effortlessly charge up the stairs, leaping several steps at a time. Wow, this guy is truly fit. “I would just walk if I were you. We’re on the eighth floor,” Van helpfully suggests. “Good idea.” Before all this, I never cared for fitness. The only time I ran was when I was late for the bus. Even then, I often just missed it rather than make the effort. My lack of a decent sports bra means my boobs don’t make the best jogging partners.

“I am going to be faster than Zander one day. I’ll beat him up the stairs and slam the door on his face.” Van smiles at just the thought. “Then you should probably start practicing.” I nudge him, and he nods determinedly at me once before he begins his quick ascent. Soon, I’m alone with only the echoes of shoes scuffing along the cement floor and the sound of heavy breathing as Van begins to get out of breath. I stand in the doorway, the door still open, and stare back out at the parking garage and the sliver of the outside world I can see, giving myself a moment to consider making a run for it. I won’t have to answer any awkward questions or get Zander and Van involved in something that is way bigger than they realize. But, what do I do then? I have nowhere to go, and for right now, Brian has no clue where I am. I’m safer inside this building. Having the door close on me as I turn away and head up the stairs feels momentous. Like this is a decision that will change my life. Maybe that’s a stupid way to feel, but I just know deep down I have made a huge decision that will impact

everything. I just have no idea if it was the right choice or not. I’m ashamed to say, by the time I reach the fourth floor, I feel a little out of breath, and I’m just walking! I’m only halfway there. This is torture. Who the hell can run this? I could use my exhaustion and lack of eating lately as an excuse, but I know, even if I was wellrested and fed, I would still be struggling. Before my life was so recently thrown upsidedown, I was stuck in the same routine. Wake up, eat breakfast, rush to work, finish work, come home incredibly excited to take off my bra, and prepare dinner. Then I would watch TV, maybe go online to chatrooms or reply to emails, and sleep. Wake up and repeat. The only times it varied was when I would see Brian. Even then, I would just go to his house between coming home and taking off my bra. He was always happy to stay indoors rather than go out. My work as a temp receptionist means I am sent all over the city for any amount of time. My

longest was a maternity cover, which was eight weeks. Otherwise, I get details the day before for where I need to be the next day. I usually have a consistent four days a week, and since I do temp work, I get paid at a higher rate, which is nice. Then the rest of my time is spent website designing that I do from home. Brian’s job means he spends many weeks at a time away from home. I understood that and was happy to oblige him wanting to stay in and have quiet nights with me. Except, now I realize I was completely wrong about him. It probably says something about me that my entire life is unplanned, yet still locked into a routine. I might not know where I will be working the next day or in a week’s time, but I do know how that will fit into my structured, drama-free life. By the time I make it to the eighth floor, I am flushed, sweaty, and my legs ache. Van is sitting on the top step by the doorway, resting his arms on his knees and cradling his head in his hands. His warm smile is so sweet that I

almost give him a true smile in return. However, I would need to be able to catch my breath to do that, so I just wince and grab my belly instead. “You’re even slower than I was when I first tried running!” He sounds amazed. I grimace further when I realize he thinks I’m in this state because I tried to run up the stairs. “If I ever come here again,” I say between panting, “there better be a game on we’re missing.” Van laughs at me before bouncing back to his feet and racing through the stairwell door. I’m less enthusiastic in my exit from the stairwell, and suddenly extremely self-conscious over my lack of bathing in the past couple days when I walk through the open apartment doorway. When I hear water running in what I assume is a shower farther into the apartment, I know I would do anything to have a shower myself. I try to inconspicuously sniff my armpit to see how bad I am, but when Van turns to face me, I barely get the chance to smell a thing before I am straightening up. “Are you hungry? Last night we ate some

disgusting risotto. Nothing ever lasts in this house longer than a meal, but neither of us had seconds. I always have seconds.” He sounds a little dramatic as he says this, but I don’t think he’s doing it on purpose. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.” Considering I haven’t eaten properly in a few days, I’m sure it will taste amazing. “It is.” He sounds grave now and is much less enthusiastic as he takes out the bowl and places a large spoonful on a plate, doing this a couple more times until I’m sure he’s put too much on for one person to possibly finish. Even a starving person like me. I suppose he’s hoping I will eat so much there won’t be enough left for him. He dumps the plate into the microwave then pours me a glass of water without me having to ask. “You have some nice hosting manners,” I tell him, taking a seat on the stool by the breakfast bar as I inhale the smells wafting around us from the warming food. As it is, I finish the water almost in one gulp, and then Van quickly refills it for me. I’m tempted to gulp this new glass down, but I

don’t want to fill up on water and ruin my dinner. I’m just grateful to be eating and drinking again. “Mom used to have her friends over all the time. She would always make me serve them. She told me it would instill good manners in me that would one day make me a good husband.” He frowns as he says the obviously repeated words his mom must have said to him many times. “Girls are pretty gross, though. They cry a lot. Why would I want to marry one?” He tells me this in a very matter of fact way. I nod for lack of any other reply, guessing it’s likely a true statement for someone his age. With a beep from the microwave, I prepare to consume my first proper meal in three days. One mouthful in, though, and I understand why Van said it was terrible. What the hell is in this thing? I can maybe taste something like fish, but also something smoky and spicy. And what the hell has the texture of jelly? My eyes widen as I search for an answer. I can’t possibly swallow it, but it would be rude to spit it back onto my plate. Gross or not, Van and

Zander have both helped me. “Spit it out,” Zander’s voice booms from right next to me, and I almost swallow the food in my surprise. I glance down at the trash can he is holding up to me, and then glance over at Van, who is laughing hard behind his hand. “Just do it. I can tell from your face you hate it. No one holds food in their mouth that long, looking panicked, if they like something. Just spit it out.” When he lifts the trash can up higher, I lean over and embarrass myself eternally by discarding the food. Van then hands me some paper towels, and I wipe my mouth profusely before he takes my plate and tips the contents into the trash can. “I told you it was disgusting! Can we get pizza?” Van quickly whines to Zander. “No. We eat too much takeout. Go take a shower and get changed for bed. I’ll figure something else out.” Van grumbles as he stomps his way into what seems like his bedroom before he slams the door

shut. “Sorry about that,” I apologize, staring down at the trash can Zander is still holding. “I think I should be the one apologizing. I tried something new and think maybe I got the ingredients wrong.” “I think you might have gotten all the ingredients wrong,” I blurt out. I shouldn’t be picky—food is a luxury right now—but I’m not sure I’m at the stage where I’m contemplating poisoning myself. “You might be right about that.” He looks a little sheepish, making me wonder if he’s embarrassed to have made something so awful. “Are you still hungry?” he asks, finally placing the trash can back down in the corner before opening the fridge. I normally would never still have an appetite after what I just tasted, but again, I’m three days without any proper food. I’m surprised I haven’t had to worry about passing out yet. Although, now that I’m sitting down, my exhaustion is quickly catching up.

“I am,” I answer, just as my stomach grumbles. Teasing it with almost food has apparently upset it. “I can make a cheese omelet?” he offers. I take a moment to assess this situation. How did I end up here? How did I find myself in a stranger’s home, being offered omelets? Have I already passed out? Is this some delirious dream? Well, after that risotto, maybe it’s more of a nightmare. “Ava?” Zander grabs my attention, and I nod, agreeing to omelets that will hopefully be more edible than the risotto. “Do you want some help?” I finally think to ask, wincing at how delayed my manners are. I have no issues chiding him on how he speaks to his brother or spitting his food into a trash can, yet I can’t think to offer him a hand while he makes me dinner? Maybe something else I’m learning about myself is that I can be thoughtless. “No, what I need from you is to explain what exactly happened to put you in a position where you think you needed to steal my car.”

My stomach drops, and I sort of do lose my appetite then. “Right now?” My voice comes out more like a squeak. “No time like the present.” He shrugs, and I realize he’s changed clothes, now wearing a navy colored, baggy sweatpants and a crisp white T-shirt that doesn’t cling to him, yet shapes him well enough that I see his obvious muscles. His arms are drool-worthy as his sleeves stretch out over his biceps. I doubt there is a shirt in this universe that wouldn’t be tight over those guns. The ends of his hair are a little damp at the back and front. His hair is still wavy on top and disheveled, like he just ran a towel over it. I take a deep breath and smell the soapy freshness coming off him. If I wasn’t so stressed out over this turn in the conversation, I might have been distracted by how good-looking Zander actually is. Instead, I scramble for a way to get out of having to tell my story. “What about Van? It’s not really appropriate

for his ears,” I quickly rebut. “Talk to me until he comes out, and then we can continue later. He takes forever to shower, so you have some time.” I glance down at my hands and think over the fucked-up story. How did my life come to this? I was just a webpage designer who did temp office work to subsidize my wages. Now I’m someone on the run with almost zero cash and no idea what I’m supposed to do. I used to have things figured out. Now I have nothing. “Ava,” Zander says on a sigh. “I made a choice back in that parking lot to not say anything to that officer. You need to give me something to make me believe I made the right choice. There is no reason I can’t just take you down to a police station right now and hand you over. What you did was a felony. Not to mention you took Vaughn, accident or not.” “I know. You’re right.” I shake my head, hoping to clear my thoughts, but they remain jumbled. “It’s just that this is hard, and I don’t know where to start.”

“Start with why you’re hiding from the police,” he says calmly, and for some reason, his voice is reassuring. He exudes assurance and control. There is something about him that makes you think he’s got this, can handle it, and not to worry. I’m sure it comes in handy with his work. “I can’t trust them,” I admit, my situation beginning to press down on me again. “I went to the police before, and they just handed me over to him. I don’t know who I can trust there.” “Handed you over to whom?” “Brian.” Just saying his name aloud gives me shivers and the urge to rub some soap in my mouth. “Your ex?” he confirms. I begin to nod, then realize he should have no idea who Brian is. “Y-yes.” I begin to shake in earnest now, my thoughts going to the worst place, assuming how Zander could know that. “How did you know about —” “Vaughn never disconnected the call,” Zander quickly assures me, his eyes leaving the frying pan to give me his full attention and for me to see the

truth in what he’s saying. “I was listening to you talk in the car the entire time.” “You were eavesdropping?” I gasp, somewhat worried over the number of things he would have overheard and wondering how many times I called him a tool-bag. However, I’m more relieved there isn’t some sinister reason he knows Brian is my ex. What if this had been a trap and he was holding me here until Brian came to get me? I would have been screwed. “You called me; how is it wrong if I didn’t hang up?” he points out, turning back to the frying pan. “But that was a private conversation.” “Yes, and it was held in my car, which you stole. I don’t think you can make me out to be the bad guy here. Besides, I know you’re just stalling now. Keep talking.” He flips the omelet over, and my mouth waters a little at the sizzling noise. I can’t say he’s wrong about me stalling, but how am I supposed to say out loud what I saw? Especially after what happened last time! “Fine.” Just that one word has me trembling.

“Brian Clarke is my ex-boyfriend and an FBI agent. We dated for almost a year and a half and, up until three days ago, we were still dating.” “What happened three days ago?” Zander’s tone stays gentle, and while he’s not looking at me, I know I have his attention. I take a deep breath. Am I ready to say this out loud? The last and only time I told someone, I ended up back with Brian. I will be dead if he gets his hands on me again. “Look, I really want to trust you, and honestly, I know you probably have zero connection to Brian and what I discovered. I know Van is a good kid, and you did me an incredible favor when you didn’t have me arrested tonight. On top of that, you let me into your home and are cooking me something that smells so delicious my stomach hasn’t stopped growling in about five minutes.” I wince at revealing that part, but quickly move along before he can interrupt me. “But I also had my entire life turned upside down three days ago. I trusted someone who turned out to be a monster. I learned I can’t even trust my local police. My life is in

shambles, my future I once saw is gone, and instead, I’ll be lucky to even live past this week.” I pause in my rant to take a deep breath before setting off again, not allowing Zander to say anything when it looks like he is about to speak. “I’m not saying I won’t tell you what I saw. I just need a minute to clear my head, to think this through and to be sure I want to get you involved. Because, once you know, you can’t unknow. And if he finds out you know, then you might be in as much trouble as me. You have Van to think about.” I’m breathing heavily now and have to grab the counter to keep myself from falling off the stool. “Are you done?” He has his eyebrows raised and has taken the pan off the stove. “Umm … I think so.” I consider if I missed anything, but I’m quickly brought back to the present when Zander begins his own rant. “I don’t ask questions lightly. I understand you’re in trouble and that your troubles have meant you need to be hidden from the police. I can see you’re scared and likely homeless with what I assume is nothing with you since you carry no bags.

I see no visible outline of a purse so, unless you have stashed your personal items somewhere else, then you are probably incredibly screwed when it comes to food or a safe place to sleep. If the police are looking for you, then that not only means no home, but also no friends or family you can be sure aren’t being monitored. So, unless you actually think strangers are as helpful and generous as I have been tonight, then you better take your chances with me. “I run a private investigative company and, though we might be newer and less experienced than many of our competitors, we’re fucking dedicated and have many resources and connections. I can help you with this situation; however, I’m going to need to know what the fucking situation is. If I deem it’s too much for me or my people, then I will put you in touch with someone who can help. Got it?” Now it’s my turn to raise my eyebrows, and I manage to get in a nod before Van stumbles out of the bathroom, steam following his retreat. “What smells so good?” he asks, jumping up

on a stool next to me and eyeing the plate in front of me hungrily as Zander places a mouthwatering omelet on it. “Breakfast for dinner!” he cries, smiling at me before searching for his own food. Zander places the pan back over the stove and gets to work on the next omelet. I take a tentative bite, not ready to give it the benefit of the doubt like the risotto, and find this omelet to be perfect. My stomach overrules any embarrassment or table manners as I quickly scoff it all down. “Wow. I’ve never seen a girl eat like that,” Van says, embarrassing me, before his focus shifts to his own food when Zander places his plate down. “So, what is your favorite video game?” he asks me between bites. “I don’t really play video games.” Somehow, I don’t think The Sims counts to Van. “How about you?” I barely have the words out before Van goes off on a tirade, his fork waving wildly around as he tells me about several games he loves and ones he was disappointed in. They all involve some sort of

violence, which is likely a prerequisite for a twelveyear-old. Eventually, he ends his video games tirade and seems to be thinking hard about his next question. “What is your favorite movie?” “I don’t know … I loved the movie Juno. How about you?” I smile my thanks at Zander when he gives me another omelet. I eat this one much more sensibly. There is a dining table behind us that is half covered in papers, newspapers, and other things, yet there is still enough room for the three of us to sit comfortably. Instead, Van and I stay on the stools, eating at the kitchen counter, while Zander leans against the sink as he eats his own omelet. It feels relaxed and casual. I like it. It’s nice to not be tense and stressed, even if this isn’t likely to last for long. Soon, I will be back out on the streets and all on my own. Well, unless Zander thinks he really can help me. Dare I hope? “I like Olympus Has Fallen,” Van says proudly.

“Aren’t you a little out of the age group for that movie?” I glance over at Zander, who just shrugs at me. “It’s cool. There are guns and helicopter crashes, and the good guys win.” I nod, trying to think if I have seen that movie. “Well, Gerald Butler is hot,” I concede, which gets me a frown from both guys. “What is your favorite sport?” Van finally asks, finishing up his food and dropping his fork loudly. “I used to play basketball, but I admit I enjoy watching baseball. Cubs all the way.” Zander groans, while Van cheers beside me. “Zander hates them. He’s all about the White Sox. He thinks they’re great, but I think they suck.” “They don’t suck. You just hate them because I like them,” Zander complains. “They do, too, suck. You agree with me, don’t you, Ava?” “Well …” I give Zander an apologetic wince before I finally agree with Van. “They did lose pretty spectacularly to—” “Nope!” Zander quickly cuts me off. “We

don’t bring up losses in this home.” “Yeah, because they sucked last year, and they will this year, too,” Van grumbles. “Shut up and clean up your dinner, Vaughn,” Zander snaps, making the light mood quickly dissipate. Van glares at Zander before turning to face me, an evil smirk over his mouth. “All of Zander’s baby photos are of him in pink dresses because Mom thought she was having a girl. He had a pink nursery, and everyone told her what a gorgeous little girl she had when they saw him.” Zander’s mouth drops open in surprise. “How do you know that?” “Mom told me loads of stories about you, so stop calling me Vaughn.” He growls that last part. “It’s your name. I won’t stop using it.” “Then I guess you won’t mind me telling Ava about the time you brought that girl over for dinner and were so nervous you threw up all over her,” he snaps, his voice rising with his anger. “Seriously, I couldn’t care less about that. You think you’re embarrassing me, but really, you’re

just embarrassing yourself,” he barks at Van, and I see the hurt cross his face as if Zander had physically struck him. This needs to stop now before these boys say something they can’t take back. “If your mom thought she was having a girl, what was his name supposed to be?” I blurt out, my quick thinking only extending to that. “That’s not import—” “Agnes, after our grandmother,” Van talks over Zander, a triumphant smile on his face when I can’t help laughing. “That’s an awful name for a kid. But I don’t know … I guess I could see Agnes.” I wink at Van, and he smiles even brighter. “Perhaps, if he can call you Vaughn, then you can call him Agnes,” I suggest, ignoring the scowl coming from Zander and wondering if I’m not just ensuring that he won’t help me by purposely antagonizing him. Is this some sort of self-sabotage thing? “That’s a great idea!” Van beams. “You steal my car, take my brother, and instead of having you arrested, I take you to my

home and feed you, and this is how you thank me?” Zander grumbles. “Shut up, Agnes,” Van growls, wasting no time in implementing the new nickname. “So, Ava, what is your favorite food?” I hesitate a moment, fearful if I open my mouth, I might say something else I shouldn’t. But with Van staring at me expectantly, I can’t be rude and not answer him. “I love pizza and usually pasta. Maybe not risotto any longer.” I smile as Van laughs. “I love those, too. My favorite used to be my mom’s apple pie. She made it the best.” His smile dims a little. I can practically feel the grief swirling around these two guys. They are both still heavily grieving. “Wish I got the chance to taste it,” I say softly. “She would have liked you,” he tells me confidently. “Really?” I glance at Zander to see him staring at Van in confusion and shock. “Yep,” he replies, as if what he’s suggesting isn’t at all outrageous.

“Why? Did she like people who stole cars?” I joke, knowing I’m no mother’s favorite right now. “She would have liked you because I do,” he states in such a matter of fact way that it touches my heart. “Well, I like you, too. Not many twelve-yearolds would have been so calm being in a stolen car with a stranger. You were brave,” I compliment him, not that either of them take it like I expect. “He could have taken you if he wanted to,” Zander says assuredly, and now it is my turn to glare. “I can be scary. I could have hurt him if I wanted to, which I didn’t,” I quickly say. Both are shaking their heads. “You might have gotten a lucky shot in— maybe. That’s it, though,” Zander concedes. “You have no idea what training I have. I could be a black belt in karate,” I blurt out, feeling more indignant than I likely have a right to feel. Who am I trying to kid here? “Okay, what training do you have?” Van asks, his smirk an easy indicator that he doesn’t believe I

know a thing about fighting. I frown at being called out on this so quickly. Do I really look that pathetic? “That’s what I thought. Zander can teach you some moves. He knows how to kill someone with one move.” “Vaug—” Zander freezes midsentence, and I watch Van smile at this. “Van, you don’t say things like that to people.” He looks at me now. “I’ve never killed anyone. However, if either of you think you will be calling me Agnes, I might make an exception.” “Call me Van and we won’t have a problem.” He shrugs easily. Zander seems to think this over, his expression not one that says he’s overly happy right now. Then he sighs heavily and shakes his head. When he opens his mouth, I wonder if he’s about to get into another argument with Van, or if he realizes this is a battle not worth fighting. “Clean up the dishes and get ready for bed,” Zander says instead. “Oh!” I gasp, manners kicking in a little faster

this time. “I think I should clean up. It’s the least I can—” “Nope. This is one of Vaughn’s chores, and there are no excuses to not do them.” Zander’s voice is stern. This is probably another topic they fight over. “Whatever you say, Agnes,” Van retorts, grabbing my empty plate and his own before stomping over to the sink to begin filling it with water. Zander narrows his eyes on Van for a moment, but soon he shifts his attention to me. “Do you want to clean up? Have a shower? I have some clothes that might work for you, and I think there is a new toothbrush somewhere in the bathroom.” “That would be great,” I immediately agree. I might mainly be saying yes for selfish and hygiene reasons, but I also think Zander might want a talk with Van in private. Since I have now forced a new nickname on him, I can’t blame him for wanting to do this talk alone. I take his offered towel, sweats, and toothbrush before closing myself into the one and

only bathroom. I don’t know how long before I am kicked out of this house and back on the streets, or how much longer I have away from Brian, so I am going to make each moment count. It’s just an added bonus that taking my time also means a little more time before I have to go through the story again. Living it has been hard enough. Too much, actually. I probably should have realized that I will have to tell my story more than once in the coming days. In fact, I soon have much more to add to my horrible story. Why couldn’t life just give me a freaking break?

Chapter 3 After spending long enough in the shower that the water begins to cool, I force myself to leave and face the music. Although, staring at my naked body in the mirror is more confronting than I expect. My long, dirty-blonde hair is slicked back, drawing attention to my pale face, the dark circles under each eye, and my thin nose and lips. Not even the hot shower has added color to my skin. Part of me still feels chilled. There is a handprint bruise over my arm, and a large, ugly bruise over my ribs where I was punched. Seeing that doesn’t exactly ease my fears. If I end up back with Brian, I know the chances of me escaping again are slim. He will expect me to run, but will he resort to murdering me? Since he was my boyfriend for almost eighteen

months, there will indisputably be questions he will struggle to answer if he does. Although, he is close friends with the local cops, so who is going to ask those hard-hitting questions? They are. Which means they will also cover for him if needed. Will anyone care if I disappear? Many of my friends are Brian’s friends, so their loyalty will be to him. Truthfully, I only saw those people at the occasional barbeque or birthday bash. I doubt they will notice if I completely disappear. Otherwise, my other friends are all online. They will realize if I go quiet, but will they care enough to kick up a fuss? Will they just think I decided to go offline for a while? And my temp jobs don’t inspire long-term friendships. How has my life come to this? A knock at the door startles me out of my pity party. Then Van’s mumbled voice kick-starts me into rushing to get dressed. It’s nice to wear something new and clean. However, the sweats are too big, so I roll them where needed so my feet are free. I also pull the

drawstring as tight as I can make it, causing the pants to bunch up, but better that than fall down. They cover everything and are warm. I can’t ask for much more. There is no underwear with them, which is not surprising. I soak my old clothes in the shower, using the body soap to rinse them off, then hang them over the glass door. Hopefully, they will be dry by morning, assuming I am going to be able to stay the night. What if Zander kicks me out? What if he hears my story and thinks I’m crazy? Or thinks this is too dangerous for him to get involved in and needs me gone immediately? Another strong knock forces me to leave. And as soon as I’m out of the bathroom, Van cuts in to brush his teeth. I force myself to make my way back out to the living room and find Zander straightening up the papers on the dining room table. The setup is small but cozy. The front door opens into the living room, which is just to the side

of the kitchen and dining room. The open living area makes the place seem bigger and would be ideal if you had several guests over—everyone able to interact easily. Is that why Zander likes it? Does he have many people over? I glance at the few photos he has around the place on walls and shelves, and while many are obviously his parents and Van, there are a few who must be Zander’s friends. Forcing myself to look away from the photos before it is too obvious that I’m snooping, I glance back the way I came. There are two bedrooms that are selfexplanatory. Next to Van’s room is the bathroom, but opposite that and next to Zander’s room is a tiny office, which I peeked in before. It is the smallest room here, with just enough space for a desk, chair, and a few piles of boxes piled as high as the ceiling in the corner. “You can sit. I’ll be right with you,” Zander says distractedly. I get the strangest feeling like I’m about to be

interviewed. He’s probably going into work mode now. I guess I’m a prospective client for him, except I can’t pay him unless this whole mess gets straightened out. If I try to access my money now, I’m positive it will be traced. “Ava! Have you seen my bedroom? Come see!” Van calls out before quickly disappearing into his bedroom after doing the world’s quickest teeth brushing. I quickly glance at Zander, who rolls his eyes but gives me a quick nod. Then I make my way to Van, who is dressed in Transformer pajamas. He quickly shows me around his room, pointing out toys and figurines he loves and explaining where some of them are from, since I am clearly out of the loop. He takes his time, and though I’m sure he’s just delaying his bedtime, I’m happy to delay the conversation I’m supposed to have with his brother. We only get another five minutes of distracted bliss before we are called up on it. “Van, that’s enough,” Zander growls from the doorway, and Van’s shoulders slump at his words.

I see it as an improvement, though, since he said Van and not Vaughn. “You’ll still be here in the morning?” he asks, and I look to Zander for an answer. “She will be, buddy. Now get to bed.” As Van energetically hops under the covers, I begin to leave, when he calls me back. He waves at me to get closer, and I crouch down and lean in until I’m only inches from his face so I can hear his whispers. I assume Van doesn’t want Zander to hear his request. “Can you please tuck me in?” he begs. I glance over at Zander, who is looking at me expectantly. It breaks my heart to realize what Van wants from me. He might talk the tough talk, but he’s still a little boy who has recently lost his parents. I look down at him, moving his hair to the side and away from his forehead. “Goodnight, Van. Sweet dreams,” I tell him, flattening out the blanket and tucking it into the sides, trying to not make it obvious that I feel a little awkward doing this. Van smiles, though, snuggling down the bed

farther until the blankets are sitting at his chin. When I am done, I walk past Zander, who turns out Van’s light and leaves the door ajar. “Thank you for doing that,” he tells me, his voice a little gravely. “No problem. Van is a good kid.” I brush it off, but truthfully, I feel an ache somewhere inside me after doing that. Whether it’s because I didn’t have someone to tuck me in after Mom got sick and Dad took off and I feel for Van since he’s lost that now, too, or if it’s because I someday want kids to be able to do that for, I don’t know. “He is. I don’t think I’ve seen him so lively since …” Zander trails off, seeming lost in his own thoughts. “I hope I haven’t overstepped by talking to him. I mean, I obviously overstepped by stealing your car …” I wince at just recalling how badly this night has gone. “Forget it. Let’s just get this conversation started.” He pulls out a chair for me, and once I am seated, he takes the seat across from me. Then he turns on the voice recorder app on his phone,

places it on the table between us, and presses record. Nerves eat away at my stomach. I sit on my hands to stop fiddling and tapping the table. I like to move when I’m nervous. “So, start at the beginning and leave nothing out. The more details, the better.” Taking deep breaths, I decide quickly that I really have no other choice but to trust Zander with this and hope for the best. What else can I do? “Brian lives next to an older man named Conner Forbes. With Brian being so busy all the time, I sometimes spend time in front of his house, waiting for him to get home. He was constantly running late. Anyway, I didn’t have a key to his place, so I would just sit outside, usually on his front step if the weather wasn’t too awful. “I ended up striking a bit of a friendship with Mr. Forbes. Then he asked me if I wouldn’t mind feeding his cat and fish while he was away for a long weekend. I said yes and everything went fine. Then it started to become more regular. Sometimes, Brian would be gone for weeks on top secret

missions, but I would still go next door to feed Mr. Forbes’ animals. I never really mentioned it to Brian because it wasn’t a big deal. But three days ago, I went around there to feed them for the final time before Mr. Forbes returned and realized the cat had gotten out. It’s an inside cat, usually.” I look up to see Zander waving his hand to keep me talking. “Anyway, I searched outside and could hear him meowing, so I knew he was close. Then I realized he was in Brian’s backyard. Except, when I went around to his side, I saw one of his side windows was open enough for Whiskers to have gotten in. I knew I couldn’t just leave him in there —Brian is allergic to cats—so I used the open window to get in myself. “I entered his office and noticed his laptop was on. I thought that was weird because he was away. I figured he must have just accidentally left it on. I moved the mouse and discovered a video was paused. The image was blurry, but I pressed play. I don’t know why, and I wish to God I hadn’t.” I stop speaking because this is the part that, once said out

loud, can never be unsaid. Once Zander knows this part, he’s going to quickly decide what to do with me and the information. “What was on the video?” Zander prompts. I glance around nervously, fearing Van might have gotten up to listen to us. But he is nowhere in sight, and we are speaking quietly enough that Van won’t be able to make out our words. My mouth dries. It becomes hard to swallow. “There was a woman. She looked young, maybe twenty. She was naked and being tortured by men in masks. I only saw a few moments of it before I quickly closed it. I thought … I thought it must be some case Brian is working on. I felt sick. And then I realized there was an entire library of them. They were titled under dates, just sitting in a playlist, hundreds of them. I told myself they had to be part of a case Brian was working on. He always told me he couldn’t discuss his cases. I hoped this was just all part of an investigation. “I tried to tell myself he had them at his home because he was searching for clues or something. Then I noticed the play counts on the side. He had

watched these videos hundreds of times. All of them. Why would he have to watch them that many times?” I take a shaky breath, looking down at my lap before I continue. I can’t look at Zander while I describe realizing I had been with a monster. “I wasn’t sure what to think. I panicked. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I was certain I was just overthinking this. Maybe the laptop isn’t even his. Maybe it’s part of his investigation, too. Maybe it’s evidence he just brought home. I tried to believe this, even though that didn’t make sense, either.” Anything seemed more reasonable than believing my boyfriend of eighteen months was some sicko who was into watching women being tortured! I recall that moment, remembering when I felt like I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. I stumbled around his office as I started to wonder if I even knew him at all. I try to hold back my tears, hoping to get through this without breaking down. “He’s always been a little distant with me.

We’ve always been distant from each other. I mean, at least half of our relationship, he’s been away for work. The other half, we would only see each other occasionally. I don’t even have a spare key to his house. That’s probably weird, right?” I look up at Zander, but he doesn’t give me any response, just narrows his eyes as he takes in what I’m saying. “After eighteen months, I don’t have a drawer or any things at his place. I’ve met his family and many of his friends, but we’ve never talked about moving in together. Never mentioned marriage or a damn thing about kids. I know basic things about him, but obviously, I had no fucking clue about what type of man he is. So, I decided to search his home.” I had seen him turn off his alarm enough to know the code. Whiskers hadn’t tripped it, and there was no motion sensor in the office. “I rifled through his entire house, not finding anything, until I discovered a false bottom on his desk drawer.” I recall how hard I was shaking as I held the photos in my hands. They were facedown,

but I knew it wasn’t going to be something good. “I found photos he had printed off. They were awful. A woman being hurt. In one, it was clear she was dead. “Why did he have these photos? Why did he enjoy seeing this? If it was for an investigation, why would he have hidden photos in a secret part of his desk? Why did they look crinkled like he’d touched them a lot?” I look to Zander, tears in my eyes. Apart from a clenched jaw and permanent frown, he doesn’t say a word. What is he thinking? Did he expect this to go where it has? He clearly has no answers for me, and I doubt anyone ever will. None that would explain why Brian liked to look at photos like that. Nothing that could make me understand. “I found an unopened packet of USBs in a drawer. I opened them and decided to copy every video onto one of them. There was so much that I only got half. I used another one to get the rest. I don’t even know what else is on there. I didn’t want to see more. I just straightened things up as best as I could and got out of there with Whiskers.

“As soon as he was safely back at home, I decided to go to the police. If this was all some sort of weird misunderstanding, then fine, I would look like a fool and possibly ruin my relationship with Brian. But if he was as sick as I suspected, as much a monster as my gut was telling me, then I knew I couldn’t ignore this. “I went to the nearest police station and handed over one of the USBs and told my story. The officer listened, wrote things down, and took the USB. I waited, and then waited some more. Finally, I was told I could leave and they would be in touch. “When I left, hours had passed. I was tired, sore from sitting on a hard chair for so long, and exhausted. I wasn’t expecting Brian to be outside the station. “He grabbed me, forced me into his car, and told me that the police officer had called him and told him what I was saying. He was furious with me and wanted to know where the other files I copied were. I had only given the police officer one of the USBs, but I mentioned having another one. I

wouldn’t tell him, though. He told me he didn’t want to hurt me, but he would.” Subconsciously, I rub my arm where he grabbed me. “He punched me in the stomach. He grabbed my hair and knocked me into his glovebox.” My voice and body shake as I recount this. I felt so helpless, so terrified. “He wasn’t even concerned that we were in the police parking lot. He was fearless as he hurt me. I knew then and there none of those cops were going to help me. Even if there was no one around, or the cameras didn’t face where he was parked, Brian was confident enough that, if someone stumbled on us, he would get out of it.” “That asshole!” Zander’s outburst shocks me out of my bubble, but it’s a welcomed distraction. I take a few calming breaths before I dive back in. “He said he was going to take me back to his house where he could make me talk. I assumed he was going to … do what I saw in the videos … to me.” A chill creeps down my spine. “I knew I couldn’t let that happen. So, at a busy intersection, I managed to escape out of his car. I think he didn’t

chase after me because it would have gained attention, and he probably didn’t want that in a crowded area. He also knew I couldn’t run forever. I have no experience surviving on the streets. “I had to leave my handbag in his car. I have nothing now, just a little cash in my pocket, which I’m down to a few coins now. I have nowhere safe to go. “I went to a homeless shelter on the first night, hoping to find a place to rest, but I saw a man I recognized out front. He was at a barbeque Brian took me to once.” Just saying this all out loud is making me feel ten times more exhausted than what I felt when I first sat down. My entire body sags. I’m not sure I have much left in me. I’m tired, disheartened with the world, and am pretty close to just losing it. “Shit, you weren’t kidding when you said this was messed up. Where is the second USB?” Zander asks, pulling out a notepad as he makes some notes. “I hid it,” is all I say. “Is it somewhere you can get to?” he pushes. “Yes.”

He nods, not asking me where it is, which I appreciate. He must realize my only leverage is that USB. I will eventually have to hand it over to the right person, but since the last person I handed one over to was the wrong person, I can’t afford to screw this one up. “I have a guy I trust on the force. He was my best friend’s father,” Zander finally says once the silence becomes too much for me. “Was?” “My friend died a few years ago,” he explains quietly, another flare of grief lighting his eyes before he hides it away. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I murmur, wondering how many losses this guy has been through recently. How is he still functioning? “I’ll talk to him in the morning and get his take on it. I am going to need to see what is on that USB so I can get a good idea of what we’ve got here. For now, until we have a handle on this, you will need to keep a low profile. Your ex is likely to know your friends and family and where they are,

but is there a safe place you have that he doesn’t know about? Maybe one you couldn’t get to before, but can with the use of a car?” I shake my head. Really, all I had in my life was my home and online friends. After both my parents’ sides abandoned Amanda and me after Mom got cancer, we stopped seeing them. They are basically dead to me, and I haven’t heard a peep out of my dad. For all I know, he is dead. “Okay, then for now, you stick with me,” Zander announces. “Really?” My heart leaps into my throat as hope begins to choke me. “Of course. I’m offering you my help.” His shoulders are stiff, his jaw locked, telling me he is dead serious. I get the feeling, once Zander commits to something, he goes through with it no matter what. This doesn’t feel so much like a promise as it is a vow. “Why?” I can’t help asking. “Why help me? I stole your car, kidnapped your brother,” I unhelpfully remind him. Why am I trying to talk

him out of this? “For many reasons. One is that I’m a decent person. You need help, and I have the ability to do that.” I nod as I wait for him to continue, but he appears to be finished. “You said many reasons? What else is there?” He still doesn’t answer me, taking his time staring me over. I’m not sure how to read this. Still, I try to wait him out, hoping he has an answer for me if I’m patient enough. I take this opportunity to sweep my gaze over him. I ogle his wide shoulders, his strong arms, and chiseled face. I can’t help noticing again how striking Zander is. With tanned skin, deep blue eyes, wavy chocolate brown hair, and some stubble covering his jaw, he’s a good-looking man. I’m not stupid enough to think I’m in the same league as him. I have seen enough movies and read a few books where situations like this evolve into something more. A protective hero and a helpless heroine isn’t exactly the plot I want my life to be in. I would take it, though, if it meant a night it

Zander’s arms. I get the feeling there might be no safer place than by his side. And what does that make me? Only three days running from Brian and I’m thinking about Zander in a romantic way? What is wrong with me? As usual, my thoughts have completely gotten away from me and led so far down the wrong road that I can’t help blushing at how ridiculous I am being. “Another reason I have for helping you is more selfish,” Zander finally speaks up, looking down at his hands now, fidgeting with the pen he’s holding and looking a little awkward. “Vaughn has taken to you, and that is incredibly rare. Since our parents passed away, all he’s done is pull away. He barely wants to see his friends, doesn’t engage at school, and I’ve tried to get him to talk to a professional. He sits in those sessions and refuses to say a single word. He fights with me constantly, and I was beginning to wonder if he was too much trouble for me to handle. “I’ve been trying my best, yet nothing has been working. But tonight, he’s spoken more than

I’ve heard in months. Tonight, he smiled, he laughed.” Zander looks up at me now, giving me a smile that makes my breath catch. “Tonight, he opened up to you more than anyone else, and I’m worried that, once you’re gone, he might retreat into himself again.” His smile disappears as quickly as it came. I’m touched and terrified by his words. My heart goes out to him and his plight. While he is older than Amanda was, and Van younger than me, this is similar to the situation she was placed in when Mom was sick, and later when she died. I was angry and took my grief and rage out on her. That is likely what Van is doing to Zander. And who does Zander have? I never cared how my sister was dealing with what she had on her plate. She was going through everything I was, except her whole future changed when she had to suddenly take care of me. In that way, she had more to deal with than I did. Who was there for her? “When it was just me and my sister, I was awful to her. I pushed her away every chance I got.

I was angry at her for many reasons, but at the same time, for no reason at all. I fought with her every chance I got, and part of me liked doing it. It got an anger out of me that wouldn’t leave. “I was angry at my dad for leaving, and angry at my mother for getting sick and then eventually leaving us, too. I was even angry at Amanda for being so damn capable throughout it all. I just wanted to see her crack once. I wanted to know she wasn’t as put-together as she pretended to be. Then I wouldn’t have to feel so inadequate for feeling destroyed and broken inside. “I started fights with her because I wanted her to leave me like I expected. I was sure I was too hard to take care off. I was too much for her to handle, and she was going to leave like everyone else. So, I kept my heart guarded, kept pushing, yet she never even flinched. She stayed strong.” I think about how she did leave me when she was killed. Part of me—an incredibly small part— felt relieved that she had finally left me. It had happened just like I expected. It took me a long time to realize that, if she

hadn’t been taken away from me like that, she wouldn’t have ever left. She never planned to leave. She was going to do what she needed to do so I could have the future she wished for me. And another revelation came when I stopped blaming my mother for leaving, too. She might have smoked her entire life, but that doesn’t mean she deserved what the cancer did to her. She never wanted to be sick, never wanted to leave us. The only people who chose to leave were my father and every other family member who disappeared on us when we needed them the most. “What you’re saying is, Vaughn is testing me?” Zander asks as he tries to decipher my sob story. “What I’m saying is, Van is dealing with something no kid should ever have to. His friends don’t understand what he is going through, but you do. And since this place is spotless; your car is spotless, other than the mess Van brought to it; your bookshelf has every book in alphabetical order without a single one out of place; and your bathroom cupboard is as anal as possible—I’m thinking appearances are important to you. Routine

and order is something you stick to, and maybe you’re hoping that will help Van. But, right now, his routine has been destroyed; his feelings are probably in shambles, as are his thoughts, and I get the feeling he’s lonely. “I don’t know why he connected to me. I don’t even know if I’ll just be some weird adult he doesn’t want to talk to tomorrow. But maybe his perfect brother, who appears to be dealing completely fine with everything, needs to show some more emotion, other than anger. “You fighting with him isn’t helping, except maybe you both get a little anger out. In the long run, it just adds more toxicity to your relationship. He is stuck at the anger stage of grief. To get him out of it, you need to show him how. Stop baiting him into fights, like when you call him Vaughn. He hates that. I don’t know why, but maybe it’s just some phase he will grow out of. Regardless, he keeps telling you he wants to be called Van. If he wanted to be called Penis, then sure, fight him. But Van is a reasonable nickname for Vaughn. Just let it go.”

I wait for him to tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about. That I’m unqualified and should butt out. But he doesn’t, which makes me feel a little warm. He seems to have actually listened. “I know I should let it go, but our parents called him Vaughn. They loved that name. I don’t want him to lose that.” “It’s on his birth certificate, it will be on any I.D. he has—he won’t lose the name,” I point out. Zander slowly nods. I know he’s processing my words. It feels good to have someone listening to me like that. I don’t think Brian ever even asked me how my day was, let alone for any advice. “Should I assume you’re some sort of grief counselor and/or life couch or something?” Zander asks without bite. I don’t think he’s trying to point out that I’m clueless. “No, I have zero qualifications for any of the stuff I just said. In fact, a professional might even tell you I just gave you the worst advice ever. But it feels right to me. And apparently, I like to stick my nose in other people’s business, a new facet I have learned about myself tonight. I’m not sure if it’s a

good thing or not, but you’re not kicking me out, so I’ll just go with it.” I give him a small smile, which is thankfully returned. “So, I should leave a mess around the place, break up his routine, and what, not fight with him?” I hear cynicism in his voice, as well as maybe some pleading. “I’m saying it won’t be the end of the world to show Van you’re dealing with the same thing he is. Sometimes, life is messy and shit’s not fair. Show him that life sometimes makes you just as sad as it does him. Talk to him, and don’t rise to the bait when he tries to fight with you. If he can’t fight with you, then maybe he will move on to the next stage of grief.” Zander looks to the side of me as he takes in my words. However, instead of agreeing or even just giving me a nod, he shakes his head. His eyes go hard, and I watch a mask slip back over his face. “You know what? We were supposed to be talking about your situation, not mine and Vaughn’s.” Just like that, he shuts me out. I can’t say I blame him. I have known him for

only a few hours, and am giving him life advice. I mean, what the hell? Who am I? Have I always been this nosy? Have I always had such strong opinions on people’s lives? Maybe I should be a life coach. Although, I’m not certain my life right now is the best example to set for any potential clients. “Right, of course.” I take a deep breath and refocus. “You will talk to your friend, and then what? Will he take on the case? Or recommend someone who can look into it?” “For now, I’ll get his advice. Then we’ll need to get your USB.” I nod like that is completely doable. However, since I hid the USB in Brian’s neighbor’s house, this might be an issue. I’m certain getting that close to Brian will be tempting fate. “You can take my bed tonight,” Zander suddenly says, breaking me away from the panic rising at the thought of being close to Brian. “No, I can’t take your bed.” I shake my head, standing quickly when Zander does. “I’ll take your couch if you’re absolutely sure you want me here. I have already intruded in your life more than is

polite. I don’t want to cause you any problems, and I don’t want to put you or Van in any unnecessary danger.” “You have zero connection to me or Vaughn; you’ll be safe here and won’t cause us any danger. And I can’t let you take the couch. It’s lumpy, and protection-wise, having you on your own right by the front door is the least safe place for you here,” Zander argues, crossing his arms over his chest in a sign of determination. “You just told me I was completely safe here, so that excuse doesn’t fly with me. Also, your couch being lumpy is just another reason you shouldn’t have to sleep on it. I already stole your car, kidnapped your brother, and ate your food tonight. Please let me sleep on your couch.” He stares at me for a moment before he finally nods. I don’t think he’s exactly thrilled with this, but I know I will likely be either unable to get a wink of sleep because my mind won’t shut down, or I will sleep like the dead due to almost no sleep for the past few days. I don’t need a comfortable bed for either of those scenarios.

Zander gets me situated with a blanket and pillow, and then there is an awkward moment when we are both standing by the couch, staring at each other and waiting for God knows what. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Thank you for being a decent human being. Thank you for hearing me out instead of throwing me under the bus. Thank you for taking a chance and for keeping me safe,” I tell him, realizing it is long overdue. I should have been thanking him nonstop this entire time. Could I be so forgiving if some stranger kidnapped someone I loved and stole my car? I doubt it. “You’re welcome. Although, if you steal my car again, I might not go so easy on you.” He gives me a small smile, and I read between the lines to know he is probably a little uncomfortable with my gratitude, attempting to lighten the mood with a joke. Two can play that game. “Somehow, with a name like Agnes, I find myself not all that scared.”

He snorts, glaring at me for a moment, before turning around and striding toward his bedroom. Just as he places his hand on the door, he turns back to face me. “Don’t make me sic Vaughn on you. I can tell your ego will be broken once a twelve-year-old has beaten you up,” he jokes. Well, at least I hope he’s joking! “I could take him.” Zander’s laugh is the last thing I hear before he closes the door. “I could!” I yell out before I remember Van is trying to sleep just a room away. Oops. I sit down on the couch and click off the lamp on the side table, flooding me in darkness. Then I lie down, finding every lump digging into my back, and making me wonder why anyone would keep such an awful couch. He must be a glutton for pain and being uncomfortable. I close my eyes and think over how crazy my life has gotten, wondering if tomorrow is going to add to that or make it better. I hope it’s for the better. I’m due for a break.

It turns out, I’m not. At least I sleep like the dead and win against this awful couch.

Chapter 4 As I wake up to the smell of sizzling bacon and the sight of an unfamiliar setting, my back protests as I jackknife off the couch. My neck isn’t too far behind, either. The pain forces me to lose my panic and unease over being somewhere new, and focus on the fact that I slept on a lumpy torture device all night. Zander wasn’t kidding about this couch. If I spend another night here, I think I will sleep on the floor. It couldn’t be worse. “Morning,” Zander calls out to me from the kitchen. “Good morning,” I grumble. I’m not a morning person. However, one glance outside the window and I realize it might not still be early morning. “What time is it?”

“Just after ten. I hoped the smell of food might wake you from your coma. We need to get into the office, and then get on to grabbing that USB,” Zander informs me, like this isn’t a weird situation and it’s totally normal to have a random person waking up on his couch, a person he is now cooking another meal for. “Where’s Van?” I still sound groggy as I rub my eyes and attempt to wake myself up a bit. “He’s at school. He was making a lot of noise, yet you slept through it all. I think he was part impressed you could sleep through his racket and part disappointed he didn’t get to speak to you. He made me promise he would see you after school.” I smile at hearing that, thinking how sweet it is that Van is so attached to me. Then I consider how bad it is that he is attached to me. What if this mess is sorted out today? What if I can go home tonight and never get to see Van or Zander again? Or, what if this mess turns from bad to worse and I do end up captured by Brian? Hasn’t Van lost enough people? “You know, after all this mess is sorted out”—I cross my fingers and pray that I’m not misplacing

my hope and jinxing it—“I’d be happy to help you out in the future with Van. He’s a good kid, and if you think I’m helping or whatever, I’m okay with spending time with him. Consider it a thank you for not having me arrested …” I trail off and wince at how that sounded. Why would he want some criminal who didn’t even know her own boyfriend is a monster to be looking out for his kid brother? When he opens his mouth to reply, I hold my breath, afraid I came across as pushy or desperate and that I’m about to be epically rejected. “He called me Agnes three times this morning, so I might have to think about that.” He is glaring at me, but I see his lips twitching. He totally wants to smile! I breathe out a sigh of relief. Not quite a yes, but not an outright, embarrassing no, either. “Understandable. So, we’re going into your office?” “Yes. I called my friend on the force, and he advised me of a few cops he trusts that can give us the most help, but he also said he could personally deal with this if we’d feel more comfortable.”

“What did you say?” “For now, I think I need to see what is on that USB. I don’t doubt what you saw, but I need to assess how big this is. Ken, my cop friend, gave us an idea of what we might be dealing with and just how big this has the potential to be. Your boyfriend —” “Ex!” I quickly interrupt. “Right, he’s likely to get in a lot of trouble for having that type of video in his possession, but if he’s smart, he will have deleted it off his computer. If he’s even smarter, he’ll have destroyed the hard drive completely, since it is hard to truly delete anything these days. Assuming none of it is saved to any clouds or external storage that can be traced to him, he might be in the clear were an investigation conducted. Perhaps if he downloaded it online, then his IP address can be traced to wherever he downloaded it from, but most people can easily disguise their location.” “You’re saying that Brian might not even get in trouble for having that disgusting stuff?” I gasp. “I’m saying that, when you went to the police,

he was tipped off. After you escaped, or hell, maybe before he even showed up at the police station, he likely cleaned away any evidence.” “Then why is he after me? I can’t prove anything.” I sound shrill, so I take a few deep breaths to calm myself. “He knows for certain you have another USB, so he needs to know that there is nothing on there that can link this to him. Also, he might want to make sure you aren’t able to make more copies, or maybe he just wants to be sure you won’t keep talking and bringing this up.” Zander shrugs just as each point he makes hits me hard in the chest. “I might never be safe again? He might come after me to keep me quiet?” “I won’t let that happen.” He moves to my side and rests his hand on my shoulder. The weight of his grip gives me comfort and reminds me I’m not alone. “Let’s not think that way yet. Short-term is going to be your friend in this situation. First step, you eat breakfast. Then you get changed. Then we go into the office. I will need you to retell your story in case one of the guys catches something I

missed, or after a good night’s sleep, you remember something more. Then, after meeting with my guys, we’ll figure out what type of team we’ll need to retrieve this USB.” Team? Grabbing a USB out of a nearly retired accountant’s home shouldn’t need an entire team. Then again, he does live next to Brian. I will never forgive myself if something happened to Zander because of this. If Zander needs an entire football team worth of people, then I can’t disagree. “Okay.” I nod, focusing on the tasks in front of me and feeling better to not sink into thoughts of my future. I can do this. Not that I have much choice. Zander paces back into the kitchen and serves me up a plate of bacon, scrambled eggs, and a piece of buttered toast. “A girl can get used to this,” I mutter, my feet guiding me forward without much thought for how I look or if Zander’s clothes are still covering the important parts. My stomach grumbles in anticipation before I basically inhale the delicious food. Even though I

ate a large dinner last night, I feel starved again. “I never thought I would ever meet someone who eats like, or as much as, Vaughn. I might have just met his match,” Zander says with a smile on his lips. “Van is twelve,” I try to reason. His body is small, and therefore, his stomach isn’t adult-sized. “Van has a bottomless pit where his stomach is supposed to be,” Zander quickly counters. “Wish I could say I’m eating like this because I’ve not eaten properly in a few days, but honestly, I love my food. I love big meals and food comas. They’re the best kind of comas.” “Are there other kinds of comas?” “Well, sure. There are several different types of medical comas. I doubt any of them are as much fun as a food coma.” He rolls his eyes at my answer, but quickly moves on. “Are you any good at cooking?” “I do okay. Is that your way of asking me to cook you something? Because, I can definitely do that,” I rush to offer. “Once this is over, I’ll have you over to my place where I’ll cook you and Van

my specialty.” Zander smirks at my offer, his arms crossed over his chest. Again, I’m drawn to how strong he looks. Who knew it was possible to have so many muscles bulging in just your arms? “Which is?” “A surprise.” And not only a surprise for him, but me as well, since up until this moment, I have never had a specialty. How hard can it be to make something delicious and make it look easy? It can’t be that bad. “I look forward to it.” We smile at each other, and I again notice how good-looking he is. He isn’t movie star attractive, but he exudes strength, power, and control. His muscles are clearly thick and well-toned, while his facial features are sharp, strong, and not without a few scars. One rests over his right eyebrow, forcing a diagonal hairless line down it. His nose is slightly crooked, too, like he broke it once, and his jaw, which has a slight bit of stubble over it, shows off an old scar. It adds to the mystery of him and doesn’t detract one iota from how handsome I think

he is. How did he get these scars? On the job he currently has? Or, are they older? Was it just an accident, or was he in a serious fight? When Zander begins to clean up, I quickly jump into action. “No way! You cooked, so I’ll clean.” He nods, and I think he might leave me alone to do this, or at the very least leave the kitchen area to give me space, yet he doesn’t. He leans back against the counter next to the sink so I am forced to stand perilously close to him while I wash up. Heat rises as I grow uncomfortably warm at his close inspection. What is he seeing? Why is he standing so close? And this is the moment, when my hands are soapy wet, that I realize I didn’t even pat my hair down when I got up from the couch. Given how deeply I slept, it is likely sticking up as much as it usually does when I sleep at home. I look down at the borrowed clothes I still have on. At least I’m all covered. No accidental nipple slip here. Still, I no doubt look a mess. No wonder

he’s staring. “This might be stepping over a line,” he hesitantly begins, pausing for a moment like he’s trying to talk himself out of it. “And please don’t answer me if you don’t want to, but you mentioned something about your relationship with Clarke last night.” My body tenses from hearing his name, even if it’s just his last name. “You said you guys dated for eighteen months, but you didn’t even have a key to his place, you didn’t always see each other when he was home from work, and you never talked about marriage or kids. Why is that?” I’m surprised by this question, and it takes me a moment to work out why this surprises me. “Are you asking me why I didn’t want to marry a monster? Bring kids into this?” I clarify, not sure I like where he is going with this. “No, I’m asking you about before three, well, four days ago now, when you thought Clarke was just a regular guy. Were you not that into him? And if so, why stay with him at all?”

Part of me wants to inform him that this is none of his business, but as someone who has stuck my nose into his business repeatedly, I don’t feel right to deny him this. The only problem is that I haven’t really thought about it myself. Therefore, I remain silent as I try to consider his question and why it is that I never thought to break up with Brian. I knew our relationship wasn’t perfect, yet it didn’t seem it was so imperfect that something was wrong. I enjoyed his company, our time together was never awkward, and I never felt unsafe with him. He seemed to have the same values as me, seemed like a nice man, and never pushed me for more than I was willing to give. Our sex life was normal, if perhaps a little infrequent, and we never fought. It was easy with him, and I enjoyed having a drama-free life. I guess it figures that the end of our relationship has caused every possible heartache and drama to catch up all at once. Zander rests his hand over my shoulder. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.

Forget I—” “It’s okay,” I interrupt. “I just realized I’ve never thought about it before. I suppose I just liked that things were predictable. I liked that I never had to worry or wonder with Brian. He was straightforward, and I liked where we were. I’m not opposed to marriage or kids one day, but I’m not in any sort of rush to get there.” “Clarke is an FBI agent who is constantly away on top secret missions. You never worried about him?” Zander asks in astonishment. I open my mouth to say of course I did, but no words come out. The truth is, I didn’t worry. I just enjoyed my time alone while he was away, generally liking my own company. It felt like a system that worked perfectly for us. “I should have worried, right?” I ask. Zander doesn’t answer me, just continues staring at me like he’s seeing more of me than I realize. Just a moment ago, I was worrying about Zander being hurt when he goes to Brian’s

neighbor’s house, and yes, part of that is because I am the reason he’s in this mess. But I also worry that this is dangerous, that what he does is dangerous. Why am I worried more for Zander, who I haven’t even known a full day, more than I ever worried for Brian, who was often gone for weeks at a time? “Does that make me a bad person?” I whisper, shocked out of delving deeper into those thoughts when Zander cups the back of my neck, forcing me to look at him while my hands, still wet from the soapy water, drip over his floor. “You’re not a bad person. No way. You didn’t even consider for a second to ignore what evil you discovered. You knew you had to do the right thing, no matter how scared you were. That is brave and most definitely not what a bad person would do in the same situation.” “I’m sure a bad person would steal a car and kidnap a twelve-year-old kid,” I tell him, my voice sounding breathy, caused by the position we are currently in.

There is still space between our bodies, with only his hand touching my neck, yet our position feels intimate. “A desperate person would do those things. Besides, you didn’t really steal or kidnap when you brought both back unharmed and within half an hour after calling me to let me know your name and what you had done.” He chuckles a little at that. I love seeing it close up. “You’re right; I suck at being a car thief and kidnapper,” I joke, and his lips twitch. “I don’t recommend you attempting to improve those skills,” he says seriously. “I think I might retire from trying out those things,” I concede and am again treated to seeing his lips twitch. “What made you ask me about Brian?” He releases me then, stepping back. I wonder if I just ruined something. Should I not have asked? “I was just curious.” Curious about what? About me? Or maybe this was really all about Brian and figuring out more information.

“Okay.” “Once you’re finished with them”—he nods at the dishes still soaking in the sink—“get dressed and we’ll go.” As he walks away, I follow his movements with my eyes before turning back to face the sink. I dip my hands into the hot water and get to work scrubbing, but my mind is elsewhere, stuck on thoughts about Zander and why I stayed with Brian for so long. I still feel Zander’s hand on the back of my neck and wonder if he would do that same movement if he were to kiss me. I can pretend the warmth I feel heating my body is from the hot water and steam rising in front of me, but I know it’s mostly from the way Zander touched me. I shake away those thoughts, quickly finishing the dishes then rushing to see if my clothes are dry. They are not. I consider putting on my damp underwear, anyway, but a quick brush of my bra against the light gray material immediately dampens it. Therefore, my choices are to remain commando or

have damp places where my underwear and bra are. Not really any choice at all. Damn. Instead of freaking out or ranting in my head about how much worse things can get, I try to ignore how uncomfortable I am and attempt to psych myself up for today. Just one more retelling of my horror story, and then perhaps things will move along fast enough that it will be over with soon. I can go back home, back to my old life, wear clean and dry underwear, and if I’m lucky, keep in touch with Van and Zander in some way. Something has to start looking up eventually, right? Wrong.

Chapter 5 Zander pulls into the same spot he was in yesterday as I glance around the neighborhood. It appears much less seedy and grungy than last night. “What made you choose to place your offices here?” Zander shrugs. “More work in this area, and we prove that we’re not afraid of any sort of crime.” I consider that, still not sold on it as a good idea. “Besides, if things are ever a little slow in the office, we have plenty we can do around here to help. Since we’ve moved in, our surveillance has helped solve numerous crimes. Englewood has actually dropped down in crime since the criminals know to avoid this area now.”

“Well, I clearly didn’t get the memo. Am I the first to steal a car from under your nose?” I ask only to try to slightly rub that fact in. He turns and glares at me, but it is lacking any heat. I just smile in return. “You got lucky. I was busy, and my other guys were out. A couple hours earlier and Sasha would have been watching that video feed like a hawk. She would have gotten you as you started to approach.” “Who is Sasha?” “She’s the office manager slash receptionist.” “And the surveillance manager, too?” “No, but she says she gets bored sometimes and likes to watch who goes into the strip club across the road. It just has an added benefit of our parking lot being in her view.” “Oh,” I mutter, having no idea what to say to that. “Let’s go.” I wince as I step outside the car. Not only am I again out in public, somewhere Brian or his men

could be, but I’m also still in Zander’s clothes and currently commando. I’m not sure I have ever gone anywhere out in public without underwear, and I am definitely not liking the feeling. “You okay?” Zander asks, treading confidently around the car and coming up to me. He appears completely put-together in his dark blue suit and burgundy tie. He looks like he might be ready to step onto a runway, while I’m in clothes too big. I consider asking if I could borrow enough money to buy something else to wear, even just a few dollars to buy some cheap panties and a bra, but Zander is already doing so much. He’s way over his quota for helping a complete stranger. No need to push it. “Just trying to get used to feeling this naked,” I blurt out. What? Why the hell did I just say that? His mouth drops open a little, telling me he quickly figures out why I feel naked. There is a moment when he just blinks at me in what I assume is shock. One, long, drawn-out moment that has me

feeling even more uncomfortable. Then it passes as he quickly turns away from me and begins a fast pace toward his office. I struggle to keep up, and then I can’t help feeling like I have stepped through a portal once inside, landing inside a swanky neighborhood. Everything is shiny and new looking, and in a weird way, it feels warm. Not so much the temperature, but the feeling it gives off. Dark brown wooden coffee table, black leather couches and seating, with dark cream walls. It’s sort of like my dream living room, except we are in an office, and it is clearly missing the nice big screen TV that is in my living room fantasy. Also, there is a large chunky desk that I never envisioned in my fantasy, which will need to change immediately. I freaking love this desk! Drawn to the furniture rather than the person sitting at it, I make my way over to the desk that is covered in chaos and run my hands over the timber. It’s smooth and looks far sturdier than the one I have at home, which is an IKEA one that I put together myself. It only took three tries, and I have

always been worried it might collapse since I had eight bolts left over at the end. Eight! I get throwing in an extra one just in case, but who throws in an extra eight! No one, meaning I missed something. “Are those Zander’s clothes?” a woman asks, snapping me out of my desk envy fever and forcing me to focus on her. The woman has an afro, dark brown skin, and eyelashes that seem unnaturally long, but also make her eyes pop. When she stands, I see she is tall, slim, and absolutely stunning. And she is grinning at me. Actually, she is bouncing on her feet in clear excitement. “Sasha, did you do what I asked?” Zander saves me from having to recall what she even asked me since I was too busy taking her in. I glance over at Zander to see why he sounds irritated. Have I done something wrong already? “Well, I’m not your slave, so picking up clothes isn’t actually part of my job,” she simply informs him without an inch of fear in her voice.

Zander’s eyes bug out, clearly not agreeing with that statement. “As your boss, I’m fairly certain that type of thing is part of your job if I say it is.” “I’m here to answer phones—” “And listen in on private conversations,” he mutters, narrowing his eyes on her. “I wear a headset that sometimes randomly locks in to other calls. I have no idea why it does that.” She shrugs innocently. However, the wink she gives me sort of ruins her innocence. Especially since Zander is standing right next to me and sees it. “It does that because you pick up the line and connect!” he snaps. There is something that feels routine about this argument, like they have had it dozens of times before. Neither one seems too mad or worried. “Whatever. Last month, when you had that freaky woman calling you, I was able to get Jerry to trace it immediately. No need for you to do that stupid hand waving signaling thing.” “I was already typing a message to Jerry to

have him trace it!” “So, I saved you some concentration.” She shrugs halfheartedly. “Look, the moral of the story here is that I bought this lovely looking lady, who is totally wearing your clothes, a new outfit and now you owe me a favor.” When Zander first walked in, he looked professional, put-together, and calm. Now his hair is in disarray from rubbing his hand through it; his calm façade is broken, his body appearing tense, with a new glare directed Sasha’s way; and it takes him all of two minutes to pull on his tie, loosening it. “Fine, whatever. Just give Ava the clothes.” I’m touched and incredibly happy that he has thought of this. I didn’t even have to ask. Then again, his generosity is just too much. How am I ever supposed to pay this back? It’s not just about the money, but also the trust and kindness. I have never had that directed at me like this. It feels overwhelming. “I can do that. Just know that your credit card might have gotten an extra workout today because,

well, you know, you owed me a favor, anyway, and I never got a Christmas bonus last year,” she continues to calmly inform him while waving me over as she moves away from behind her desk. “You only started working for me in January!” Zander’s outburst makes me jump. Sasha shrugs at him then reaches down and pulls out a bag with material sticking out of the top. She then hands it over to me. “Here you go. I’ll show you to the bathroom where you can have some privacy.” “Meet me in my office when you’re done,” Zander orders before stomping away, getting caught up by a man before he can take more than a few steps. This one is taller than Zander, but leaner. He has light brown hair, bright blue eyes I can see from across the room, a shaggy beard, and he has clearly been working out. Not only obvious from his workout gear, but the fact that he still seems to be catching his breath. He looks like he could be Zander’s brother, except I know he only has Van. Cousin maybe?

“Declan is definitely, and unfortunately, worthy of staring. But I think you might have your hands full with Zander,” Sasha tells me, as we both stand still by her desk, eyeing the men who appear far too serious for this early in the day. “What do you mean by hands full?” “You’re in his clothes, in his office, and you slept over at his place last night,” she excitedly informs me like I didn’t realize any of these facts myself. “Oh, it’s not what you think. I don’t have anything else to wear, and he was just being nice last—” “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Zander is a saint. Now, tell me”—she leans closer to me as she takes ahold of my arm and guides me down a hallway, stopping us at the first door and opening it up to reveal a swanky bathroom to go with the shiny reception area—“what does Zander Jameson’s bedroom look like? Does he actually have a bed, or just a port he plugs himself into to recharge?” My eyebrow rises at her question and because she pushes me into the bathroom and closes the

door with her still inside. I suppose her privacy comment doesn’t extend to her. “I never saw his bedroom.” “You didn’t?” She frowns at this. “He made you sleep on the couch?” “He didn’t make me. I insisted. Besides, he’s already doing plenty for me. I couldn’t steal his bed.” “But his car was okay to steal?” she asks, and I redden in embarrassment. She knows I stole his car. Is that why she is with me now? To make sure I don’t steal anything in the bathroom? Is she worried about the toilet paper? “I swear I have never stolen a thing before in my life. I don’t make a habit of stealing cars. I was just … I was desperate,” I admit, my voice small and my head down, looking at my shoes. “I was just joking.” Sasha’s feet come into view before she pats my arm gently. “I nearly fell off my chair laughing when I heard the news this morning. Seriously, sometimes Zander acts like he is Superman. He is cocky and doesn’t know how to

slow down. But really, if he had a superhero name, it would be Super Annoying, or Super Neat Freak. He needed to be reminded that he is only human. Although, I wouldn’t be surprised if he is a robot,” she tells me kindly, helping me feel more at ease and not like some thief needing to be watched. “Well, I don’t think he’s a robot,” I murmur, beyond weirded out by this conversation. “Go on in there and change. I’ll give you the lay of the land, as it were.” She points to a stall. I glance down at the bag I’m holding before deciding I really do need to get changed. Zander’s pants are barely hanging on. I clang the door closed and find some jeans, which thankfully fit, even if they are a little loose on me. To me, thought, it is much better than if they were tight. Next up, I discover a T-shirt that hangs long, but also shows more cleavage than I would like. The bra and panties are a godsend. There is something comforting and safe about wearing clean clothes that are now mine. I rip all the tags off, placing them in my pocket so I know how much I owe Zander for them. Then I

sit on the toilet seat, lid closed, to get my wits together as I listen to Sasha blather on about Zander and this place. I am sort of interested, especially when she begins discussing Zander’s dating life. “So, I started working here a few months ago, but the place has been open for three years. The last receptionist was a bitch and completely hopeless. She constantly put calls through to Zander, even when it was obvious the callers were desperate women he wanted nothing to do with, and she barely wrote down any appointments into his calendar. She turned up late, and then got drunk and came back into the office one night to seduce him. Can you believe that bitch? Anyway”—she sighs, sounding like she is about to reveal something draining—“I stepped in and have been running the show ever since. The boys wouldn’t know what to do without me,” she says cockily, and I can’t tell if she’s serious or joking. “I’ve known Zander, Declan, and Joey all my life. I was Zander’s neighbor growing up, and the guys were his friends. We all went to the same

school. I was three years younger, but I remember them like a bad smell. They took one look at me and decided I was their little sister. Chased away every single guy around. Nosy bastards, too. But I got three years of peace after they graduated. Then we all drifted to different parts, doing our own thing. Home kept us connected, though.” I slip out of the bathroom stall and into the judgmental eyes of Sasha. “The shirt isn’t tight enough. Neither are the jeans. How is Zander meant to be eyeing your ass if he can’t even find it? I’ll go shopping again on my break. I’ll need to get some more appropriate outfits now that I understand the situation better.” “The situation? What do you mean?” And why does she think Zander needs to be eyeing my ass? “You know how many women Zander has brought into work with him?” she asks, but is quick to answer her own question. “None. You know how many have stayed over at his house since sweet Van moved in with him? None. You know how many people in this entire world could get away with stealing his car? Only you.”

“I don’t think—” “Red. Red will definitely suit your skin color. I know just the dress you need,” Sasha interrupts. A worrying feeling begins to settle in my gut. “I’m not looking to entice Zander. I’m just grateful he is willing to give me some help. I just got out of a … well, the guy I was seeing was …” “Say no more. I get a bad breakup. I’ve had loads. The last one was awful. I even contemplated killing him, but I don’t think orange will suit me. I find the best thing to get over a breakup is a new distraction. And trust me; Zander will be distracting,” she tells me, grabbing my free hand and dragging me out of the bathroom. We hit the hallway, and instead of taking me to Zander’s office, she sits me down on her incredibly comfortable chair and turns me so I’m at the side of her desk. She rattles around her top drawer, which is full of makeup, and then proceeds to grab some eyeliner, eye shadow, and a small tube of lip gloss. “I’ve not used the eyeliner stick yet,” she tells me, tilting my head back and going right ahead and smearing it under my lashes.

“I’m not sure I need—” “I don’t have anything else that will go with your pale skin, but I’ll pick up some things on my break that will work. I know Zander has given the order that you are to be guarded at all times, and trust me when I say, taking one of the boys shopping is like dragging a two-hundred-and-fiftypound toddler with you—annoying, slow, and pointless in the end. So, you’ll just have to trust me.” She then dabs some eyeshadow over my eyes, using her thumbs to swish it along. I close my eyes for fear of her poking an eye out. “So, back to my story. I know these idiots, and this might be a newer company, but Zander has pulled in every favor he has for you. He’s been like a zombie since … well, after his parents … you know, but he’s more awake now than I’ve ever seen him. I’ve been trying to rile him up like I did before for months! The man has been impenetrable.” She rolls her eyes at me. “Moody bastard, you know?” “You did all that this morning on purpose?” “Yes. And I’m sorry, honey, because I don’t

really know you that well, but I’m going to have to use you,” she admits without a single ounce of concern that she just admitted that out loud to me. “Use me?” “Yes. He likes you. No way you touch his car, steal it, drive it, and get away unscathed. He saw something in you, and he has finally engaged with the world. He’s taking a risk, and I want him to keep going in that direction.” She finishes my other eye, and then dabs her finger into the gloss and swipes it over my lips. I lean back at the unexpected, and not entirely welcomed touch, but she persists and tells me to pucker up. The gloss is smooth and tastes like cherries. I can’t help smoothing it out. Sasha smiles happily. “He doesn’t actually like me like you think. Van likes me.” She jerks back in shock, standing over me now “Van does?” My answer obviously surprises her. “Zander told me he hasn’t seen Van so animated since their parents died. He was ready to

give me up to the police, but Van talked to me in the car. We sort of connected, I guess. He likes me. So, Zander doesn’t like me; he likes that Van likes me,” I explain, hoping this sinks in for me, too, so I can stop fantasizing about him. Sasha purses her lips together for a moment, and then I see sadness enter her eyes. “That poor kid. I know Zander has tried his hardest with him. Drives himself to exhaustion worrying about him. But he’s still hurting, and he’s not broody enough to bury it deep like Zander.” I nod, looking down at my lap. Seeing down my top easily to the bra beneath, I pull my shirt up a little self-consciously. It doesn’t stay up, and the dip remains too low for my liking. “Come on; I can practically hear Zander pacing around his office with steam bursting out of his ears. He’s not a very patient man.” I want to tell her he has been patient with me, but I don’t want her to read into those words. Therefore, I follow Sasha in silence as she leads me to the door right at the end of the hallway, opposite to the one she led me down before.

There is a window in place of the interior wall, which gives me a view of the large office inside. Once we step inside, I gaze past the three men and over to the other window that reveals the outside. The front of the office might be opposite a strip joint, but this side of the building has a park across the road. It is early and a school day, yet there are already several young children running around and playing in the cool morning. Parents and guardians are watching close by. There is such innocence outside, and even though none of the noise from the laughter or screams from the kids penetrate into the room, I can’t help feeling sick at seeing their happiness and freeness. Those kids have no idea of the evils that live in this world. The evils that I let into my own life. I was dating a monster and didn’t even know it. How can we protect children when evil disguises itself as the good guys? “Doesn’t like me, my ass!” Sasha hisses in my ear, and I jump at her closeness, as well as her

words. I manage to follow her gaze to the guys. The one from earlier, Declan if I recall right, has narrowed eyes on Sasha. The other man I don’t know is reading over some papers at the desk. However, it is Zander’s gaze that makes me catch my breath. He is staring at me and not in any sort of wholesome way. His eyes are hot, his gaze stuck on my revealing cleavage. I would feel creeped out if I didn’t get a thrill from the attention. I have never worn anything skimpy like this before, never wanting attention on me. Yet, there is something about knowing Zander’s eyes are on me now that gives me pause. Then he finally comes back to himself and, with a shake of his head, grunts, waving his hand toward an empty chair in front of his desk. He then turns around and ignores me. I shakily take a seat, and then jump when Declan speaks up. “He didn’t ask you in here, Sash. You’re a

receptionist; go be one.” Declan’s voice sounds hostile, and I instantly feel a dislike toward him. “Fuck off, Dec. I’m here as Ava’s moral support.” “Moral support? You only met her ten minutes ago!” “And we bonded. So, how about you fuck off?” Sasha sits herself down next to me, crossing her arms and giving Declan a glare that is so icy I feel a cold shiver run over me just from being near it. “You are the most unprofessional bit—” “Stop! I don’t need to hear this, and our fucking client sure as fuck doesn’t need to see you two acting like children. Either both of you get out, or shut up and listen,” Zander snaps. Both Sasha and Declan audibly snap their jaws shut, but I can tell neither of them are happy about it. We all wait in silence in case either of them decides to break it, but when it appears they are both going to behave, the other man in the room speaks up.

“I’m Joey.” He reaches over to me, and I shake his hand, finding it warm and strong. Joey has Asian features and a warm smile. His build is closer to Declan’s leaner one, but he appears confident and is well-dressed. From his cheeky smile, the quick wink he gives me, and his cool demeanor, I imagine Joey is a bit of a ladies’ man. “Hi. Ava,” I say, finding this bit of normalcy to be strange. He keeps ahold of my hand until Zander clears his throat. When Joey finally releases my hand, his grin gets bigger. I wonder if he is acting this way on purpose to push Zander’s buttons. “I got the boys up-to-date on your situation. Our friend with the police has informed me, if we can get the evidence you have, he will ensure a smooth delivery to the correct people. He wanted in, but until we know what exactly we’re dealing with, I don’t want to involve him just yet.” “What situation? What exactly is happening here?” Sasha asks. “None of your fucking business. This is

dangerous shit that you are not qualified to be involved in,” Declan snaps. Something tells me their peace is just about to break. “You have no idea what I am qualified to be involved in!” “Oh yeah, you good with rape, torture, and murder?” He slaps her with his words. Hell, he slaps me with his words and I do know my situation. However, I haven’t given it much thought, not past torture. Rape and murder? I shake from the implication and feel more revulsion go through me as I picture Brian enjoying seeing such acts. How did I not see what was lurking beneath the surface? How could I be so blind? Sasha gapes at Declan, then her terrified eyes turn to me. She reaches out, taking my hand and squeezing it so hard I’m likely to get a bruise. But the pain centers me, giving me something else to focus on. “Fuck, Dec. What the hell?” Zander barks, and Declan has the grace to look apologetic. Zander comes around his desk and crouches

down by my chair before easily swinging me around until I am facing him. “I’m sorry,” Declan rushes to apologize. “I just don’t want Sasha to … She doesn’t need this case in her head,” Declan finally says. I look up to see he looks remorseful as he stares pleadingly at Sasha. Suddenly, his asshole comments from earlier make more sense. He wanted her out and was being a bastard to get her to leave to protect her. “Everyone, give us a minute,” Zander demands. The strong gruffness of his voice makes me look back down at him as everyone else quickly scoots out without another word. As soon as the door clicks shut, Zander reaches out and moves both of my hands together, resting them in my lap, his own hands covering mine and enveloping them in warmth. “I … I don’t know why I’m shocked. I guess I never … Murder? Rape? I never saw that on the video. I mean … I suppose it makes sense.” I swallow bile back down and stop talking.

Shit, this world is more fucked up than I even thought. “There has been a spike of women being abducted around Chicago and some neighboring cities. Two to three women disappear without a trace every month. Probably more than that since we can’t keep track of everyone. These women have no close families and have jobs that turn the media and the public off from looking too closely at them. No bodies have been found, and since these women are usually high-risk for being runaways, the police continue to treat them with little regard. But one woman turned up on a website. It’s a specialty site that caters to sick fucks. She was tortured, raped, and beheaded on tape.” I gasp, bile quickly rising again as I struggle to catch my breath. Zander squeezes my hands a little tighter as I stare into his eyes, using his to center myself, and take a deep breath. Once I have taken a few breaths and feel a little better, Zander continues. “Her body was never found. Most people

believed it was a snuff video—faked. But someone went to a lot of trouble to hide it once people began to scrutinize the video a little harder. There’s been no trace of it since, and the website that caters to the sick suddenly went dark. Or, as I believe, became harder to find.” He stops and places his hands on either side of my face. My eyes, which were only seeing him as a blur, are suddenly able to focus on his stern expression. I blink through my tears as he quickly wipes them away. Then I drag in a few more painful breaths. “I called Dec and Joey first thing this morning, and they did some digging. We think you might have stumbled upon something huge. I think, if I could see those videos on your USB, we might recognize many of those women as the ones missing. I think your ex knows that, as soon as those women are connected, there is no way the police can hide from their disappearances.” I think back to all the files I saw. There were hundreds of them. Were they all different women? Will there be hundreds of victims uncovered? “I’m hoping that the videos might not just have

the victims, but also the assholes abusing them. We can try to get locations, names, and trace these fuckers. We can help put a stop to this.” When I nod, he moves his hands away and finally leans back, resting his hands just above my knees. “Good. I know this isn’t easy to hear, but once we have that USB, we can get the ball rolling. We can end this situation and keep you safe.” “Okay.” But is there anywhere in the world safe from monsters? He squeezes my thighs, sending warmth and comfort through me, then stands. When he nods, the others must see him through the window since they take that as their cue to reenter, minus Sasha. Despite not knowing her well, I miss her presence. “Sash said she’s taking an early lunch,” Declan mutters as he takes her seat next to me and stretches his long legs out in front of the chair, his thigh almost touching my leg he takes up so much room. “We need to get our eyes on the USB. Where

is it?” Zander asks me. “I hid it in Mr. Forbes’ house—Brian’s neighbor. I put Whiskers back in the house, and then I had to think about what exactly I needed to do. I knew I had to go to the police, but I wasn’t sure exactly how that was going to go. Since I had two USBs, I left one behind. I fed his fish, changed Whisker’s kitty litter, put treats in her bowl, and put the USB at the bottom of the drawer in the kitchen where he keeps Whisker’s cans of tuna.” “I need an address,” Joey says, sliding over a piece of paper. “And I need everything you know about Brian Clarke.” I nod, my hand shaking as I write down Mr. Forbes’ address, then hesitate when it comes to Brian. “What type of things do you need to know about him?” “Full name, date of birth, names of any friends or family you know of. How long have you known him, and places he likes to hang out. I need his phone number if you can recall it, and anything you noticed that, looking back now, stands out as odd. Plus, I need you to go back over what happened

four days ago; see if anything new comes to light.” I spend the next two hours talking about Brian. It’s not pleasant, it’s not fun, and it forces me to realize I know next to nothing important. I know a handful of his friends and family, but I have no idea where he likes to hang out. I even have to give them a few variations of what I think his cell number is because I can’t check it with my own cell since I left it behind in his car when I escaped. I can confirm some dates when he left or returned from assignments, but not much else about his work. I never really noticed how little my life intertwined with his. When he went away, we texted occasionally. Then, as soon as he came home, I changed my routine to include quiet nights with him. He never pushed to do anything more. He never asked questions about my day, my online friends, or my life. Earlier, when Zander asked me why I stayed with him, I realized that I probably never loved Brian, not in the way I’m supposed to love a man I have been dating for so long. I was never in love

with him. Now I realize why Brian stayed with me. He was never in love with me, either. Maybe he didn’t even love me at all. I was just a useful cover for him. He appeared more normal with a girlfriend. And what a perfect girlfriend I was; never questioning him, never checking on whether he was home more often than I realized, and never pushing to do anything. I was his boring, gullible, blind-tothe-truth girlfriend. After I give them everything I know, I feel exhausted and disheartened. I want to go home; put on the warm, fluffy onesie I bought online two years ago, and occasionally live in when I am on a Netflix binge; curl up in my bed; and sleep for days. I want to rewind to before I met Brian and never bump into him as we both were picking up a sandwich at the same deli. “Ava, are you with us?” Zander interrupts my musings. “Huh?” I focus back on the guys and find them all staring at me.

“There’s just one more thing I need to do,” Zander says, looking uncomfortable. “I can do it. I usually do this kind of—” “I’ll do it,” Zander cuts Joey off. Joey looks surprised by this. What are they talking about? “Ava, I need to take some photos of the bruises you have from that bastard.” “Oh … Okay,” I agree slowly. “It’s for our records and if, in the future, you wish to press any charges,” he explains, though it didn’t occur to me to ask for a reason. I nod, watching as Declan and Joey leave. “Do you need the blinds shut?” I shake my head, watching nervously as he pulls out his phone to get his camera app. I lift my sleeve first, showing him the handprint from when Brian dragged me to his car. Then I pull up my new shirt to show him the bruise over my abdomen where I was punched. It’s already turning an off-brown color. As soon as Zander lowers his phone, I speedily move my shirt back into place, embarrassed to have

the injuries and self-conscious, though I know they are not my fault. Zander looks furious. I feel his anger like it is part of the air, thickening it and suffocating me. “I promise he won’t get the chance to ever hurt you again,” he promises. I nod rapidly, touched, yet unsure if it is something he will have much control over. “I’m going to have Sasha take you home.” He nods to the window where I notice Sasha waiting just outside the door. “Home? Is it safe for—” “My home,” he clarifies, and I nod sadly as Sasha enters the room. “You don’t need to be here for now, and my home is safe for you. But you must promise not to leave, and to keep Van entertained if you can. He will catch the bus, so you just need to wait inside for him. He has a key.” “Okay. When will you be back?” My gaze shifts to Sasha when she gives a quiet snort at my question. Zander glares at her before he focuses back on me. “Late. There is plenty of food in the

cupboards. Van eats almost anything. Make whatever you want.” I nod numbly at him, still feeling a little shocked and unsure of myself and what I have discovered today. “I got you some more appropriate things to wear,” Sasha announces, disturbing the quiet that follows Zander’s words. She smiles at me brightly and pulls on my hand to drag me out. “Straight there, Sasha. No stops. And text me when you arrive,” Zander barks out just as the door closes behind us. “Yeah, yeah.” Sasha waves Zander off, not glancing at the other guys who are talking quietly to each other farther down the hall. Within seconds, we are heading toward the front door. The phone is ringing when we pass her desk, and after one glance at the caller ID, she picks up the call, snaps, “No,” into it, and promptly hangs up. “Shouldn’t you listen—” “No,” she cuts me off, and then we are out the

door and walking into the cool air. The ride to Zander’s house is quiet. Though he told Sasha no stops, she pulls into a drive-thru and we get some burgers and fries for lunch. Considering Sasha has been gone so long for her lunchbreak, I’m worried about what she must have been doing. “So, that shit you’re caught up in sounds pretty messed up,” she finally says. I should probably be surprised she held her tongue as long as she did, considering what I have seen of her so far. “You could say that.” “This got to do with the ex-boyfriend you mentioned?” “Yeah.” I hope this isn’t the start of her asking me questions about Brian. I have already thought and spoken about him way too much today for my sanity. “Shit. That definitely overrides anything my exes have done. Although, I did walk in on one guy wearing some of my high heels. And the worst thing was they suited him better than me. I threw him the

shoes and told him to get lost.” “You know, in this day and age, you gotta wonder if wearing women’s shoes is all that bad,” I mutter, knowing it isn’t as bad as what Brian is into. “You’re probably right. He was actually really nice. He did admit that he liked to wear my underwear and bras, too. I couldn’t bear the thought that he would look better in them than me. My vanity doomed me in that relationship.” I smile at her, sipping on my shake and wanting her to keep distracting me. “What other bad breakups did you have?” “Well …” She taps the wheel for a moment before her eyes light up. “I dated a guy in college who seriously couldn’t last for more than a minute. And I’m dead serious. Once, I timed him. Most times, I just did a little foreplay so he would be done and so I never had to worry about getting started.” I snort at that awful image. “The worst part was his package was huge! If he knew what he was doing, I just know it would have been incredible.”

“How long did you stay with him?” “Not long, just a few weeks. After him, I found myself a creepy stalker. Went on a couple dates with him until he got super weird, so I broke it off. He used to break into my dorm room and masturbate all over my bed and clothes. It was gross.” I glance down at the remainder of my fries and feel my appetite fade. “I called Zander up, and he got Dec to sort that dude out right away. He couldn’t look at me again without peeing himself.” Sasha laughs hard then. “What is the deal with you guys?” “What guys?” she innocently asks. Perhaps too innocently. “You and Declan.” “Nothing is the deal with us. He’s an asshole. Has been since I was nine-years-old.” She shrugs as though that is just the circle of life. “You guys never …” I trail off then watch as horror settles over her face. “What? No way. Look, those guys look at me like I’m their baby sister.”

“And you see them all as brothers?” I press. “Well … I mean, Joey has always been a little too slutty for me. After all these years, he still surprises me by stooping lower and lower. But he’s happy, and I can’t say the women he dates seem unhappy. Either way, he’s definitely not my type romantically. He’s definitely annoying brother material. Then Zander …” She shakes her head a little as she gives me a small smile. “Well, I did used to have a small, tiny, miniscule, only lasted a couple weeks crush on him when I was younger. But he grew up into the Hulk and that is definitely not my thing. I need to have the biggest boobs in the relationship.” I feel outrage on Zander’s behalf at being spoken about like that. “Zander doesn’t have big —” “He does. His whole body is just one massive muscle, and well … No, not my thing.” I shrug nonchalantly, biting my tongue on defending Zander further. I think his body is stunning. If you were wrapped up tight amongst all those muscles, how the hell couldn’t you feel safe?

Feel loved? How could they not turn you on? Hell, I would likely surround him with weights just to watch his muscles bulge. “Hello? Earth to Ava? Did I just lose you to thoughts of Zander’s body?” She smirks at me. I immediately redden in embarrassment. “No, I was just thinking that you haven’t mentioned Declan yet.” Her nose twitches like she smells something funny. “Declan is something else. I am woman enough to admit he’s hot, but he’s also an asshole. He insults me constantly, and I’m pretty sure he does it purposely. He’s so moody that it’s impossible to know what Declan you’re going to get each second of the day.” “What do they say in kindergarten? If a boy insults you, then he likes you?” “I hate when people say that. Like we should take insults as something positive. What are we teaching girls and women when our concerns are just shrugged off like that?” I never thought about it that way. Now it seems

a little obvious that it is whacked. “You’re right. I only met Declan for a couple hours and he seemed nice.” Once Sasha was out of the room. “But he was an asshole to you. I think he was trying to get you away from the topic, but there are definitely better ways to go about it.” “Speaking of …” She turns her attention to me, and I immediately begin to brace for whatever is about to come. “If you ever want to talk, I’m here for you. I can already tell you’re going to be around for a while, so I think that makes us friends. I say we might as well be best friends. Us against the boys, yeah?” I’m touched by her words, having never had a best friend. However, her words also scare me. “I’m going to be here for a while?” With the way the guys were talking, this seems like it might all be over potentially soon. “Well, yeah. I mean, between you and Zander.” She gives me a look like this is a forgone conclusion. “There is no me and Zander,” I point out to her for what feels like the tenth time. What is her deal

about this? “Girl, I saw how he looked at you. Hell, I saw how you looked at him!” “That wasn’t … He was just—” “He likes you,” she cuts me off. “I’m not saying he’s perfect, but he’s nice and he’ll be good to you. You could do worse.” She is obviously right. I mean, just look at Brian. There could be no one as bad as him. “I just found out about Brian a few days ago. I’m not ready to … I can’t just jump into … I need time.” Sasha reaches across the console and places her hand on mine, squeezing it softly. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to push you. And I’m sure Zander isn’t, either. I don’t think he even realizes how he looks at you. I’m just trying to distract you and doing a horrible job. I’ll let it go.” I sag a little in my seat at hearing her words. I have so much on my plate that having to worry about Zander and whatever feelings may or may not be growing is too much. True to her word, Sasha doesn’t bring Zander

up in that way again. Then again, after what she has done, she doesn’t need to. I can’t believe it. I got away with stealing Zander’s car and kidnapping Van. I wonder if I can get away with murdering Sasha?

Chapter 6 Van is incredibly excited when he sees me, and I must admit, seeing someone smile so big just because they have seen me is a nice feeling. However, I quickly begin to feel out of my depth when Van’s manners take things to a whole new level. He tries to wait on me all afternoon, constantly asking me if I need a drink or if I want anything to eat. At a couple of lame jokes, I make him laugh uncontrollably, as if I’m hilarious. Then, when I ask him if he has any homework, he powers through it like everything is due the next day. I can’t help thinking this isn’t right. That Van is acting way out of character and there might be something really wrong here. Feeling out of my depth, I even resort to borrowing Van’s phone and calling Zander, which I

notice is still saved under Asshole. He at least picks up a little better this time, not barking down the line like last night. “What’s up?” “Hi, Zander, it’s me.” “Everything okay?” He instantly sounds on edge. “Yeah, sure … I think so …” I lower my voice as I walk down the hallway where I hope Van can’t hear me. “Van is acting weird.” “Weird how?” I can tell I have Zander’s full attention. “He’s doing his homework.” Okay, saying it out loud sounds ridiculous. “He’s doing his homework?” Zander slowly repeats. “What twelve-year-old is interested in his homework? And straight after school? With zero bribing on my behalf?” I explain, feeling more stupid the longer I talk. “And he laughed at my joke, which was really bad.” Zander is trying to help me with something that is dangerous, and I’m bothering him over Van doing

his homework and being polite? What is wrong with me? I quickly backtrack. “Sorry, just forget I called you. I’m being silly—” “No, it’s okay. It’s good you called. If you ever feel unsafe or that something might be wrong, I want you to call me. But I don’t think Van doing his homework is any cause for alarm. It might actually be cause for celebration.” “You’re right. I just thought, after yesterday when you mentioned him not engaging at school … well, I just worried this might be a sign of something important. Something I might not understand because I don’t know him.” I wish I could kick myself for calling Zander. He’s going to think I’m some attention seeking hypochondriac, seeing drama in everything. “This is a good thing. I don’t think he’s done homework once since … It’s a good thing, Ava.” “You’re probably right. Sorry to bother you with this.” I feel like an idiot, my face is flushed, and I’m desperate to end this call. “Like I said, you can call me anytime.

Actually, while I have you on the phone, I can let you know I’m probably going to be late tonight.” “Oh, okay.” I glance back down at Van. Logically, I know I’m being an idiot about this, but part of me worries there is something more going on here and I’m not equipped to handle it. At least if Zander was here, it would be his responsibility, not mine. “Van’s bedtime is nine-thirty, and make sure he cleans up whatever you cook for him. He’ll eat anything, except fish. He cleans after every dinner as part of his chores.” Zander sounds a little distracted now, his attention obviously shifting to something else on his end. “Okay.” “And double-check he brushes his teeth. I have no idea why, but he always tries to get out of it.” “Sure.” I try not to sound as overwhelmed as I feel. Van is twelve, not a baby. He can do everything himself, and he likes me, so this shouldn’t be too hard.

Zander takes a deep breath that echoes through the phone. “Thanks for doing this. I appreciate it.” “No worries.” Honestly, it really isn’t a problem. I’m fairly certain Zander has already done enough for me to owe him a lifetime of gratitude. He disconnects the call soon after, and then I’m faced with Van again. Alone. When it comes time to make Van dinner, I fear I get confirmation that he’s being weird. I burn the garlic bread on one side a charcoal black, which Van eats enthusiastically. He doesn’t just go back for seconds of my casserole, but thirds. I know it wasn’t that good. When I suggest he watch a movie once dinner is over, he is quick to suggest that we see if Juno is on Netflix. It is. Then, after clearly getting bored of Juno within minutes, I watch as he sits through an hour of the movie without complaining or saying a word to me. A boring hour for a twelve-year-old must feel like ten hours of sitting still. When I shut it off to put him out of his misery, he mentions getting ready for bed … an hour

before his bedtime! “Van, is everything okay?” I finally ask, now definitely convinced something is up. “Of course.” He is swift to answer. Before I can interrogate him further, he closes his bedroom door behind him. I glance over at his cell resting on the kitchen nook where I placed it last, but I can’t bring myself to call Zander. I’m probably overreacting. Well, it will sound that way when I try to explain it. “Hey, so … your brother not only finished his homework, but he ate some burnt bread, and then watched a movie with me that he hated, but he didn’t complain about. Then he decided to go to bed early. You should book him in for a psychiatric appointment immediately.” Yeah, that doesn’t sound stupid at all. Van soon exits his bedroom, now wearing his pajamas, and makes his way into the bathroom where he proceeds to brush his teeth. He is brushing his teeth without me having to prompt him! What is happening?

Am I just looking for something else to focus on, overanalyzing Van so I won’t have to think about my own sad life? As Van leaves the bathroom, wiping his sleeve across his mouth, I glance again at the time. It’s still well before his bedtime. “You sure you’re ready for bed?” I ask. He shrugs, but he doesn’t make any move to step back into his bedroom, just hangs out in the hallway. “Van, are you sure you’re okay being here with me?” Maybe he’s nervous to be left alone with me? Maybe the shock of last night is catching up to him and he is realizing that Zander has left him alone with his almost kidnapper? When you think about it, that sounds stupid, too. What is Zander thinking by leaving me in charge? “Yeah, of course.” He sounds so honest and sure of himself that I don’t think he’s lying. “And you’re feeling all right? Not sick or something?” Now he’s looking at me in confusion. He

probably just had a busy day and is tired, or he’s afraid I’m going to make him watch a different movie that will bore him to death. “I feel great.” “Are you tired?” He shrugs again. Given he hasn’t yawned once, and Zander pointed out what time he needs to be in bed, as though he usually doesn’t go to bed on time, it makes me think there must be something here. “You know, I think you mentioned showing me a photo of Zander with dreadlocks if I ever came back here.” Van’s face immediately lights up. “This way!” he excitedly says, rushing into the small office. He tries to pull a box free from near the top and it almost topples the entire thing over. I quickly reach out and take the top one, surprised by how heavy it is. He then taps on one two down from the top, so I remove them both, setting them out into the hallway. “These all have photos in them from Mom and Dad, but the others have different stuff,” Van says

quietly as he grabs the box he wants and carries it back over to the couch. I can’t help groaning a little as we sit back down on it. It would be bad enough to have just watched a movie sitting on it, but I definitely can’t handle another night sleeping on it. “Why does Zander have such an awful couch?” I wonder. He can’t be that hard up for cash. The weird thing is that it looks new. How can you get a new, lumpy couch? “He says it means he won’t ever fall asleep on it. Sleep is for the bedroom, and the couch is for watching a game or a movie.” “Not at my place,” I immediately disagree. “The couch is a bed, or a comfy place to read or marathon a TV season or series. I could never do that on this couch.” “I can get Zander to buy a new couch!” Van’s sudden outburst surprises me. Then again, I’m sure any excuse to get a new couch would be welcome here. “I doubt Zander wants a new couch. This one looks new,” I point out.

“But if you want a different couch, then I bet I can talk him into it.” “Van,” I sigh. “I hardly think it’s worth getting a whole new couch just for me. I’m only going to be here for a short while.” As soon as the words come out, I see panic register over his face. “But, don’t you like me?” he cries. “Of course I like you,” I rush to assure him, resting my hand over his shoulder for a moment. “Why wouldn’t I?” “You make everything better here. Even Zander is nicer when you’re here. Can’t you stay?” He reaches out to grip my arm, his eyes pleading with me with unshed tears. Well, shit. I didn’t see this coming. “At this stage, I am going to be here for a least a little while longer,” I say carefully, resting my hand over his death grip on my arm. “And I’ll still see you—” “Can I come with you?” “Come with me where?” “To your house. I don’t have to have my own room. I can sleep on your couch. It sounds nicer

than this one.” A few tears finally spill down his cheeks. I begin to feel incredibly out of my depth. I have no idea how to handle this. Was I really dispensing advice to Zander last night about his life? I was clearly a delusional idiot then. I have no idea what I’m doing or supposed to say in this situation. Van looks so hopeful that his good boy act suddenly makes a lot more sense. “How about you show me these photos, and I’ll have a chat with Zander about it later?” That is probably the equivalent of “go ask your father,” but I don’t know what else to say. “Zander won’t care if I go. In fact, he’ll be happy to get rid of me. Usually when he works late, I have to sit in his car and wait. He can’t leave me alone in the apartment. I bet he’ll be glad if he doesn’t have to worry about it anymore.” “Why doesn’t he take you into the office with him?” This bothered me last night, too. “It’s nice in there, and I bet the couch they have in the corner is a lot comfier than this one.”

“I don’t ever go into Zander’s offices,” he says quietly, his eyes tearing up again and his face paling more than anything I have seen before. “Why is that?” “I don’t want to talk about it.” He rips the lid off the box in front of him and quickly begins haphazardly throwing out loose photos to get to the one he wants. I let go of my questions for now, reminding myself to ask Zander about it later, and pick up a few of the photos floating around us. “You should be more careful. You don’t want to wreck any of these,” I say softly, admiring the photo of a happy family in my hands. I assume the older couple is Van and Zander’s parents. Zander is likely just a few years older than Van’s age now. He looks incredibly like him. Right now, they have the same eyes, same angles in the face, and the same body shape, even if Van is well over a hundred pounds smaller than Zander. There is no doubting the family resemblance in this photo. Zander has the same curly hair, although they are beginning to lose their shape, and his

stance is similar to how Van holds himself now. Plus, he has the same cheeky smile. In this photo, Zander has a small baby in his arms. They are all smiling for the camera and look incredibly happy. Why does life have to be so unfair? Why did these boys have to lose their parents? Why must they endure so much pain? “Here it is!” Van shoves a photo of Zander with long dreadlocks in my face. I have to laugh at how ridiculous he looks. His hair is frizzy, more matted than anything, and he does not look happy to be having his photo taken. “Wow … He looks … um … yeah.” I laugh again. Even though he’s obviously looked at this many times before, Van finds the photo hysterically funny as he grabs his belly. “Look at this one!” He shows me a photo of Zander with a full set of braces over his teeth, as well as a few unfortunate pimples. “And this!” Now he shoves one of him and some of his other friends mooning the camera. He must be sixteen in

this photo and at the beginning of his dreadlock phase. Van can’t stop laughing at all the embarrassing photos of Zander, and I can’t bring myself to stop him since he is having so much fun. Of course this fun can only last so long. Soon there are only photos of his mom and dad left, and then sadness quickly sets in. He keeps looking at them, though, going through them and sometimes stroking the images. It breaks my heart. When I put my arm around him, he is quick to lean into me and cry. “I know it sucks and it’s not fair, but just because you can’t see them here with you anymore doesn’t mean they’re not still with you. Every memory you have of them proves that. They are still so very much alive in your mind, and they will go wherever you go. You’re never apart from them,” I tell him softly, rubbing his back in small circles, hoping to offer him some comfort, if not from my words, then my actions. “It’s not the same,” his muffled voice sobs. I can’t argue with that. It isn’t the same at all.

It will never be the same again for Van. “What are you still doing up? It’s past …” Zander’s voice startles us both, even if it wasn’t said loudly or angrily, but Van’s reaction is far worse than my little jump. He goes stiff in my arms before leaping away from me and knocking over the box of photographs. Without a backward glance, he races into his room and slams the door shut. I turn around to face Zander, seeing he has completely frozen as he stares at the photos scattered across his coffee table. Then I quickly move to clean up the mess Van made from his fast escape. It takes a few long moments before Zander crouches down to help me. “Sorry to interrupt,” he finally says. “We didn’t hear you come in. I’m sorry about his bedtime and the mess. Van was … Well, he …” I trail off since Van’s reaction says it all. I know Zander might not be perfect, but I do know he loves his brother and his obvious sadness tells me he still has a lot of his own grief consuming

him. They both are going through something impossible, and I don’t want to add to Zander’s burdens by telling him about what Van said earlier about not wanting me to leave. “I haven’t looked at these since …” He doesn’t finish his sentence, distracted by the photo in his hands of his parents on their wedding day. They look young, happy, and full of hope. “They look like loving parents,” I say gently. “They were. They were the best. So freaking supportive.” He pauses, and I think that might be all he’s going to say, but then he suddenly begins to ramble. “My mom was funny, like piss yourself laughing funny, yet my dad didn’t have a funny bone in his body. Regardless, Mom always laughed at his lame jokes like she thought they were the best she’d ever heard. “My dad was a mechanic. He could talk about motors all day, every day. It was the only thing that interested him. But when I spoke about starting my own business, or Mom went on and on about the latest thing her friend or one of their kids was doing, or Van was gushing over how cool one of his

games was, Dad was all ears and gave you his complete attention. He gave great advice, too.” Zander sounds like he’s in a trance. It’s a shame he must come out of it. “Sounds wonderful,” I tell him honestly, placing the last of the photos back in the box. Zander finally shakes himself out of his memories and stands, holding out a hand to help me up. “Was Vaughn …? Was he upset looking at these?” “At first, he was fine. He was showing me photos of you, actually. Dreadlocks definitely don’t suit you,” I say, hoping to lighten the mood. “But eventually, he became overwhelmed. He misses them.” “I got the phone call about the accident when I was at work,” Zander says, looking right through me as he recalls the awful event. “I couldn’t think. I couldn’t even see. I was in complete shock. Dec went to Vaughn’s school and brought him to me. I couldn’t even process it, let alone tell my kid brother that our parents were dead. I don’t even really remember much about that day.

“I know Vaughn lost it. He kicked in walls, threw a side table over, smashed a jug, and ripped my phone cord out of the wall. He was screaming and crying, wouldn’t let anyone near him, and then he dodged us all and ran outside.” Zander’s body tenses while retelling this part, his worry easy to read in his tone. Van scared the hell out of him that day. Without thinking on it much, I step forward and hug him. He doesn’t react at first. Then he pulls me in tightly and squashes me against his hard chest. With how hard he’s holding me, an almost stranger, I wonder if he has allowed anyone to comfort him since his parents died. “The idiot nearly got hit by a car!” he growls, continuing his story. “That snapped me out of my stupor, and I screamed at him that he had to be more careful, that I refused to lose him, too. “After that day, he never cried again. At the funeral, he looked like he wasn’t even aware of what was happening. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he had been medically sedated.

He completely shut off, and the only time he spoke to me in long sentences was to yell at me and to fight.” “Is that why he doesn’t want to go into your office?” I suddenly deduce. “He hasn’t said it out loud, but he hasn’t stepped foot in there since I told him our parents were dead. I don’t push it.” When his voice cracks, my heart squeezes painfully for them both. “And he’s not cried since at all?” “Well, tonight, obviously. I’m sure he must cry sometimes, but I never see it.” He shrugs, which I feel against me. “He probably does it alone in his room.” “That doesn’t sound healthy,” I point out. I wonder why he was able to open up to me tonight, but can’t seem to show emotion in front of Zander. It’s one thing for Zander to hold things in. While still not healthy, he’s at least a grown man. But Van is twelve, and the things he is repressing now will continue to affect him later and change the adult he will become in the future. No kid deserves to be full of so much anger and grief.

“I know, but like I said, he won’t talk to me. He won’t talk to anyone I set him up with. He just keeps it bottled up inside.” “Maybe it was too soon then. Maybe he’s ready to talk now,” I suggest. “Or maybe he has connected with you. Maybe it’s you that is bringing this healing forward in him.” I take in those words, feeling cocooned in our hug with his arms still wrapped tightly around me. Is that what is happening? Has Van really connected with me? Or am I just a convenient adult who was around at the right time? “I’m worried that, when I leave, it will hurt him,” I admit. “I’m concerned that he will take that out on you.” “I think you’re right. We can cross that hurdle when we get there. No one is saying you have to leave anytime soon.” I try to take that in, while also not reading too much into it. “I’m not sure my back can survive your couch long-term,” I confess, cringing when it occurs to me

that I sound like I am fishing for an invitation into his bed. “Which is why you will be sleeping in my bed tonight.” Zander surprises me, squeezing me a little tighter. My entire body melts at just the thought of that, of the images that enter my mind, with the possibility of what could happen in that circumstance. However, Zander either reads what is on my mind and is quick to shut it down, or it’s a coincidence that he knows just how to crush those fantasies. “I just came home to check on you guys and grab a quick bite to eat and a shower. I’m heading back out later. Dec and I are going to break into Forbes’ house and retrieve the USB. I doubt I’ll be home again before sunrise, so there is no point in my bed being empty while you suffer on the couch.” “Oh …” I lamely reply, reluctantly stepping back when Zander drops his arms from around me, appearing a little embarrassed by our embrace. The reminder of his mission tonight is like a

cold bucket of water being thrown over me. I’m not here to flirt or fantasize about Zander. I’m here for his protection and help. That’s it. At best, he sees me as someone who might be able to help his brother. At worst, I am an obligation he can’t shake. “I’m sure Vaughn has calmed down now. I’ll just see him and make sure he’s settled in,” Zander says without looking at me, already moving toward the hallway. I’m not sure if Van answers his knock or not. Regardless, Zander enters and closes the door behind him. Distracted, I plate up some food for Zander, and by the time he comes out of the room and makes his way over to me, I have accidently given him the entire leftovers from the casserole. It fills the entire plate and stands at almost two inches thick. Oops! “I’m hungry, but I’m not sure I’m that hungry,” he jokes as he takes in the plate. I quickly redden in embarrassment. “Sorry, I

wasn’t paying attention. I’ll take some off—” “Nah, leave it. I can’t remember the last time I ate a home-cooked meal I didn’t have to make myself. I’m sure I’ll love it. Is this your specialty?” He sits himself on a stool and watches me after putting the plate in the microwave. “No.” I turn my body toward the fridge and duck my face in there before he can read on my face that I very clearly don’t have a specialty dish. “It is going to be a surprise, then?” “Yep.” It will be a surprise for us both. “So, don’t try to get it out of me.” Realizing I have spent too long in front of the fridge doing nothing, I grab the foiled garlic bread and swing around to face him. “Want some burnt garlic bread with it?” “I think I literally have my plate full already.” He gives me a small smile before standing and taking the plate out of the microwave, which he needs to put in three more times afterward to heat the entire thing through. “You put my sweats back on?” he asks as he begins to dig into his food.

I look down at myself and wince at the reminder of what Sasha did earlier. “Yeah, well, I can’t really sleep in jeans,” I explain. My other clothes are dry now, though a proper wash might have made them less stiff than my crude shower wash. “Didn’t Sasha get you some new clothes?” he distractedly inquires. “She did …” I say carefully. “Shit, what did she do?” he groans, shaking his head a little. “Let’s just say that none of what she got me is really appropriate to wear.” “What?” Zander sounds genuinely confused as he drops his fork to give me his full attention. I redden further at having to explain this more to him. “Most of it is … well, revealing.” “Revealing?” He still looks confused. I decide I am going to kill Sasha for making me describe this to him. “As in, sexy lingerie, see-through pajamas, short shorts, low-cut tops, and dresses that I

definitely can’t bend over in, unless I want to put on a show.” Zander’s mouth drops open in shock, and I fidget a little. “Why would she do that? She knows Vaughn lives here with me; why the fuck would she want you in clothes like that?” He’s clearly angry and getting more worked up about this as the seconds pass. I can just imagine the fight tomorrow at work. Except, Zander reaches out and grabs his phone, connecting to Sasha immediately. “What the hell are you playing at?” he immediately demands of her, pausing when she says something. “I don’t care what time it is. Why the fuck did you buy Ava that shit?” he growls into the phone before listening to her reply. “It is shit. Just because it cost me a shitload doesn’t mean it isn’t shit!” I wince at his words, glancing back at Van’s room to see if Zander’s raised voice has gained his attention yet. His door remains closed, thankfully.

“Sasha, do I need to remind you that Vaughn lives with me? What the fuck is a twelve-year-old supposed to think of that?” Another pause from my end. “After he’s gone to sleep? What is Ava supposed to wear for the other eighteen hours? And why the fuck do you think she wants any of that crap?” He is hissing after her reply, his anger no less apparent. “For me? Are you fucking insane?” My heart sinks a little from his clear anger, but my embarrassment quickly rises to takes its place. As there is another long silence, I would give anything to know what Sasha is saying, but I don’t even hear a whisper. “Look, just stay the fuck out of this. The last thing Ava needs is this, and that doubles for me. Tomorrow, buy her some fucking normal clothes and forget this stupid idea.” Zander slams his cell down on the table, making me wince as a crack appears on his screen. He’s breathing heavily and glaring ahead, not really staring at anything, more like lost in thought. I feel more than uncomfortable knowing how he feels. It puts a final pin in any fantasy I might

have been holding on to. Movies and books aren’t real. They are fake stories dramatized and romanticized for the enjoyment of people who need to escape their real lives. This is the real world. Just because Zander is helping me and being incredibly generous, that doesn’t mean he wants me. Why would he? I couldn’t even see a monster when he was standing right in front of me. No, instead, I dated him for almost two years and slept with him. Who the hell will ever want me after that? “Sorry about that. Tomorrow, I’ll have more appropriate clothes for you.” Zander sounds calmer. I can’t seem to find my voice, so I just nod. After the silence stretches out too long, he says, “This tastes really good.” “Thanks.” I know he’s just being nice. It really wasn’t all that great, and the ton of it he’s consuming definitely must taste a little bland by now. “I think I might just get ready for bed. You sure I can have your bed?” “Yeah, I changed the sheets this morning while

you were sleeping like the dead.” He gives me a small smile, and I try to return it. “Thanks,” I say again. This time, it is me who makes a quick retreat. After brushing my teeth, I sneak my way into Zander’s bedroom while he is still attempting to finish his meal. He looks deep in thought and doesn’t spare me a glance. Before I close the door, I see Van’s bedroom door is ajar. I can’t stop myself from peeking in. It’s too dark to see him, but I hear his soft snores and know he is sleeping. At least one of us will be getting a good night’s sleep tonight. Without another glance back Zander’s way, I rush into his bedroom and eye the bed with more than a little bit of trepidation. Just like the rest of his apartment, this room is spotless and completely put-together. Even the bed looks perfectly made. It’s a shame to ruin it, yet I pull back the covers, anyway. I note there is no dock for him to charge himself in, so he’s definitely not a robot, like Sasha feared.

Once settled in, trying to ignore the scent of Zander all around me, clean sheets or not, I fear I won’t be able to sleep much. Not only am I still stressed from this entire situation, but I have even heavier thoughts on my mind tonight. The Brian situation got worse today in terms of realizing just how sick he really is. Plus, I can’t help worrying about how tonight’s retrieval mission for the USB will go. What if Brian sees them? What if he hurts them? Would he be willing to do that just to get to the USB? Add in my own anger at myself and there is a lot going on in my mind. Therefore, it is a complete surprise when I manage to fall asleep, and a total shock when I wake up to find myself not alone.

Chapter 7 The first thing I become aware of is the alarm blaring in my ears. After turning it off, the next moment of awareness is that it is only seven-thirty. Who wakes up at seven-thirty? Then I recall that I’m in Zander’s bedroom, and since it is a school day, I assume he wakes up at seven-thirty to begin getting Van up for the day. He said he wouldn’t be coming home last night, so I figure this is now my job. Except, when I roll over, I find a still sleeping Zander next to me, lying on top of the covers, his face peaceful, and his body looks relaxed as he faces me on his side. His feet are naked, but he’s otherwise dressed in dark jeans and an equally dark, long-sleeved Tshirt. I assume he wore this last night since the suit

he had on during the day likely isn’t that handy for breaking into a house. From how he is, it is like he couldn’t be bothered changing clothes last night or, more likely, sometime early this morning and fell asleep on top of the covers as is. I sit up and glance over at the bedside table, almost fearing there will be a USB sitting there. There isn’t. I guess it would be stupid to bring it back here. Did they get it last night, or was it a failed mission? Is it missing? Could Mr. Forbes have found it and thrown it away? Or looked at it himself? The more I think about it, the more stupid I realize it was to leave it there. Shaking away those thoughts, I focus back on the time and the fact that I just turned his alarm off. I don’t know what time Zander came in, but I’m positive if I wake him up now, he won’t get enough sleep. It’s time for me to help pull my weight. A morning routine seems less daunting than last night, so I carefully get out of bed, tiptoe into

the bathroom, and prepare for a new day. Ten minutes later, I am dressed in jeans and Zander’s sweatshirt since everything else is too low cut for Van, and then I enter his bedroom to wake him up. I’m not sure what to expect after last night, but Van acts like it never happened. He’s bright, cheery, and quick to get moving. Whether this is part of him ignoring his issues or a childlike way of bouncing back, I’m not sure. I can’t leave the house to take Van to school. He says he catches a bus home, but Zander usually drops him off. Therefore, all I can buy Zander is an extra forty-five minutes of sleep. When I wake him, he’s so disorientated that he jackknifes up in the bed and nearly head-butts me. He’s even more out of sorts when he looks at the clock and reads the time. “I got Van ready for school. I just can’t drop him off,” I quickly explain as Zander rips off his shirt and the padded protective vest underneath, uncharacteristically dropping them both on the ground. It’s the first bit of mess I have seen in this

house that hasn’t been contained to the kitchen sink. It’s a miracle. So is the image of Zander shirtless. My breath catches in my throat as he pulls open his drawer and messes the organization there as he chaotically searches for whichever shirt he is looking for. “Zander?” I ask since he hasn’t yet acknowledged me. When I see him going for his jeans’ button, I quickly retreat. I might be able to tell myself it is acceptable to ogle him shirtless—okay, fine, more than acceptable—but it is definitely creepy to watch as he completely undresses. Especially when he hasn’t even acknowledged I’m in there with him. I leap out into the hallway and shut the door, but not before Van sees a shirtless and possibly pant-less Zander. “What’s going on?” he asks, displaying a huge grin. “Zander is just getting dressed so he can take

you to school,” I squeak out, wishing my voice didn’t sound so high. “Where did you sleep last night?” Van asks, his grin turning into a smirk since he has likely already guessed the answer. “What do you mean?” I stall. “There is no pillow or blanket on the couch. Where did you sleep?” “I … well … I slept in Zander’s room,” I finally say, wincing when Van looks excited having this news confirmed. “And where did he sleep?” I swallow hard as my mouth dries. Why does it feel like I’m being interrogated? As an adult, shouldn’t I have the upper hand? Why do I need to answer any of this? “He was out last night. Now, are you sure you got all your—” “No, he wasn’t. I was there when he came home. Did you guys have a sleepover?” he presses. I can’t tell if he means sleepover as in sex, or if he’s innocently meaning a sleepover, picturing pillow forts and flashlights.

“He went back out after you saw him. Now, as I was saying, have you—” “No, he didn’t. If he did, then why is he home already? I never saw him walk back in, which means he’s been in his room this whole time I’ve been awake. Are you and my brother dating? Are you his girlfriend? Are you going to move in permanently? Will you two get married?” My jaw drops at just how out of control this has all gotten. How did I get here? How can my day be turning into such a disaster when it’s not even eight-thirty in the morning? “No! Van, don’t be silly. Your brother and I are just friends.” I hope I sound convincing, because I am definitely not lying. Van’s eyes have lit up, so I don’t think there will be any dampening of it just yet. Just great! Another way for me to disappoint him. “Vaughn, get your coat. We’re leaving,” Zander’s voice snaps from behind me, and I quickly jump out of the way as he barrels through. “Don’t mind him. He isn’t human until he has

coffee,” Van explains on an eye roll. “You’ll learn that, though, now that you’re dating. As soon as he wakes up fully, he’ll apologize for being an asshole.” “Vaughn, hurry the fuck up!” Zander snaps as he holds the front door open, keys in hand. “Wow, you’re not kidding.” I glance over at the coffee maker and wonder how hard it is to work it. It’s probably best if I have one waiting for him. “I wouldn’t touch his coffee maker. He loses his shit if it isn’t made just right.” “Vaughn!” Zander screeches, and that gets Van moving. “Agnes and Ava has a nice ring to it. When you have a baby, will you name him Agnes Junior?” The door is firmly shut behind Van, and though I can’t hear whatever is said afterward, it sounds like Van is talking a million miles an hour again. Glad to be out of that firing range, I quickly clean up the kitchen, tidy up Zander’s room, including placing his worn shirt and pants into the hamper, and hang the vest up in his closet since I’m not sure what the washing procedure is for that.

It’s rather scary that Zander had to wear such a thing last night, but thankfully, he didn’t need it, given there are no bullet holes to speak of. Then I sit at the kitchen counter and wait for Zander to get back. I hope I haven’t made him mad by letting him sleep in while I got Van up. Obviously, I should have given him more time to get himself a coffee. I can’t help tapping my foot restlessly against the floor. Zander has plenty of books; they just aren’t my thing—all action and no romance. He has a laptop in his office I saw last night, but if I access it, I fear my mind will wander, and then I will log in somewhere that can be traceable back to me. This leaves me with doing a spring cleaning. However, since Zander is anal about how tidy his apartment is, I’m sure to get that wrong, as well as it being far too personal for a stranger to do. Otherwise, I have the TV and the evil couch. My boredom might lead me to binge-watch daytime TV, something I’m not okay with. I try to resist, but I grow bored and time seems to drag. I pick up the remote, my finger hovering over

the power button, before I’m saved by the door opening. I brace for Zander’s shitty morning mood, but find him holding a coffee already in his hand. “Hey,” he mutters, dropping his keys on the small table by the doorway and moving over to the couch, plonking himself down next to me. “Hi. Sorry about this morning. I should have woken you.” “Don’t be sorry. I just got a caffeine thing. Can’t wake up properly without it. It doesn’t help that Van enjoys getting on my nerves first thing in the morning.” He takes another sip of his coffee, as if to soothe himself. “Did he keep up his fast talking the entire way?” “Yep. Apparently, we should call all our children Agnes, and then just place a number behind them so we can tell them apart.” I snort at hearing that. “Geez, how many kids does he think we’re going to have?” “Who knows? He just does it to annoy me. Knowing I didn’t have my morning coffee gave him

more motivation to be irritating.” “Again, I’m sorry.” I fidget next to him, feeling as though I failed this test or disappointed Zander somehow. “It’s okay. I didn’t intend to come back to the apartment until it was time to get Vaughn up. I didn’t expect to tell you what our routine was.” “But you came back early?” “Yeah, forgot for a second you were even in my room. Sat on my bed, took my shoes off, and then you moved in your sleep. I meant to just go out onto the couch, but I didn’t see the harm in just lying down for a few minutes. Next thing I know, you’re waking me up. I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t violate your trust.” He sounds a little nervous now. I rush to assure him it was fine. “It’s your bed, Zander. I can’t fault you for using it. And it’s fine. I wouldn’t wish your couch on anybody.” I try to lighten things up and am rewarded with his chuckle. “So, if you came back early, does that mean things went really well? Or really bad?” I hold my breath, waiting for his answer. “It went well for the most part. We were able

to break into Forbes’ house with no issue. Found the USB immediately. Set up a couple of cameras from the street looking into Clarke’s house, but he didn’t appear to be home. If possible, I’d like to put a tracker on his car.” I nod, not liking the reminder of Brian. I know this entire situation is a constant reminder of him, but hearing his name said out loud, even if it’s just his last name, and picturing his house as Zander speaks about it, I don’t like. I wish I could forget him all together. In fact, I wish he could just forget me so I can go back to my life. “Did you look at the USB?” “We tried. It wouldn’t work on our computers. There might be an encryption or something on it. All I know is that it wouldn’t load. I left it with Jerry to look at. He’s a genius when it comes to all things electronic. He’ll figure it out.” I nod slowly, not sure who Jerry is, other than vaguely recalling his name being mentioned during the fight between Sasha and Zander yesterday. I’m more worried that perhaps there won’t be anything

on there. What if I got a dud USB? What if it didn’t copy properly? If the USB is empty, then I will have no proof and no way to stop Brian from coming after me forever. I know he won’t stop until I’m dead. If I can’t get him arrested for his sick interests, then what the hell am I supposed to do? “Don’t worry; Jerry is on it,” Zander reminds me when I must still look panicked. He pats my leg gently before he takes another long sip of his coffee. “I don’t think I met Jerry yesterday. I remember you and Sasha mentioning him, though.” “Jerry is a little odd. I’ve only met him once. The others, not at all.” “Really?” I grab ahold of the new topic, needing to get away from talk of Brian, even if just for a moment. “How does that work? Does he come into the office after you’ve all gone home?” “He’s never stepped foot into our offices.” I frown, especially at seeing Zander smiling at my obvious confusion. “I don’t get it.”

“About three years ago, I saw a woman being mugged on the street. I stopped the guy and made sure the lady was okay. She was pretty shaken up, but she wasn’t physically hurt. I stayed with her while she spoke to the police. She had no car so I took her to the station to file a report, and then she mentioned she had been on her way to get some groceries. She caught the bus everywhere, so I took her to her local store and helped her take her groceries home afterward.” “Wow. That was nice of you.” “I suppose.” He shrugs. “It just seemed like the right thing to do, and I had the day free, anyway. I had just started my business, and we were incredibly quiet. We had one case that was proving to be impossible. I only took it because we had nothing else. It was an embezzling case that none of us were properly qualified to do.” “I’m not sure how this story leads to Jerry?” “Right. So, I drop the lady off at her house, help her unpack her groceries, and then I was on my way. I only told her my name was Zander. Nothing else. I never mentioned my job or last

name. Yet, Jerry found me. “See, the lady I helped is his mom. So, when I got back to my office, I had an email waiting, and inside was all the evidence I needed to finish our case. Jerry had hacked the street cameras, saw my license plate, and then found me. From there, he found out about my business and hacked into our files to discover we were working a case. He left me a note with the evidence, saying our security was shit and that the case had been fun. Then he thanked me for helping his mom.” “Wow, and then you just joined him up?” “Well, at first, I would just use the email address he gave me to talk about something when I was stuck. From there, it grew until he became a full-time employee. He talks to us all through email. I think he and Sasha have the most normal discussions. They’re all used to the mysterious Jerry, so they don’t even think it’s odd now.” He smiles a little before taking another sip of his coffee. “And you’ve only met him once? Why?” “Jerry is a germophobe. He suffers from

agoraphobia and has severe Crohn’s disease, amongst a bunch of other ailments. He doesn’t ever leave his house, and he doesn’t ever see other people. He’s a loner, and he prefers it that way.” I can’t imagine living life like that. “Doesn’t he get lonely?” “No. This is what he knows. I’m told, even as a kid, he preferred his own company.” “Isn’t there something you can do to help him?” “I am. I give him work, and he enjoys it. I’ve never given him a problem that he hasn’t been able to solve. He loves a challenge.” I nod, hoping the USB isn’t too much of a challenge for him and that he can crack it. “His name isn’t actually Jerry,” Zander admits after a few minutes of silence. “What?” I gasp, feeling that was probably important to point out to begin with, along with his actual name. “It’s an alias he uses. I have no idea what his real name is.” “But, you said you met his mom. Couldn’t you

easily find out?” “She was his foster mom at some point. She made a real impact on her foster children. They loved her, and she loved them. She fostered close to sixty kids in her forty years. She also had kids come and go whose records aren’t likely to be found easily. I might be able to find him, but I know he doesn’t want that. If he wants to tell me his real name, then he can do that in his own time. For now, Jerry is fine.” He shrugs, giving me a little smile. “And you trust him completely?” “Yes.” This is said with conviction. With him so obviously trusting Jerry, I find myself trusting him, too. “Okay.” “I need to go into the office today. I have some other things to clear up from other cases, a couple meetings, and I need to get some advice from the cop I know.” “Are you sure you can trust him?” “Not all cops are bad. Ken is definitely one of the good guys. I know Sasha gave you a brief history yesterday about us, but I bet she never

mentioned Artie.” I shake my head. “He was one of us, lived on the other side of Sasha for a few years before they moved to a shittier part of the neighborhood. We were all still close, and Artie and I were best friends. He was brave, funny, and reckless. He always knew he wanted to be a cop like his dad. Was killed during his first day on the job. Pulled over a guy for speeding and was shot as he approached the driver’s window.” I gasp, tears welling in my eyes for a man I don’t even know. That is so awful. “How long ago did this happen?” “Almost four years ago. Wrecked us all.” I shake my head, my heart breaking for Zander who has lost so much in his life in such a short amount of time. How is he even still functioning? Zander clears his throat, his eyes no longer on me but staring at the blank TV. “Anyway, his dad is the buddy I know. He was like a second father to us all. We can trust him.” Now it’s my turn to offer comfort, resting my

hand on his leg and gently squeezing. It is probably wrong in this moment to notice how hard his leg is, how strong the muscles feel protruding underneath. Therefore, I quickly remove my hand before I can wonder about anything else in that region. “How long will it take Jerry to get the USB to work?” “Hopefully, not long.” “Am I coming in with you today?” I might not have much to do there, but at least Sasha will keep me entertained. “I think, until we have a better idea of what is going on, you should stay here. The less often you’re outside this apartment, the less likely anyone is going to find you.” “Right …” I try not to sound as forlorn as I feel as I glance down at the remote just to my side, coming to terms with the fact that I’m about to get well-acquainted with daytime TV. “I think you mentioned that you usually do office temp work, but you also run your own business where you design and create webpages?”

“Yeah.” I think of all the business I’m probably missing by not being able to check my emails or answer my phone. Being reliable and quick is how you stay alive in both of those fields. Everything I have built up will be wasted now. I will have to start over when I get my life back. If I get my life back. “Well, I know I won’t have the programs you have, but I thought, while you’re stuck here, maybe you can take a look at our website. We never really took much care when we designed it. Just put the logo on and made sure our information was there. Think you could make some notes on how to improve it?” I grin up at him, happy when he smiles down at me. I know this is probably a pity job, but who cares? It is almost like I can do him a favor while he’s helping me out. Sure, it’s like giving a man a free brick after he’s built your entire house, but it is still better than nothing. “I’d love to do that!” “Great. I’ll get you some paper, pencils, and

my laptop. The office is too cramped to work in there, but you can make yourself at home on the dining room table.” I nod eagerly, wanting to get on with it. As soon as Zander leaves for work, I begin writing down ideas as I glance at the plain, boring design they have set up. For the first time in days, I find myself in a familiar routine. It feels great and relaxing, and I smile the entire time I work. Plus, I manage to avoid daytime TV, so it’s a success. *** I end up spending the next week plotting ideas and adjusting what I can online. I design a new logo, new branding, and a whole new color scheme for the site. There is no menu bar, so I add that. Zander also gives me a few previous clients for me to email to see if they are willing to write any testimonies. After a week, I think I have done my best work. I could do a little better if I had my programs,

but I can always fix them later. I have overthought every single thing, down to the font size and style, and am happy when Zander appears impressed with the final result. During this week, we have kept the same new routine of sleeping in bed together. I’m always under the covers, while Zander drapes his own blanket over himself as he sleeps on top. I’m not sure why he is so determined on this since I would have immediately caved if he asked to sleep under the covers with me, but maybe that right there is why. Right now, I’m a job, and I’m good with Van. Zander even said it himself. I helped Van to open up. He is interacting with the world again, and Zander obviously wants to keep that going. I have tucked him in every night since his freak out over the photos. It seems to soothe Van, and part of me likes feeling needed. We haven’t heard a peep out of Brian, and I have relaxed enough in Zander and Van’s place that I feel completely safe and comfortable. Unfortunately, after a week of waiting for Jerry

to figure out why they can’t play the videos on the USB, he finally figures it out. And then Zander’s mood plummets. Even Van notices the frostiness and ignores a few of the “Vaughns” he is called in order to keep the peace. I feel even more horrible that I have subjected Zander and his team to this. It must be affecting them all. I only saw a little of one clip; what other horrors are on there? Declan mentioned rape and murder, as well as torture, when we had our first meeting. Is that what else they have been forced to watch? After two days of Zander viewing the videos and searching for faces, locations, or any indication on how old the videos are, he finds something he thinks I should know about. And I’m sure I don’t want to know whatever it is. “Ava,” Zander calls out softly. I’m already in bed, the lights out, and part of me wants to fake sleep. Sometimes in life, you get a gut feeling that something you are about to hear or do will be life changing. I knew letting that door close in the

stairwell on me the first night I spent here was life changing. And so, when Zander gets home and tells me he needs to speak to me in private as soon as Van is asleep, I know this will be one of those times, too. And apparently, I am a coward, because I avoid Zander as much as possible as soon as I realize this. I stayed close to Van, making sure I was showered and ready for bed while he was still awake. Then, when Zander put him to bed, me spinelessly not tucking him in, I snuck into his bedroom and turned off all the lights before diving under the covers to fake being asleep. It is incredibly chicken of me, but my stomach churns and my blood pumps through my body like a booming pulse on a fast drumbeat. It vibrates through my body, setting a dooming tempo. “Ava, I know you’re awake.” Zander sits on the bed, the mattress dipping, and I debate whether to answer him or not. “I know you’re scared, but I need to tell you something, and I need you to be strong.” I squeeze my eyes closed, hating how calm and

understanding he sounds. Then I take a deep breath and force myself to sit up. Zander turns on the side light as I try to prepare myself for whatever he’s about to say. Maybe it won’t be as bad as I think. “Give me your hands.” He motions for me to sit in front of him. His legs are spread out wide as he leans back against the headboard. Perhaps if my mind wasn’t in a panic, I might have noticed how odd this position is. “What?” “Just trust me,” he says, holding out both his hands until I place mine in his, sitting between his open legs, facing him. I had to move out from the blankets to rest on top with him, but there is still a body of space between us. As his hands engulf mine, regardless of whether this is his intention, I feel warmth and comfort from his hold. I never thought I had small hands—they seem average to me—but in Zander’s grip, they feel small. He holds my gaze, and I watch him ready

himself to tell me whatever he needs to say. As much as I don’t want to hear it, I can easily see he has no wish to tell me this news, either. “We are still analyzing the video. There are hundreds on there, all differing lengths and quality. We want to be able to have concrete evidence when we hand this up the chain. I want to have at least some of those women identified, I want some of the perpetrators known, and I want things to begin to happen immediately. I want arrests made, investigations opened, and I want this already blown wide open so no one can put a lid on it.” I nod, carefully agreeing, not sure where the bad news lies. “And so far, we’ve been able to identify three of the women. It’s not many, but unfortunately, not many of these women have people who care enough about them to file a missing person’s report. The ones who do, they have been missing a long time. Their photos aren’t easy to match up.” “Okay …” I tentatively say, feeling sad for those women who life seems to have given up on them.

“And the men who are hurting them are rarely seen on screen. The videos are focused on the victims and their pain and injuries. But we have gotten a few breaks. We have been able to get footage of eight separate men. We’re running their faces now to see if we can match them up.” “That’s good, right?” “It is … but it’s also not,” he answers cryptically. “Why?” “Because …” He takes a deep breath, his entire attention on me as he takes another long breath before he rocks my world. “One of the men is Clarke.” My mouth drops open, my heart stops beating altogether, and black spots appear before my eyes. “Ava!” Zander growls, his grip tightening around my hands as I struggle to get free from him. What the hell? Brian tortured women? He … He raped and murdered them? I feel sick, my stomach roils, my body flushes from hot to freezing cold in seconds, and I feel dizzy as my head and body violently shake.

Who is making that awful sound? It hurts my ears, stabbing my eardrums. Finally, black spots grow so large I can’t see anything else. And then I find myself in Zander’s lap, his arms wrapped tightly around me, his body rocking mine gently, and I hear the thumping of his heart heavy against his chest. I still try to get free, needing to get out of here. Needing to be away from this stifling room, this room where the words still echo around me that Brian is not just some sicko who enjoys watching women being hurt. He is someone who likes to inflict the pain himself. Maybe it isn’t a big leap, but the difference for me is the size of a canyon. “I … I dated … I let him into my life … He …” I break down, sobbing. Zander holds me, letting me ride my tears out until I just have sniffles left. His shirt is drenched, but he doesn’t complain. “None of this is your fault. Clarke is an expert in keeping his sick feelings hidden. He needed you to help with his cover as just a normal, regular guy.

He would have taken extra steps to make sure you never saw that side of him.” I suspected this earlier, but to know he needed me to cover up the fact that he was committing these acts breaks my heart all over again. Then there is the fact that, not only did I not see the monster within the man I dated, but I also helped him stay under the radar to keep doing awful things? “What did you see him doing?” I ask, not really wanting to know the answer yet feeling I deserve those sins on my conscience. “I’m never going to share that with you, but he was in more than one. Some looked old; some newer.” I bury my face back against Zander’s chest, feeling more like a child wanting to hide from a nightmare than a grown woman. “How did this happen? He seemed so normal. I … Why couldn’t I see this?” “Like I said, he’s an expert at hiding that side of himself,” Zander calmly answers. “But I dated him for eighteen months!” I yell.

Thankfully, it comes out muffled since I’m still against Zander’s shirt. I need to be mindful of Van sleeping. “Doesn’t matter. You could have been married to him for twenty years, and if he didn’t want you to know, you wouldn’t have known.” “But I did know he was away a lot. I did know he was distant. I knew he never shared most of himself with me. I knew all of that,” I reprimand myself. “And I bet you figured most of that came with his job. He couldn’t discuss his work, so of course there would be gaps in his stories, gaps in the person he showed you. That is not your fault.” He says all this as he holds me tighter. “But maybe if I had asked more questions—” “Then he would have dumped you before you could get too close to the answer. He would have found someone else to maintain his cover, and he would have continued to be a monster. Because of you, we have proof of what he has done. No matter how this case goes, no matter how long this takes, Clarke is going down. He will never be able to harm

another person again.” Zander’s words finally sink in. It doesn’t ease the guilt and horror I feel, but it does make me feel a little better that Brian will be stopped. This is all over for him. I nod, taking a deep breath and embracing Zander’s scent that surrounds me. I always feel safe with Zander, and I know I can trust him. I already feel like I know him better after a little over a week than how much I knew Brian after a year and a half. How sad is that? Zander shuffles us until he’s leaning flat on his back with me curled at his side. We stay like this for a while. When my eyelids begin to feel heavy, I know I should move. However, I wait a few more minutes, soaking up his embrace before I finally lean away from him. I only get a short distance before he pulls me back, though. “Just stay a little while longer,” he begs. I’m not sure if this is for me or him, but I take the comfort he offers and we remain in this position for the rest of the night.

The last thing I remember before sleep finally pulls me under is his steady heartbeat against my ear, his body curled around my own, and his lips gently brushing my hair. If only we could have stayed in this bubble forever. But, of course Brian isn’t done with me yet. Maybe he never will be.

Chapter 8 Everything goes to hell by the end of the following week. We enter a new routine at the apartment. I stay home and work on improving Zander’s website which, to be honest, I am done with, but I have decided to give him a lot of options. By midafternoon, Van gets home, and I either watch him do his homework, which is not much, given how close it is to school ending, while I cook something or occasionally help him with it. He likes to read out loud the book his class is reading in English, and I like listening to his voice. Then, either just before I serve up dinner or after, Zander arrives home. Every night he enters looking like he is carrying the weight of the world, and instead of

letting any of that out by talking to me, he keeps hiding his obvious distress from Van and me. He doesn’t take time for himself, sitting with Van in front of the TV until it is his bedtime, playing some Medieval game that involves swords, axes, and other brutal looking weapons. I don’t see the appeal, and I don’t think Zander really feels like doing it, but Van sure loves it. He’s vocal when they play, and many times it involves yelling at either Zander or the TV. Sometimes, I listen to him laughing, too. After the third night of this, I asked Zander if he thought playing that game every night was a good idea, given how violent it seems. When he responded that this is the first time since their parents had passed that Van had gotten the game out, one that he used to be obsessed with and loved, I could see why he was being so lenient. He was seeing the old Van, and they also looked like they might be bonding over it. Van still antagonizes Zander, and Zander still slips up, perhaps on purpose, and calls him Vaughn, which always leads to an argument. I have heard

many embarrassing things about Zander that Van has blurted out to me, as well as the name Agnes getting a good workout. Regardless, things are generally calmer between them. They are getting closer to where they need to be. A new part of our routine happens after Van goes to sleep. I get ready for bed, and Zander follows suit an hour or so later, after going over whatever is still out on his dining room table. When I first saw the piles of papers and newspapers, I thought it was a pile of mess or perhaps a hoarder’s wet dream, given the many newspapers. However, I have had the chance to look a little closer now and found it isn’t a mess at all. The piles are stacked neatly into a certain order. The newspapers are assembled by date, and the papers, from what I can see, are copies of police reports, which are also piled in order of location and date. Zander said it is from an ongoing case. Whatever it is, it isn’t something that he apparently needs to focus on full-time. Honestly, I think he takes the time alone to

wrap his head around everything that he’s seen. When he comes into his bedroom, we always find ourselves in the same position. Zander hugs me to his chest, and I wrap my arm around him tightly. Our bodies touch, but only for comfort and support. I sometimes think this is Zander’s way of protecting me. And I can’t say it doesn’t help me feel a little better about the situation, having a kind touch to wipe away the thoughts of the evils I know exist. I feel safe in his arms and doubt I would sleep as well without him next to me. But I also think this is as much for Zander as it is for me. He has seen those awful videos, and I know it’s eating away at him. Therefore, holding me and having me in his arms reminds him that, by helping me that night, he saved me from that happening to me. And maybe feeling me against him all night gives him more strength to get back up and do it all again the next day. Since I feel safe with Zander and staying in his apartment, my new concern becomes not about Brian finding me, but that this new routine that I like a lot is going to be ending soon.

What excuse will I have to stay over here when it’s safe for me to go home? Sasha calls me every afternoon on Van’s phone and informs me on how grumpy all the boys are. Even though I don’t know her very well, she chats like we are old friends. There is never any uncomfortable silence between us. I suppose she was serious when she told me we were going to be friends. Since Zander and the others are keeping mostly to themselves as they search over the videos for clues, I let go completely of the fear that Zander might be in danger. I forget to worry about Van, and that this is no situation a kid should be anywhere near. We have evidence that will put a lot of bad people away. It feels like we have the upper hand. It seems certain that Brian, and whoever else can be identified, are going to jail no matter what happens now. Zander mentioned just last night that they were close to finalizing the evidence and will soon be ready to do the handover to his cop friend. He also

confided that he has a trusted contact in the DA office who is going to get a copy of everything, as well. It is so close to being over, so instead of worrying about Zander and Van, I am stuck on thoughts about how this is going to change things for me. Another new facet I have learned about myself from this situation is that I’m selfish. Theoretically, I should have been safe with Zander and Van in their home. And I can’t even begin to imagine how on earth I could be discovered being here. But I soon realize my location is no longer hidden. After giving the scenario far too much thought over the past few weeks, I figure, if I ever find myself close to Brian, some sort of gut feeling will sound off to give me some warning. Now that I know he is evil, I will be able to sense him, right? Or, at least sense the impending danger falling upon me? I suppose those things only happen in movies, or wild retellings of stories that suddenly seem

overdramatic. Or maybe it’s just me, and my body and brain can’t sense evil or danger for shit. With the way my luck has been since I found out what Brian really is, I probably shouldn’t have been surprised that they chose a perfect time to attack. Zander leaves early to go into the office, even though it is a Saturday. This is the last weekend he will be stuck there because, as of Monday, he is doing a handoff to his cop friend, and then the ball should start rolling fast on everything. He mentioned they have identified many more perpetrators, and Declan and Joey have been finding more evidence against those people to make their cases ironclad. Now that they know who to look at, it is much easier to see where they are making mistakes and leaving clues incriminating themselves. Everything is wrapping up now, and part of me is relieved. Brian won’t be a problem soon. Or, at least he shouldn’t be. “Ava, come play against me,” Van calls out,

gaining my attention and making me realize I have been drying the same cup for five minutes. He is already turning on the TV and setting up his console. “I don’t know how to play that one,” I tell him, hoping my lack of skill will prove too off-putting for him. “I’ll teach you,” he offers enthusiastically. I wince, having no doubt my reluctance for the violent game won’t make me a good student. “Don’t you have a racing game or something not so violent?” “They’re boring.” He rolls his eyes at me like I’m being silly. “Is boring bad?” I ask stupidly. What twelveyear-old wants boring? The buzzer goes off by the doorway, and I thank my lucky stars that this discussion can be shelved for now. “I got it!” Van yells, rushing to where the buzzer is to press the button to speak. “Who is it?” he barks into it, his tone sounding exactly like Zander’s. Sometimes, they are polar

opposites, and sometimes, they are uncanny in their likeness. “Got a delivery here for Mr. Jameson?” a gruff voice states in a bored tone. Van looks at me, and I shrug back. Zander never mentioned anything about a delivery. “I’m not supposed to buzz in strangers,” he explains to me. A niggling feeling begins to tingle in my gut. Something feels off here. Am I just being paranoid? “Hello? I just need someone to sign for it,” the voice sounds again. “You can see the front door from the window over there,” Van mentions, and I quickly make my way over to it, bypassing the couch and leaning over the TV to get the best view. The guy at the front is wearing jeans and a button-down shirt, not exactly any sort of typical delivery man outfit. Also, I can’t see any package with him. I glance along the street and see a new man approaching from across the road. This one I do recognize.

Brian. “Oh, shit,” I gasp, stepping away from the window so fast I trip over the rug and fall over. “You okay?” Van cries, rushing over to help me up, but I can’t stop shaking. He’s here! He found me! The buzzer at the door sounds again, the noise like a drill going off in my ear. “Don’t open that door,” I tell Van before scrambling into the kitchen and grabbing Van’s cell phone off the counter. My fingers fumble as I bring Agnes up, a change from the Asshole name Zander was previously under. “Hey—” “Brian is here!” I screech out, my fear overwhelming me as I continue to shake. “Shit, where is he?” “He’s outside the apartment. There are two of them, and they’re trying to get in,” I hiss. “I think someone let them in. They’re not there anymore,” Van calls out. I’m fairly certain my stomach drops out of my body at that news.

“Fuck. You need to get out of there. If they know which apartment you’re in, then a locked door isn’t going to stop them. Get to the fire escape,” Zander barks, his fear coming through clearly, doing nothing to calm me down. I sprint to the fire escape, but when I glance down, I see another man waiting below. I don’t recognize him, but he’s clearly waiting there for a reason. “Someone else is there.” “Shit. Listen, you can’t stay where you are. You need to get out before they get to you both. I’m coming to you. Just stay on the line and get—” The line goes dead. “Fuck!” I cry, forgetting and honestly not caring about my audience. I try to get him back, but it goes straight to voicemail. Of all the times for him to let his phone die. Unbelievable. “What do we do?” “We need to go.” I grab Van’s hand and, not taking anything with us except Van’s phone and the

loose change on the table by the door, we sprint to the door. I take a quick peek out to find the hallway empty before I run toward the elevators, which is already on its way up. “Stairs!” I yell, dragging him with me to the stairwell. We fly through the door, Van quickly overtaking me on our stumble downward. When I hear the door open well below us, I tap his shoulder, and then we enter through the third level. It could have been a resident on their way up, but I’m not willing to risk it. Once we are in the third level hallway, I knock on every door until one opens. It takes eight doors, and by that point, I’m desperate and freaking the hell out. We barge our way past the shocked man and slam the door shut behind us, ignoring the outraged call of the owner. “I’m sorry, but we need to hide in here. Some men are after us. They want to hurt us,” I huff out at the older man who takes one look at us, then

another, his face not softening in sympathy at all. “I want no trouble.” He waves his hand in the air like a cutting motion. “I want you out. I don’t die for silly American kids. Get out,” he snaps at us, his English stilted. “Ava, what did Zander say to do?” Van asks, pulling on my sleeve as his voice shakes. I think for a moment, momentarily pulling up a blank. What the hell did he say? Then, one part hits me, his voice repeating in my mind, which I repeat out loud for Van. “We needed to get out of your apartment.” “Will they check every apartment for us? Won’t they find us here eventually?” Van squeals, his own panic and fear forcing me to calm down. “Zander said he’s on his way. He will get here before they make it to our floor.” I try to sound confident, but I think I fail, given Van doesn’t look any less stressed. “What if he doesn’t get here in time?” he cries, gripping my arm painfully. Shit. What if he doesn’t make it here? And how will he even know to look for us here? Even if

Brian gives up, he will still have someone watching the building to see if we show up. We will be sitting ducks, and this old man definitely isn’t happy about us crashing into his apartment. We will be lucky if he doesn’t call the police on us, and won’t that be a beacon for them. I glance around the room to find we are facing a different side of the building. I rush over to his fire escape and look down, not seeing anyone waiting at the bottom. They won’t be expecting us to come down this side. “Come on; we’ll go out this way.” I slip the phone into my back pocket then slide the window open as far as it will go. From there, it is a quick trip downward, all while hearing the man shout at us in a different language. I hope he doesn’t draw attention. Once we hit the ground, I don’t wait to catch my breath. I grab Van’s hand and we sprint around the corner and don’t stop. I have no idea if we are being chased or were seen by anyone, but I’m not going to turn back to find out. Van is in shape from running up the stairs all

the time, so he has no problem keeping up, and then he has no problem being the one to drag me along. We run in the direction of Zander’s offices, risking a bus to move us along quicker. As we grow closer, though, I get another bad feeling growing inside me. People on the street are looking alarmed, shocked, scared, and many are running just like we were once we get off on a stop on the same street as Zander’s offices. Some are running toward us, some are running in the same direction as us. There is chaos everywhere, and the nearer we get to Zander’s office, the more the chaos grows tenfold. I can’t see what has happened, but there is smoke and debris everywhere, and police and fire crews have already arrived. After taking a few more steps in, I realize that they are all in front of Zander’s building. Or, what’s left of it. “Was …? Was Zander in there?” Van whispers. Amid the screams and sirens, I shouldn’t have even heard him, but I did, each word like a tug on

my heart. Tears are already falling down his face, and the color in his cheeks from all the running bleeds away until he is so pale that he looks faint. “I … I don’t know. We can’t stay here.” Emotions slam into my body and strangle me. What have I done? Is Zander dead? Is he badly injured? “I can’t … I don’t want … What if he’s …?” Van trails off. I know I’m losing him. He’s going into shock, and I’m not sure I’m not going there right along with him. What was I thinking giving this case to Zander? He has Van to look out for, and I might have just cost him his life. I should have just let Brian have me and been done with it. I fumble with Van’s cell phone as I keep a tight grip of his hand, dragging him back the way we came. Van staring at the rubble isn’t going to help him, and being near the cops certainly won’t help me. I dial Sasha’s number, and she picks up after

four, painfully long rings. “Van?” She sounds surprised. “It’s me. Have you heard from any of the guys?” I yell into the phone as the noise around me continues to increase. “No, it’s Saturday. Why would I?” Sasha sounds a little bored. “Where are you? Why is it so noisy?” “Because my ex found me at Zander’s. Van and I got away, but when we went to the office, it was to find it’s no longer there. It looks like a bulldozer has just plowed through it,” I say, turning away from Van slightly to deliver that last part, not that he looks to be listening. “What!” Sasha screeches. “I was talking to Zander earlier, but our call cut out. I thought maybe his phone battery died, but what if …? Sasha, he told us he was working in the office today.” “Shit, no fucking way. Have you spoken to any of the other guys?” she demands as I hear rustling on her end. “No, I just called you.”

“Where are you?” “We’re close to the office, heading west—” “There’s a church farther down. Hide in there. I’ll call you back in five minutes with an update.” “Got it,” I tell the dial tone. She already hung up. Having a destination and a doable mission helps me feel better. The absolute devastation on Van’s face does the opposite. At least with the panic and fear running rampant around us, no one is looking twice at Van. It takes us ten minutes to make our way to the church, dodging everyone as we go. We don’t receive any phone calls during that time. Inside the church, there are several people, most of them seeming to be searching for sanctuary from the chaos outside. I don’t like how many people are here, but down a hallway, I notice a public bathroom. I first check inside to find no one is in here, then drag Van in and lock the door behind us. I pace the small, confined space, while Van hugs his legs on the floor. It’s cold, and my feet

echo on the ground, but I feel numb. Van’s phone ringing makes me jump, and even Van cries out in fear before realizing what it is. Then we both hold our breaths as I answer. Unfortunately, Sasha doesn’t have the news we want. She hasn’t heard from Zander and wasn’t able to get Joey on the phone, but she did manage to contact Declan, who is on his way to us. Once I told her we were hidden in the bathroom, she made me promise not to move. She is adamant about this, though I don’t understand why, until it clicks after we hang up. She’s worried I’m going to bail. And part of me wants to. I’m the reason for this. I have no idea how Brian found me, but the fact is, he is looking for me. Because of where I am and who I am with, they became targets. Zander’s office, destroyed. Possibly his apartment, too. And what about Zander? What about anyone else who was in that building? Or in a building nearby? How many more lives has Brian destroyed

today? And how much blame do I deserve to shoulder for it? Van sniffles from the corner he’s plopped himself down in, and I crouch down next to him, swinging my arm around his shoulders, which just makes him cry harder. I might be the blame for some of this, but I can’t abandon Van here. What if Brian is the one who finds him? What if I leave him and no one comes? I can’t do that. Zander trusted me to look after Van, so that is what I must do. Once Van is somewhere safe, then I should leave. It feels like hours pass as every anxious second drives me closer to insanity. Van doesn’t utter a word, and I find I’m too choked up to give him any false hope. Just when I’m about ready to jump out of my skin, we hear a knock at the door. I look down at Van, and he looks up at me, terror written on his face. “Busy,” I call out, wondering if it could be Declan.

“Ava, it’s me,” a muffled voice sounds, but I can’t tell who it is. It could be Zander, but it could also be Declan. In fact, as I quickly rush to unlock the door, I realize it could also be Brian. “Prove it,” I demand, not sure what proof Declan could offer me if it’s him. It’s silent for a moment, and my fear begins to peak, but then I hear one word that makes my knees weak. “Agnes.” “Thank fuck!” I gasp, quickly unlocking the door and opening it to reveal Zander, who is bruised and bloodied, but most definitely alive. “You’re okay!” I huff, feeling light-headed with relief. I quickly step aside as Van leaps to his feet and sprints toward Zander, not stopping until he’s charged into him and nearly knocking him over, his arms wrapped so tightly around Zander that I don’t think even I would be strong enough to loosen his grip. He doesn’t say a word, his small body shaking as he sobs. “It’s okay, buddy. I’m okay,” Zander tries to

soothe him, stroking his head and gripping his shoulders to calm him. “We saw what was left of the office,” I explain with a shaky voice. “I’m fine, I promise. I wasn’t in there when the bomb went off.” “Bomb?” I gasp, feeling faint again. “That’s what they think happened. I was already outside, running to my car, when it happened. Your phone call saved my life,” he tells me. I’m glad he’s okay, yet knowing how close to death he was does not make me feel better. “I can’t believe they bombed your office.” My voice trembles from the lengths that Brian is willing to go. “How did they know about you? How did they find me?” I haven’t left his apartment since my one trip to his office. I have made zero contact with the outside world. There is no way I could have been traced there. “I don’t know, but I think their intention was to get access to my office and hopefully the USB.” “How? By blowing it up?” I shout, sounding

more than a little hysterical. I take deep breaths to try to calm down. “Yeah, and by also making it a crime scene. If the evidence was destroyed in the process, then better for them.” “How can you be so calm about this?” I demand, my voice sounding shrill. “You were nearly blown up! Why the hell were you taking so long with it all? If you had given the USB up already, they wouldn’t have been after you!” I’m flat-out yelling now. “Ava, you don’t understand. I—” “I don’t care!” I cut him off. “This is too dangerous. Van nearly lost you!” I accuse, grabbing my hair and pulling hard, closing my eyes as I whisper to myself, “What the hell was I thinking?” “This isn’t your fault. None of this is—” “The hell it isn’t!” I can’t hold myself back, even knowing this isn’t the time or the place to be having this argument. “You wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for me! I wish I had never stolen your car. I wish I had never met you. I wish Brian would have just finished me off so this could all be

over!” I barely have the last word out before Zander storms fully into the bathroom, backing me up against the wall and boxing me in as he slaps his hand hard against the wall beside my head. Van is still gripping him, so his badass look is a little hindered, but the fury written over his face is still enough to scare me. “Don’t say that. Don’t you fucking say that! Clarke is a piece of shit, who needs to be brought down. This whole fucking network of sick fucks needs to be taken down. Every victim deserves justice, and without you getting that USB and getting it into the right hands, no justice will come for those women. No justice will come for the women who will be taken in the future. This is the break we needed, and because of it, we’re going to save countless lives. So, don’t you ever regret what you did. I don’t regret a single second.” I’m taken aback by his words, but it doesn’t ease my guilt. “It was all for nothing, though. Your office … it’s all gone,” I whisper sadly, unable to clear my

voice to speak louder. “It’s not all gone. I didn’t have it at my office. The evidence is still safe.” “It is?” I gasp, unsure how I feel about this. Will there be more bombs, then? “Yes.” “But I …” I trail off as I realize what he means. Jerry. He’s talking about Jerry. I feel a small amount of relief that it wasn’t all for nothing, but I’m still devastated and terrified. “I’m sorry about everything. I know it was the right thing to do, but I just … I hate what is happening to you both. I hate this whole situation.” Tears fall down my face, and my voice cracks from the emotion and guilt eating away at my insides. All those things combined is enough to distract me, which is why I don’t even see it coming when Zander leans forward and captures my lips with his own. It isn’t soft, it isn’t sweet, and it definitely isn’t romantic. It’s feral, and brutal, and bruising. But somehow, it is everything I need, taking away my

thoughts and fears, and replacing them with heat and the beginning of desire. I’m alive. Zander is alive. All too quickly, though, Zander pulls away, both of us breathing heavy and my knees shake in their effort to keep me standing. Wow, my first kiss from Zander, and it was incredible. Then Van makes a noise, and we both glance down at him. He’s still hugging his brother and seeming to show no indication that he plans on changing that anytime soon. Zander doesn’t look back at me as he touches Van’s head. “We can’t stay here. We need to move. Van, I need you to let go.” Van doesn’t move one iota, and since Zander is standing in front of me still, I don’t move, either. “Van, we need to get out of here. Let go of me.” He shakes his head into Zander’s waist, an exaggerated shake that only further breaks my heart. “Okay, buddy, how about you hug my neck

instead? You don’t have to let go, but move your arms up.” To make this easier, Zander bends over, and Van shuffles his arms so he’s hugging Zander’s neck. Then, proving just how strong he is, Zander stands up, lifting Van and wrapping an arm around him to support him and probably to take a little pressure off his neck. “Let’s go,” he tells me, holding his free hand out to me. We make our way out of the now crowded church, which looks like it’s being set up as some sort of base camp, to outside where Declan has a car parked and is waiting for us. We are far enough away from the drama that the roads aren’t yet gridlocked or closed off, but it probably won’t be long before they are. We all scoot into the backseat, and Declan barely waits for the door to shut before he takes off. I stare out the window, watching the world go by quickly and trying to not freak out. However, between nearly being caught by Brian, having

Zander’s office destroyed by a probable bomb, and then that intense kiss, I don’t think I can hold off from having some sort of breakdown. I lift my hand to touch my bruised lips while unwittingly turning to stare at Zander, seeing he already has his eyes on me. He’s not smiling. He’s not looking at me with kindness or sympathy. He looks intense, his eyes on my fingers as I brush them over my lips. Before I can move them away, he rests his free hand on my thigh, his grip tight. He then brushes the inside of my thigh, his touch so close to my crotch that I hold my breath, waiting to see if he intends to do more. He doesn’t. He leaves his weight there as though he is a brand that is claiming me. Like his touch is keeping me from floating away and ensuring my thoughts stay right here instead of drifting off somewhere more dangerous. Van is still wrapped around Zander, but his arms hang loosely now as he peers out the window instead of buried in Zander’s clothes. It breaks my heart to see Van so vulnerable, so upset.

I look away from them, glancing back out the window at the passing scenery. I have no idea where we are going, and I’m not sure I care. Will anywhere be safe for us? Will this be over soon? As it turns out … Brian still has one more play left.

Chapter 9 We are taken to a home that I’m told Sasha’s parents own. If going by the size of this house and how beautifully furnished it is, Sasha must have a rich family. Apparently, this is one of many properties they own in Chicago. Zander thinks we will be safe here. When Sasha attempts to check out his injuries, he slaps her hands away, his body jostling a now sleeping Van who is still in his arms. “I’m fine,” he hisses. “You’re not fine! You have bruises everywhere, and … Is that glass in your hair?” she snaps, not at all deterred by him pushing her back as she continues to coddle him. I look more closely and realize there does appear to be glass in his hair. Given the visible

bloodstains on his back, there is a good chance he might have some imbedded there, too. Just how close was he when the building blew up? “Shit, I hope we have fucking bomb insurance,” Declan mutters as he passes by us and moves straight into the kitchen, opening the fridge door and searching inside. “Feel free to make yourself at home!” Sasha snaps at him, muttering under her breath that he’s an asshole. “I’m going to put Van down,” Zander mutters, striding away from us and heading down the hall. He only makes it a few steps before he turns around and looks back at me. “Ava, come with me.” He doesn’t wait for an answer before he heads back down the hallway. I only spare Sasha a quick glance, seeing her smirk, before I rush after him. I find him in a bedroom, laying Van down carefully. He exhausted himself to sleep. I hope he can get as much rest as possible. We went through enough stressful situations to make me want to slip

into a coma, and I’m an adult. I can’t imagine how Van is coping. Zander pulls his shoes off, as well as his socks, before readjusting the sheets from under him and draping them over his prone body. “He looks so small,” I whisper, feeling panicked again at how close we were to being caught at Zander’s apartment. What would they have done to Van if they caught us together? Would they have let him live? Would they have killed him? “With me,” Zander growls, his voice quiet but still intense, as he stomps past me. Nerves begin to assault me as I follow. Am I in trouble? Maybe he’s still angry about what I said back in the church bathroom. Or maybe he’s angry that we kissed. He probably regrets it. He probably wants to clear the air that it was a mistake, made in the heat of the moment, and that we should just pretend that it never happened. When I follow him into a new bedroom, this one just as clean and sterile as the previous one, I watch as he stomps his way into the adjoining

bathroom, removing his T-shirt as he goes. I catch a glimpse of his cuts before he’s out of my view, worry eating at me from seeing them. He probably needs me to get out any glass that is still stuck there. If he’s specifically being targeted now, it isn’t like he can go to a hospital to get checked out. Stepping into the bathroom, I don’t get a chance to check out my surroundings, except to see that the bruising over Zander’s face carries down his chest, before he stalks me, knocking my back into the shower screen. “Zander …” I begin, having no idea what I planned to say once he roughly grabs my face and crashes his lips down on mine. He kisses me passionately, melding his tongue with my own as my whole body heats up under his touch. I rest my hands over his arms, sliding along them before I move them down over his chest, forgetting about his bruises for a moment. Without warning, he moves his hands away from my face, grabs my hips and lifts me, pressing

his hard groin against my overheated core. I groan as he rubs his stiffness against me and automatically move my legs to wrap around his hips. He moves us until my back hits the bathroom door, closing it with a loud slam. Then I am shoved against it, the jolt causing his erection to rub against me in the most delicious way. He pulls away from my mouth, but he doesn’t move far, his breath still skating over me, just as mine does to him, both of us breathless and panting. “I thought I lost you. When you called me, I couldn’t … I fucking couldn’t …” he gasps out, lowering his eyes for a moment as he digs harder into the sides of my hips. “I thought I lost you, too,” I admit, just as out of breath as he is. “When the call cut off, I thought your battery died. Then we made it to your office. It … It was such a mess, and … I couldn’t see how you … I-I was s-sure you were dead,” I cry, my own voice shaking now as those same emotions hit me all over again. “Your call saved my life. I was sprinting from

the building to get to you. I made it outside when the explosion happened,” he explains, gazing at me intently. “I was thrown against a car, but I couldn’t stop thinking … I had to get to you guys. I had to stop that bastard from touching you.” “He didn’t get to us,” I reassure him as his eyes glaze over, back in time, reliving his fears. “Every fucking video I’ve watched, every woman I’ve seen tortured, played over in my mind. I couldn’t get your face off them. You were all I could see, and I knew what would happen if he had you. I can’t let him touch you. I can’t let you go.” His husky voice cracks, and my heart squeezes painfully for him. I reach down and grab his left hand from my hip, dragging it up to rest over my chest. “Feel that, Zander? I’m alive. We got out,” I declare, knowing my heart is beating a million miles an hour and there is no way he can’t feel it. “I promised to protect you,” he says, not moving his hand and pushing his hips harder against me so my back is flat against the door. “And you did. You told me to get out. You kept

me calm, and we got away.” “But it could have so easily gone wrong. You should have been safe there.” He sounds selfreproaching. “This will all be over soon.” I lift my hands to his face, careful of where he appears to be hurt. “You said that. We can make it just a little bit longer.” “I don’t think I can go through that again …” He is whispering now, his husky voice full of emotion. “You won’t. They might have known where we were before, but they don’t have a clue now. We’re safe, right?” “We’re safe,” he affirms, finally moving his hand from my chest and up over my shoulder, over my neck, and then cupping my face. “I want you so badly.” His words cause my breath to hitch and desire to pool low in my belly. I already guessed as much, but hearing his words, listening to them echo inside my head, sets off a chain reaction I can’t stop. I have wanted him since the first time I laid

eyes on him. I kiss him just as savagely as he kissed me, squeezing my legs around him and enjoying the feel of the jolt that rushes through him, causing him to rub against me again. We stay in this embrace for a while, but it’s still too soon when he pulls away, looking me in the eyes. I read his desire all over him. Can he see the same in me? “Are you sure you want this?” “Yes.” I finally sound confident. There is no doubt in my mind I want this, as well as need it. He doesn’t ask twice, dropping me back down to my feet before dragging my shirt up over my head. I appreciate the fact he doesn’t waste time. Within seconds, he gets me completely naked, and after grabbing his wallet out of his back pocket and pulling out a condom, which he leaves resting on the vanity next to us, I help divest him of his jeans and briefs. Both completely naked, we stand slightly apart for a moment, breathing heavily and taking each other in.

Apart from the fresh bruises and cuts I see, there are also a few scars and something I didn’t notice earlier is the fine hair over his chest leading downward and smothering his erection. His entire body is hard and strong. His muscles appear huge and bulging. I’m not sure I have ever felt this turned on before. At least, not from just gazing at a man. From the way he is growing harder, the way his breathing is deepening, I have to assume he feels the same way about me as he stares over my body. His eyes on me feel like he is physically touching me. Part of me knows this moment, what is to come between us, is another huge moment in my life where things will change. Another shift in the course my life is moving toward. But I know with all my heart it is the right decision. This coupling with Zander isn’t supposed to be something sweet, something romantic, or deeply meaningful. This is about desire and need, and proving to ourselves that we are both still here, both alive, and no one will take that away from us.

Just as this feeling hits me, something similar must hit Zander, because we lunge at each other at the same time. I wrap my arms around his neck as he grips my hips and lifts me, just as our mouths come together again. Our teeth clash, our tongues duel, and our bodies slap together as he shoves me back against the door again. Then he snakes his hand under me and, with no forewarning, shoves two fingers inside me. I clench around him as I scream into his mouth. He makes fast time of working me. My mind can only focus on his fingers as he speeds me closer and closer to what I need before he takes them away. Then he reaches out, grabbing the condom. But before he can do anything with it, I snatch it out of his hands. Using my teeth, I tear the edge off the wrapper before lowering my hands between us. He leans back a little so I have space and grips my hips again to keep me still. I tease him a little, touching him for the first time and rubbing the head with my thumb. He growls, moving his mouth forward so he can nip at

my shoulder, the action causing a thrill to rush over me. Delaying this not only teases him, but me, as well, so I make quick work, encasing him. Then, in one hot thrust, he is inside me. I stretch to accommodate him, the feeling borderline stuck between pleasure and pain. But then he starts to move and the pleasure overrides. I need him to move faster. I need him to own me, to destroy me. He removes his teeth from my shoulder, licking to the crease at my neck, where he sucks hard. Meanwhile, I move my nails down his arms, digging in as I repurchase them at his shoulders. He keeps sucking along my body while continuously slamming my back against the door. Then he makes his way to my lips, removing one hand from my side to graze over a nipple before he pinches it. The sensations of pain from my nipple and my back are a perfect match to the rhythm of how he is pushing in and out of me and the seduction of my mouth. Sex has never felt so intense, so passionate.

I already feel my orgasm building inside me, desperate to reach that peak. I don’t often manage it during sex, and definitely never after such a quick moment of foreplay. I also have never been as turned on before, and Zander is hitting all the right buttons. If he can carry me over the edge, I know for certain I will have never come so hard in my life. Zander leans back from me a little, and I can’t stop my whimper, worrying over why he’s slowing down. No! I was so close! Then he lifts me a little higher, and as soon as I sink down onto him, I find this new angle rubs against my clit with every thrust. It is incredible. I have no idea what I’m crying out at every pass over my clit. I could be reciting every swear word I know in every language for all I care. I just need him to keep going, and he doesn’t disappoint. It only takes a few more thrusts, another pinched nipple, and a nip at my ear before I’m exploding. I cry out his name, my voice not at all quiet,

while he continues to thrust, telling me yes, as he drags my release even longer. I actually feel another release go through me, this one smaller, but no less thrilling, as he finally comes inside me, shouting out my name as he plants himself inside me one final time. I have never felt more alive or more exhausted. I could curl up into a ball and sleep for a week. Zander has made me completely boneless. Can sex actually do that? Should I be worried that I’m just draped over him? Our chests heave from our panting. Zander still feels hard inside me, but for whatever reason, I don’t feel awkward or weird about what just happened. We both needed that, and I can’t bring myself to regret it or to begin to overthink it. Sometimes sex is just sex. And when it is as incredible as that just was, you would be a fool to wish it never happened. I will be reliving this moment for the rest of my life. “You okay?” he finally huffs out as he lifts me off him and steadies me on the ground. I nod, leaning against the door, finding myself

slick with sweat. We both are. “Are you sure?” he asks again, obviously needing a verbal answer. “Yeah. Are you?” “I just had the most incredible sex of my life, so yeah, I’m fucking great,” he responds. I smile huge at his words, glad to know he feels the same way. “What’s it with us and bathrooms today?” I ask, not even bothering to care that we are in a lit bathroom and both completely naked. Usually, I would be more self-conscious. “I don’t know, but I can’t wait to break in the one at my place,” he mutters, moving his hand to rest over the side of my neck, propping my chin up with his thumb so I’m looking directly at him. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” “Honestly, I orgasmed so hard I can’t feel a damn thing right now, except pleasure.” He grins big as he leans down and gives me a chaste kiss on the lips. “I’m fucking glad you’re alive.” The moment turns serious.

I grab his free hand and entwine my fingers with his, squeezing. “I’m glad we’re both alive.” There is something surreal about this moment. We are two people who are completely naked, standing in a bathroom of a house we have only been inside of for not even half an hour, and we just had incredible sex. Sex doesn’t always have to be about intimacy, and the sex we just engaged in isn’t something I would classify as intimate. It was feral, desperate, insatiable. But this moment right now, naked and talking about how we feel, this feels intimate. I like that. I like that we can have that with each other. I have never felt this with another person. “We should get cleaned up.” I nod. As he turns away to dispose of the condom, I see the mess that is his back. “You should get this looked at, or at least get some tweezers so we can try to clear out some of the glass.” “I’m sure Sasha has a first-aid kit somewhere. Let’s shower first. I’ll keep my back out of the

water.” I can’t argue with that suggestion. My core clenches at just the thought of another round with Zander, but he is a perfect gentleman as we both stand under the spray of warm water. Well, okay, he isn’t exactly a gentleman. Some fingers might brush me and linger in certain places. And, okay, I am no lady as I tease him mercilessly. Mostly we just make out. How cool is that? I have never made out with anyone in the shower before. I always thought it would be awkward and water would probably go up my nose or unexpectedly blind me as it pelts down into my eyes or something like that. None of that happens, though. It’s nice, easy, and it’s fun. Then, as soon as I’m redressed and Zander has pants on, a smirking Sasha finds a first-aid kit, and then we both work on getting the glass out of his back. This is not nice, not easy, and definitely not fun for any of us. Thankfully, the cuts are all small and none look like they need stitches.

Forty minutes later, Sasha tosses me a damp flannel to wipe away the remaining blood while she stands in front of Zander with her hands on her hips. “The police are going to start calling us soon. They’ll need you to make a statement. Hell, we need you to make a statement so we can try to sort out what insurance we have.” “I know,” he grumbles, wincing when I cover a particularly sore spot. “And they’re going to want to know why you left the scene of a crime. You really should have waited for them to come,” she continues, pestering him. “I couldn’t do that,” he answers quietly. Sasha spares me a look and a small smile. “I know. But now they’re safe here, so you need to get on this. The sooner you sort this mess out, the sooner we can get back to normal.” “He’s just been blown up, Sasha!” I remind her, the evidence of his blood right in front of me. The bruises over him will be in front of her in clear view. “He needs to rest.”

“Look, Ava, you’re his home wife, and you’re the one who should be concerned with his wellbeing. I get that you gotta say that, but I’m his work wife, and I get to boss him around to make sure he keeps this moving and his little work kids get paid. So, while he does need to rest, he also needs to sort this shit out.” “Home wife?” I murmur, torn between being embarrassed and insulted. “You’re my work wife?” Zander snorts. “Well, you got the nagging down packed.” “Don’t give me attitude, or I’ll make sure your home wife withholds sex. We’re best friends, you know,” she says with such a serious face that I drop the flannel in shock. Did she really just say that? “Fuck, Sasha, can you hear yourself?” Zander shakes his head, standing up and grabbing a clean T-shirt she left out for him, not that his cuts have stopped bleeding enough for him to put it on yet. “Whatever. I’ll go down and speak to the cops; get this sorted.” “What if they try to hurt you again?” I quickly

speak up, frowning when he places the shirt on and likely ruins another shirt. At least it is dark-colored so the blood won’t be obvious. “They won’t. I don’t even know if I was a target. Since I’ve had Van, I’ve never gone into the office on a Saturday. I think the chances are they were planning on bombing it because they knew it would be empty and figured they’d likely destroy any evidence we might have in there.” “Chances are? What if your chances are wrong? What if they were watching you? They might have waited for us to be separated. What would they have done if they got to your apartment and found you there?” “There were at least three of them, according to your phone call. I imagine those three were to incapacitate me, help quickly search the apartment, and take you with them.” He says this so calmly that it makes my body shake in anger. “And what would they have done with Van?” Finally, his detached façade dissolves. “If they even thought of laying one finger on him …” Zander shakes his head and moves away from us,

pacing a little. “Surely, they would be stupid to take you out,” Sasha interjects. “There will be too many witnesses. I think the more likely scenario is they might try to frame you for it—insurance fraud or something like that. The longer you are hidden away, the more suspicious you look. Cooperating with them is the best way.” “She’s right,” Zander says to me. “You can’t go anywhere without seeing Van first. He’ll probably freak out if he wakes up and you’re gone.” He nods, agreeing with that at least. “I’ve never seen him like that. I don’t think he’s ever hugged me since he decided I was an asshole, which was probably scarily early for a kid. He definitely never freaked out like that when our parents died,” Zander murmurs as he places a jacket over his new bloodied shirt. “You said he tore up your office and ran out into oncoming traffic,” I remind him. “Well, yeah, but he was running away from me.”

“And this time he thought you were the one he lost, so he ran to you. Like it or not, you’re his only family, and no matter how much he might tell you he hates you, he also loves you. You’re his brother, and he would be devastated to lose you,” I tell him, perhaps just a tiny bit trying to place a little guilt over him in the hopes he will decide to stay here, even if it is just for Van’s sake. Zander nods, resting his hand on the back of his neck as the weight of what happened today bears down on him again. “I’ll say goodbye to him now. Have Joey meet me at the wreckage in case they do try to arrest me. He can get me a lawyer if I need it. And get me Ken’s number. I need to move up the drop off and warn him he might be in trouble.” Sasha nods, getting to work on her tasks. I follow Zander as he makes his way back to Van’s room, only to find Van tossing and turning in his bed. “Hey, buddy.” Zander sits next to him and gently shakes him awake. “Don’t go!” he cries out, waking just afterward

then leaping into Zander’s arms when he sees who is there. “You’re okay. You’re safe,” Zander coos. I step out into the hallway, wanting to give them privacy. However, because the house is so quiet and the door is left open, their voices easily carry, and I can’t bring myself to walk farther away out of earshot. “I dreamt … I saw …” “Just a nightmare,” Zander assures him. “I’m here, and I’m not leaving you. Well, I am, but I’ll be back later tonight.” “You’re leaving?” There is a plea in Van’s voice that breaks my already fragile heart. “Yes, to clear some things up. Nothing dangerous. In fact, it’s probably going to be really boring.” “Then don’t go.” “I have to. But I need you to do something for me.” Zander sounds unnaturally upbeat now. “What?” Van sounds wary. He probably thinks he’s going to get stuck with the dishes or something.

“I’m leaving you with Sasha and Ava. I need you to keep an eye on them. You already know what Sasha is like, and Ava stole my car and tried to kidnap you, so you need to make sure she doesn’t eye Sasha’s car too much.” My mouth drops open at his slander, though I suppose most of what he said is factual. When Van lets out a little laugh, I can’t be annoyed at Zander, though. It’s obvious from the smile in Zander’s voice that he’s just trying to cheer him up. “Okay.” “Good. And then tomorrow, I’ll make your favorite for breakfast.” “Cool.” Van already sounds a little less distraught. “Are you hungry now? You want a sandwich?” “No.” “Vaughn, are you sure? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you turn down food before.” I think he’s trying to make things a little less heavy, but I cringe at hearing him say Vaughn. Is he trying to start a fight? “Why do you keep calling me Vaughn? You

know I hate it.” Van’s voice is quiet, not angry for once. “I don’t get why you hate it. I’ve always called you Vaughn. Mom and Dad always called you Vaughn.” “My friends call me Van,” he points out. “I’m not your friend. I’m your brother.” “We’re not friends?” Zander is quiet for a moment. I bet he’s trying to work out how to get around this. “We are, but I’m always your brother first. You’ll have a lot of friends in your life. I have a lot of friends. We both only have one brother.” It’s silent for a while, and I resist the urge to pop my head around the corner to see what they are doing. Does Van look angry, or has Zander’s words gotten through? Is Zander hugging him, or has he reverted to his stern stance? “Can you not say it when you’re angry with me?” Van’s quiet voice slowly filters to me. “Why does that matter?” “Because, you sound like Dad when you talk. And I don’t want him to say my name angrily. He

never yelled at me. I don’t like it.” There is an even longer pause before Zander finally breaks it, his voice sounding rough. “Okay, I can do that. You know I sort of like saying your proper name because it reminds me of them. I can picture Mom calling you in from outside when she had dinner ready, or Dad wanting you to hurry up and get in the car when you were dragging your feet. I feel like they’re with me when I say Vaughn.” My heart breaks for these two guys who are still so heavily grieving. I likely couldn’t have picked a worse time to drop into their lives. “You can call me Vaughn, then,” Van finally relents, but is quick to follow his words up with, “Just not when you’re angry.” “Okay, and maybe you can give Agnes a rest?” Van doesn’t answer, but perhaps he gives him a nod since that seems to be sorted when Zander continues. “You know, the obvious solution is to just never piss me off, and then I will never have to say your name in anger.”

Van snorts. “Yeah, right. You’re so old and boring that a book out of place on your shelf pisses you off.” “Then I would think you got your work cut out for you.” “Don’t touch my hair!” Van whines, and I hear the bedsprings creak as I assume Zander is now standing. I can picture him easily messing Van’s hair up as he’s done plenty of times in the past few weeks. “You need a haircut, buddy. Maybe Ava can sort that out for you after all this.” “I like my hair. I’m going to grow it out long.” “Gonna get dreadlocks?” “No way.” I smile at just imagining Zander with his awful hair. Maybe Van can go as that for Halloween one year. He already is a mini-Zander. It would be creepy to see how alike he could be to the photos he showed me. “Zander, I like Ava.” My heartrate speeds up. I should definitely not be listening to this, but I also can’t seem to make

my feet lift to take me away. “I know.” “Do you?” There is something in Van’s voice, a vulnerability I don’t quite understand. “I do, buddy.” “Are you guys together?” There is a nerve-racking pause where I hold my breath. “I’m just helping her out right now.” And … I deflate right there in the hallway. Of course he’s just helping me out. I already know this, so why do I feel disappointed? “Then, what happens when you are finished helping her?” “That’s between me and her for now.” “I don’t want her to leave us.” Well, if there is one way to keep Zander in my life, then it is probably having Van guilt him into it. Not what I want at all. “I don’t want her to leave, either. But we can’t force her to stay if she doesn’t want to.” He doesn’t want me to leave? My head perks up, and my heartrate speeds up

even faster until it is galloping. I’m sure I am going to have permanent heart problems after all this. “Can’t you tell her the problem you’re fixing is going to take longer?” “That’s not really fair to her. Look, I have to get going, and if you’re sure you’re not hungry, then I want you to get some more sleep.” “But I’m not tired.” “Then watch some TV until you fall asleep,” he suggests. “You said we shouldn’t fall asleep watching TV, and that is why you have a lumpy couch.” “I said we shouldn’t use the couch to fall asleep on when we have perfectly fine beds. You’re in bed, so this doesn’t count.” “Can I get a TV in my bedroom?” “No. Now I really have to go. Are you going to be okay?” “Yes,” Van grumbles. “You know Sasha will snitch on you if you are bad.” “I know. She’s a tattletale. I remember from last time.”

“Just be good and keep an eye on the girls.” I peek into the room then to see Zander giving Van a hug, which causes tears to spill over my cheeks. I don’t know why I care so much, but seeing them like this warms my heart. In fact, this whole situation has made me emotional. In the past few weeks, I have felt more than I have in years. What is it about Zander and Van that makes me care so much? Or am I just emotional from what Brian has put me through? From what I saw and now know is on those videos? Either way, I’m busted on listening in when I don’t even move an inch before Zander finds his way out of the room. He grabs my arm and leads me to the next bedroom where my eyes instantly hit the open bathroom door. “Can you keep an eye on him for me?” he asks as he cups my face. “You think he’s still freaked from earlier?” “I think, if a kid goes through that, it stays for a while.” He grazes his thumb over my cheeks and

removes any trace of tears left. “I’ll keep my eyes on him,” I promise. “Thanks. I’ll be back soon. Be waiting in this bed, okay?” I don’t get the chance to agree or disagree. Before I can blink, he is giving me a quick kiss, and before I can enjoy that sensation, he is out the door. Then I don’t even get a chance to think on that before Van is standing in his place. “You okay?” I ask wearily, not sure what mood Van will be in. “I’m hungry.” Well, that took a whole five minutes of him turning down food. “Come on, then.”

Chapter 10 “So … you and Zander?” Sasha gives me a wink while smirking. “I wonder if anyone saw this coming. Oh, wait, I did,” she singsongs, nudging me as she gets up from the table to refill her glass of wine. Without asking me, she fills mine up, too. I lost count of how many times she has already done this. Are we nearing the end of the bottle? “We’re just … friends,” I say awkwardly as a vision enters my mind of him slamming me against the door, plowing into me. “Yeah, okay. So, I suppose you had some serious trouble figuring out how to keep the door shut, hence the slamming of it constantly. And, am I to believe the water turning on once and off once was you two having a friendly shower together?”

“You have seriously given this too much thought. Don’t you own a TV?” “Honey, you guys were so loud I was ready to take Van to the next state if he woke up from your racket. Luckily, the poor boy slept through it.” I redden at just the thought of Van hearing us. How mortifying! “It was just one time …” I finally admit. She obviously already knows, so what is the harm? “I knew it! Yes! Joey owes me twenty dollars!” She bounces up and down on her chair. “Why?” “He thought it would take longer for Zander to bang you—he’s been off his game since his parents died—but I saw the fireworks between you.” Sasha’s smug smile looks even bigger now, while my own uncomfortable smile disappears completely. “Does Zander bang all the women he helps?” I can’t keep the bite in my question. Has this been some sort of game? “What? No. Why would you ask that?” “You just said you guys had a bet, like that is

something normal to bet on.” “Oh, well, no, we have never bet on that before.” Sasha gazes at me a little longer. When I’m not appeased by her denial, she reaches out to place her hand on my arm, her eyes glued to mine. “I would put money on Zander never sleeping with a client before, and we get our fair share of lonely wives who are sure their husbands are cheating. Half the time, they get a look at Zander and consider cheating themselves.” “Why would you bet your money on him not going there with one of them?” “He’s the owner of Jameson Private Investigators, and he takes that very seriously. Like, too seriously sometimes. The guy is anal about everything. When I leave at the end of the day, I sometimes purposely leave a few pens out on my desk. Without a doubt, Zander puts them away before the next day.” “Couldn’t the cleaners be doing that?” “We only have them come out once a week. It’s Zander.” I’m not really surprised by this. I have seen his

apartment, after all. “He hasn’t been in too many relationships, then?” I try to ask innocently, not wanting to appear too nosy or give her the impression I’m desperate. “No. Truthfully, he’s always so busy. First, it was setting up this business. Then it was the workload he took on. When he suddenly had Van to take care of, he became impossible.” “Van did mention that a girlfriend broke up with him when he moved in.” Van also mentioned she called him a two-minute wonder. I can now attest that was a false statement. “I don’t recall her, and I know everything that happens in Zander’s life. Like I said, work wife over here.” She taps her chest before taking another sip of her wine. I sit back in my chair and take a deep breath. After today’s drama, and the incredible sex that has left me satisfied, if not a bit uncertain about my future, I needed this. Some good wine with a new friend. Sasha might be a little full-on, and she’s

definitely nosy, but I also feel protected being around her. She doesn’t seem likely to back away from a fight, and I like how honest she is. I like that she declared us best friends because she likes me for Zander and wants me in her life. I like a lot of things. And though I don’t like the situation surrounding me, I’m glad I’m not alone. I seriously lacked friends for most of my life. I was too prickly and angry as a kid, and too much of a loner as I grew up. I was sure everyone was unreliable and would leave. What was the point of bothering with society? Brian was a complete surprise, even then we both kept each other at a distance. His reasoning for that clear now. But so is mine. Sitting with Sasha, sharing a drink and relaxing, this feels good. I hope this isn’t something we stop doing in the future, just maybe without the drama or the overheard sex. “What about your dating life? Seeing anyone?” I ask, listening when she gives me a telling sigh in response.

“I’m between guys. Taking a little me time, you know?” “I think maybe I should be taking some of that after what has happened,” I admit, not that this thought will hold up in the face of Zander. My brain might think one thing, but the rest of my body is not in agreement. “Honey, from the way you were screaming out, I don’t think me time is worth giving up sex like that.” I flush from her words, the wine warming me up so the feeling doesn’t leave. “I can’t believe you were listening,” I rebuke her, not that I’m entirely surprised. “The entire street was listening!” She laughs at me, and I redden further. Soon, I’m going to look the same color as the wine. “Shut up.” Sasha chuckles, and then we both sit silently as we sip our wine. “He’s a good guy. He won’t hurt you, and he will never break your trust. You could do a lot

worse than him. I doubt there are many better. You would regret not seeing where this goes,” she tells me quietly. “I’m not sure I’m ready yet,” I admit just as quietly. My life went from almost nonexistent to completely full in just a few weeks. That is a lot to take in. “Then just enjoy the incredible sex for now and let your brain catch up later.” I roll my eyes at her simple answer. “I’m also not sure if things work like that.” “Then make it work.” “Why are you being so pushy?” “Because I love Zander. He’s the brother I never asked for, and right now, he’s stressed, worried, was nearly killed today, yet he has never looked more alive than when he’s with you. He lives in his own head a lot, but any mention of you gets his full attention. He’s into you, and I like that. I like you, and I like how into him you are. A lesser woman would have shut up when I started demanding he go sort out this shit. You stood up and fought for him to take it easy. I like that, too.”

Her praise warms me, even if it does scare me a little. “So, that was a test?” “No, I really did want him to go out and sort out this shit. But, if it had been a test, you would have passed. Besides, you already have the Van test in the bag. That kid loves you.” She salutes me after that and takes another deep pull from her glass. “He’s a good kid.” “And he’ll be a happier one with you in his life. I’ve never heard him talk so much before. I admit, it’s only been the past few months I’ve spent any time with him, but in that whole time, he probably said only a handful of words. Tonight, when he ate his sandwich, he couldn’t stop talking. And after the day he’s had, that is a miracle right there.” “I think you’re giving me too much credit. Zander talked to him before he left, and their conversation, well, it pulled on my heartstrings.” I tear up just thinking about it. I quickly take a sip to distract myself.

“But you made that conversation happen,” she tells me confidently. “Yeah, by nearly getting them both killed!” “No … Well, technically yes. But still no. You made that conversation happen by opening Van’s eyes, by making him see past his hate.” I shake my head, unwilling to take her praise. “They would have gotten there event—” “Geez, you don’t know how to take a compliment! Just agree with me, sip your wine, and let’s move on,” she snaps, and I decide I might as well do what she says. “Move on to what?” “I hope to bed.” Zander’s voice makes us both jump as he silently saunters toward us. “In a rush to get Ava back under you?” Sasha taunts. “Been gossiping over drinks, I see,” he retorts, but there is no heat behind his words. “Actually, you were both so vocal there was no gossiping needed,” Sasha remarks, standing up and stretching before moving over to the sink to

dispose of the remainder of her wine. Zander shakes his head at her, but he doesn’t seem to be as embarrassed as I feel. Does he not care that we made so much noise? That Sasha knows he slept with a sort of client? “Spoke to the police; it’s all sorted for now.” He grabs a glass from the cupboard and fills it with water, which he gulps down. “Just like that?” I glance at the time to see he’s been gone for hours. “I called Ken before I got there, explained what was going on. He insisted he come down. Turns out, he either knew all the guys there, or worked with one of their friends or family members before. He was able to get them to see things my way, at least for now. They’re still investigating what kind of device was used and how it was detonated.” Zander sounds wary. Sasha might have made a joke about his bed comment before, but I do think Zander seriously needs some rest. “Was anyone else hurt?” I ask, knowing this fear has been driving me crazy with more guilt.

“The buildings beside us are pretty damaged, but no one was inside. Some damaged cars, and a pissed off owner across the road because the strip joint had to close, but that seems to be all.” “And your place?” I’m hesitant to ask. “Police checked it out. Door was crashed in, but nothing looks disturbed or missing. I’ll have to go around there tomorrow or Monday to check it out myself.” I sigh in relief as that news finally settles inside me. It might not be safe for Zander and Van to go back to living at the apartment, but at least they will be able to go back there once this mess is cleared up. “When are you giving Ken the info?” Sasha asks, leaning against the kitchen counter and crossing her arms. “Tomorrow night. I told him it takes time to get stuff from Jerry.” “He’s probably eager because he’s worried. That old man always treated us like his kids.” Sasha shakes her head, giving Zander a small smile. “Yeah, well …” He scratches the back of his

neck as he looks at me, his nerves ramping up my own. “He wants to meet you.” “You told him about her?” Sasha gasps. “What does that mean?” I ask Sasha before looking at Zander and trying to decipher his words. “It means, she’s being a bitch. Don’t freak Ava out,” he rebukes Sasha before giving me his attention again. “He wants to meet you in the context of the case. He wants to speak with you, and I think it will be good. It’ll give all of this more weight.” “Bullshit. You just want him to meet your new girlfriend,” Sasha teases, and I wince at how hard she’s pushing. “Seriously? What are you, ten years old?” Zander snaps at her. “So I like Ken? So he was like a second father to me growing up? So fucking what, Sash? You feel like rubbing it that my parents are dead? That I won’t ever get to introduce them to anyone else who is important to me? You think that’s funny?” Zander shoves past Sasha, and I see her face is crestfallen. “I didn’t mean it like that!” she calls out after

him, looking down at her feet when he doesn’t respond. “I was only teasing. I would never rub something like that in. I was just happy for him,” she pleads to me. “He’s had a tough day. I think teasing might be better for a different time,” I suggest softly. “You’re right. I’m sorry. And I don’t want to freak you out, but this is a big deal. If Zander’s taking you, it’s not because you’re needed for the case.” She moves toward me until she’s close enough to take my hand in hers and squeeze it. “If you don’t want to freak me out, then why are you saying this?” “If it were me, I’d want to be prepared. Now you can be. But, don’t worry too much. Ken is a sweetheart. We don’t get to see him much since Artie died. He was always a father to all of us. He’ll love you.” I shake my head, needing to escape before she freaks me out any further. “Good night, Sasha.” “Night, honey. Just so you know, I got some earplugs out of the garage. So, go to your heart’s content.”

And on that embarrassing note, I walk down the hall, checking on Van, who is fast asleep, before I enter the next room. Zander is already half undressed. I try not to ogle him as I sidestep him and grab my new toothbrush that Sasha handed out earlier. After hopefully getting the wine taste out of my mouth, I again stare at the doorway and recall the best sex of my life. Was that really just a few hours ago? Considering everything that has gone on today, how has it not been a week since Van and I escaped Brian? Shaking off these thoughts, I get into bed and watch as Zander goes through the same motions, adding in a quick shower to remove the dried blood off his back. I should be exhausted after today. The wine has definitely helped loosen me up and make my body sleepy, but my mind continues to race. I have never been one to rush into anything. Never been the person to take a leap of faith or take risks. Now I’m risking more than just my life.

I’m risking my heart, and that might be scarier. I don’t think I have ever been in a relationship where I felt at risk of losing myself. I have always known I can survive on my own, and while I don’t doubt that I can do just fine once this mess is cleared up and Brian is put away for hopefully life, I do wonder if I can go back to my mundane life and routine post Zander and Van. They have been such a force in my life these past few weeks, so energizing and present, I’m not sure I have felt this engaged in life ever before. And what if sex with Zander always feels like it did before? What if that is how it is meant to be? Can I go back to my boring life after feeling so alive and charged these past few weeks? “You look like you’re thinking really hard about something,” Zander says as he turns the light off at the wall then moves toward the bed. There is only a lamp switched on next to his side of the bed, and when he slips under the sheets, I wait for him to turn that off, too. But he doesn’t. He stays sitting up, his top half leaning against the back wall, turned toward me, staring at me head-on.

“Are you okay with this?” He’s inspecting me with hesitance. I can’t even follow what he means. “With what?” “With me being here in this bed with you after what happened earlier between us?” I open my mouth to immediately tell him that it’s fine, that it is more than fine, but my thoughts travel elsewhere. “Do you think it’s weird that you were nearly killed, your office building and livelihood destroyed today, and instead of talking about any of that, we’re about to discuss the sex we engaged in earlier?” I blurt out. His lips twitch after hearing my words. “Would you rather talk about the other stuff?” “I don’t know if I’m emotionally equipped to talk about anything right now.” “I just want to know that you’re feeling okay. I hope I didn’t force you to—” “No. I definitely wanted what happened between us. And honestly, I think it was probably exactly what I needed. I might struggle to look at that bathroom door the same, but I definitely don’t

regret it,” I say assuredly before my confidence takes a dip. “Do you have regrets?” “I regret not doing enough to keep you protected. They found out about you somehow, and I know you didn’t do anything to put yourself in danger. I regret making a promise that you would be safe and then failing on delivering that. I regret that I didn’t find this Clarke douchebag and beat the shit out of him. But no, I don’t regret anything between us.” He is frowning now, and I wish I could soothe him. “Then we’re in agreement about us both being here right now?” I confirm softly. “Yes.” “Good. But just so you know, while I wouldn’t be against you hurting Brian, I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble. And with his FBI connections, it was probably lucky we lasted as long as we did without him getting a hint of where I was.” “I will find out where this leaked from, I promise.” He voice is stern. I know he won’t stop until he knows how we were discovered. As it is, he’s put his phone,

Sasha’s, and Van’s somewhere else so they can’t be traced here. He’s now using a burner, as well as the others. My fear is that maybe Van blurted something out about me at school. I don’t want any more conflict popping up between them, especially not now that they seem to have found a little common ground, but I also know I won’t be able to stop Zander from looking into it. It’s in his business to know these things, so I will need to just see how this plays out. “We’re going to see your friend’s dad tomorrow?” I ask. “Yeah. Ken is a great guy. You’ll like him.” I gulp as Sasha’s words echo inside my head, but I try to push past those concerns. Meeting the parents, even if it is just a surrogate father, is not something I’m keen on. “And then, what happens once we hand over the information?” “It shouldn’t take long for things to happen. We’re basically giving them everything they need to convict with a little bowtie wrapped around it. I

doubt Clarke will be free longer than twenty-four hours.” “So, it could all be over in a couple of days?” I sound wistful, and I cross my fingers that I’m not getting my hopes up just for this all to go pearshaped. “Yep,” he assures me, reaching out to take my hand and holding it against his thigh. “Will I need to testify or anything?” “You haven’t been involved in any of this. All you did was find the evidence on Clarke’s computer. Seeing the video evidence speaks volumes. I don’t think they’ll need you to testify about that. But, if you want to press charges for assault, depending how Clarke wants to play this, you might have to take this further, which could involve testifying.” “I just want this over with,” I admit, hoping that doesn’t make me sound cowardly. “Personally, I think he is screwed with or without you adding on an assault charge. There is plenty of footage to make it obvious he not only is a huge part of this, but he clearly takes a lot of

pleasure in what he is doing. Add in what happened after today and what can be tied to him, he’s fucked.” “I hope so. I hope he never sees another free day as long as he lives.” Zander scoots down onto his back then, wrapping an arm around me and hugging me to his chest. “This okay?” “Perfect.” “Good.” He then reaches out and turns off the light, encasing us in darkness. “One more day, and then this will all be sorted.” I nod against his chest, feeling a little choked up. Only one more day before I have less reason to be here in Zander’s arms. Can’t we just stay in this moment forever? *** Zander parks his car on the side of a quiet, rundown road. The houses here are at least half a century old, if not more, and many look like they

are on the brink of falling apart. We are in one of the poorest neighborhoods, and not a place I pictured Zander’s cop friend living. Zander doesn’t seem surprised to see the distressed houses or to be in this neighborhood. Then again, he’s likely been here many times before. And perhaps the night makes these houses look worse than they are. Maybe it’s not so bad in the light of day. I can understand some people have no choice on where they live, and I shouldn’t judge a place just on looks, but I thought cops make better money than just above the poverty line. Ken can afford something more than this place, right? “This is it?” I ask as I glance up at the house that looks like it probably should have been condemned. “Yeah, Ken never moved after … Artie grew up here. I think, after what happened, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. I know a few months after it happened, Imogen, his wife, moved out. He was harder to pin down after that. I should have tried harder, though.” Zander is staring sadly at the

house in front of us. “People grieve in different ways. Maybe throwing himself into his work and being busy all the time was how you both coped. I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose a child.” “I know. They were close.” Zander’s voice wavers for a moment before he quickly clears it. “Come on; let’s get this over with.” We get out of the car, and then Ken answers the door after one knock. He takes a quick look at us both, his face stern, and I get an immediate feeling like we are about to step into the principal’s office. I suppose being a cop most of your life gives you that authoritative presence without trying. Then again, this situation is likely not one for handshakes and smiles. This is serious stuff, and Ken is clearly mentally prepared for the shit that is about to land on him. I have to admire that, because a lesser man would want nothing to do with this. He nods at Zander before turning away from us and leading us down the dark hallway.

I’m quick to follow Ken, but Zander is a little slower, glancing around the walls and through a couple of the open doorways that reveal empty rooms along the way. “Shit, did you get robbed or something?” Zander asks as he enters the room where Ken has stopped, his gaze moving around the almost bare living room. Shadows cover most of the room, but it is easy to see there is nothing more in here than a couch facing away from us and a few empty bottles of beer lying around. A streetlight on outside the window, which has no curtains, means we can see well enough inside this room. There is something sinister about walking in here at night. “Got no use for most crap people deem important these days,” Ken mutters, bending down to grab a bottle off the floor before he takes a swig of its contents. I guess they weren’t all empty. “You drunk?” Zander snaps, taking a step over to the wall and flipping the light switch. Nothing happens. “Electricity part of you cutting back, Ken?”

“Guess so,” he grumbles. “What the fuck is going on?” Zander sounds concerned, which in turn makes me more concerned. “You got the information I need?” Ken asks, his eyes a little twitchy. “You don’t look like a cop right now. What’s going on?” Zander demands before his eyes widen in shock. “You in on this fucked up shit, Ken?” “Hell no!” Ken is quick to deny. I don’t know him at all, but he doesn’t sound like he’s lying to me. This room and atmosphere, however, are freaking me out. Zander takes a step toward me before he stands in front of me, blocking my view of Ken. His protective stance doesn’t inspire much confidence in this situation. “Then tell me what is going on.” “Do you remember playing baseball with Artie?” Ken asks. I poke my head around Zander’s side to see Ken reach down to the couch and pick up a baseball bat, lightly balancing it in his hands.

“Yeah, of course I do. He was good. He could have gone all the way if he wanted to.” Zander’s voice cracks a little. I rest my hand over his arm, hoping he might gain some support from my touch. “Did you know he hated playing baseball?” “What?” Zander’s voice is sharp and full of shock. “He liked hanging out with you, but he never cared about baseball.” Ken laughs to himself, shaking his head. “I … He never told me.” “He would sit in his room and eye this bat, wondering how much longer he was going to bother playing. But every year, you signed up, so he signed up, too.” Zander snorts. “I only played it as long as I did for him. I started to lose interest toward the end.” “I told him he didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want. That you wouldn’t care if he didn’t play.” “I wouldn’t have,” Zander confirms. “As much as I loved my son, he was never a

leader. He followed you as much as he could, and then he decided to follow me.” Ken’s voice falters now. “He was proud of following in your footsteps. He always told me he wanted to be a cop.” “And look where that got him. Dead on his first day,” Ken growls, his anger and grief obvious. “That isn’t your fault. Nothing you could have said or done would have stopped Artie from becoming a cop. It was his dream,” Zander insists. Ken is obviously having a bad day. I begin to wonder if I should be here for this conversation. I didn’t know Artie, so it feels intrusive being here. “It was his dream. A dream shouldn’t kill you, though. A dream shouldn’t mean the end of your life.” Ken’s voice cracks. He takes another sip from the bottle before dropping it to the floor where it cracks loudly. “I know.” Silence surrounds us then, and I grow impatient, waiting for someone to speak up. I glance back over at Ken to see him shaking his head before his focus comes back to us.

“I need to know if you have that information.” He sounds serious now, determined. I feel Zander relax under my hand, which I still have resting on his arm. I’m still not sure what is going on, though. I look around the room again, feeling worse as I take in the barren look. Certainly, no one wants to live like this. Sure, many things in life are unnecessary and pointless. Who really needs fake potted plants or countless different lamps and lights for just one single room? But some things are necessary. One couch staring at a blank wall is not something a normal person would choose. Add in the picture frames leaning on the floor and flipped over, and I really don’t get a good feeling about this. “I do have information for you,” Zander says hesitantly, holding out a USB in his hand. I notice it’s different than the one I gave him. Another copy? “Then I don’t need you anymore,” Ken says calmly, so calmly that I don’t even understand what he means until it’s too late.

I don’t see what happens next, but since Zander is hit over the head with the baseball bat, I assume he doesn’t see it coming, either. He falls to his knees, and I jump back when the bat swings again and Zander takes another direct hit to the head. “Stop!” I scream, my feet frozen. I can’t bring myself to run away from this or to crouch down next to Zander. I am stuck where I am, neither helping Zander or myself. However, when he swings his bat back again, ready for another strike against a defenseless Zander, it’s enough to jolt me back to life. “No!” I leap over Zander’s prone body and attempt to tackle Ken, but he is in better shape than he looks. With what seems like zero effort, he swipes at my feet, tripping me and sending me sailing to the ground where my shoulder cracks hard against the floor. Did I mention there is just a concrete floor? No carpeting or floorboards. Just cold, solid, unapologetic concrete.

“Stupid woman,” he mutters. “Got no fucking clue what you’re doing.” I have to agree with him. What the hell am I doing? “Ken …” Zander gasps. “What are you …? Why are you doing this?” His voice sounds disorientated and weak. “Why?” Ken snorts before shaking his head at us both. “Because there is a shitload of money in this, because I’m living in a goddamn dump and I don’t fucking deserve that. I gave up my wife, my son, and for what? So I could retire with nothing?” he yells, kicking Zander in the thigh. I wince at the way his body jolts from it. “You got what you want. Just take it and let us go,” I beg. “Let you go?” Ken snorts again, his beady eyes gazing down at us. “You’ve seen my face, and you know what I’m doing. There is no way you’re getting out of here alive.” “So, you’re a murderer now? You’re just going to kill two innocent people to get a bit of money?” I gasp, not only fearful for what is about to happen,

but hating that someone is betraying Zander like this. He’s been through enough pain in one lifetime. “Actually, I’m only going to kill one person,” he says calmly. For a brief second, I think he means to let Zander go. They have a history together. He was his son’s best friend. Of course he can’t fatally harm Zander. Then it clicks. Zander would never let this go. He won’t ever stop. So why let him go? “You’re not going to kill me?” I ask nervously. “No, honey, I’m not. You’re worth more alive,” he sneers, though I think I see a little hesitation in his eyes. “You’re going to give her to those assholes? Do you know what they’ll do to her?” Zander yells, a surge of energy springing him to his knees before he is knocked back down. “Stop hitting him!” I cry, scared when he doesn’t open his eyes this time. Is he already dead? I urgently search for a pulse, but I can barely find purchase against him with my hands shaking so much.

Ken is mumbling to himself, his back turned to me as he searches his couch. Now is my chance to run, but how can I leave Zander? In all honesty, how am I supposed to help him? Is there any way to do that? I need to find help, and since I can’t trust the police, I need Zander’s friends’ help. I don’t have a cell phone on me, so I reach into Zander’s pocket and feel the phone in there. Unfortunately, before I can grab it, Ken turns around, holding a gun. “No!” Feeling utterly helpless, I cradle Zander’s head in my lap. “How can you do this? Zander is a good man. He was your son’s best friend!” Without even answering me, he fires two shots into Zander’s chest. His body jerks upward from both; otherwise, he doesn’t even open his eyes. “Thanks, honey. Don’t know if I could have done that without you covering his head. It’ll make the nightmares more bearable,” he states coldly before his voice sharpens with anger. “Now get the fuck up.” “You bastard!” I scream as he quickly grabs

my arm and forces me to my feet. In my anger, I attempt to pull away from him. I punch, scratch, and kick him, but all he does is unexpectedly push me away from him, letting me go and almost causing me to fall on my ass. I need all my concentration to remain on my feet, and then, before I can even blink, he delivers a punch to the side of my head. I only vaguely recall hitting the ground, becoming more aware when I’m dropped somewhere compact, with walls all around me. I’m slow to realize I am in the trunk of a car. Tears pool down my face, and even that makes me feel useless. I couldn’t do a thing to stop Zander from being hurt, and now he’s dead. Van has lost everyone now. His life will never be the same. And now there is a good chance he will never recover. As for me, it’s obvious who I’m about to see. The question now is: how long will I have to suffer before I’m killed?

Chapter 11 I have no idea how long I’m trapped in the trunk. Minutes? Hours? Days? I don’t know. What I do know is, however long it is, it’s not long enough. All too soon the car stops for good, and then fresh, cool air suddenly hits me as the trunk is finally opened. My lips are dry, my skin soaked in sweat, and my bones feel like jelly. I should probably be terrified right now. I should probably feel something at least. All I feel is numb. I don’t really care that I’m being dragged out of the trunk. I don’t care that I’m dropped unceremoniously in front of someone horrifyingly familiar. I don’t care that Brian is glaring down at me. I don’t care when he reaches out and takes a

swing at me, slapping me hard across my cheek and shoving my head into the side of the car. Even the pain from that impact quickly fades to nothingness. I have never felt so detached before and wonder if this is a good thing. Obviously, fun things aren’t for me in my future. Even considering thinking about my recent past is a no-go zone, so why not stay in my own head? Why not keep feeling numb? “… sure you didn’t drug her?” Brian’s voice floats inside my head. “Nah, just knocked her out. She’s probably got a concussion. If you want her alive for whatever you want to do, perhaps refrain from damaging her head any further,” Ken says simply. Brian’s response to that is a grunt. “You get the file?” “Yes.” Ken ruffles around his pocket before pulling out the USB. He stares at it for a moment, perhaps second-guessing what he’s doing. Then he makes his choice when he passes it over to Brian. “And you’re sure there aren’t more copies?” “Zander told me before I shot him that this one

is the only one. He was trying to wipe his hands of it. Said it was giving him too much heat.” I blink slowly as those words sink in. Zander never told him that. In fact, Ken never asked. Is he lying on purpose because he realizes he fucked up? Or does he hope somewhere out there another copy exists and these guys will be brought down? He said he wasn’t part of this to Zander, but he must be. He wouldn’t have committed murder and given me to Brian if he wasn’t connected. Still, maybe part of him wants to be caught. Then why not leave Zander alive? “Well, having a fucking building explode tends to make people antsy. Nice work with that, by the way.” When Brian gives Ken the compliment, I realize Ken’s betrayal of Zander is even worse. “How about you, bitch?” Brian crouches in front of me, gripping my throat with a firm hand. “You make any other copies?” He squeezes his hand over me then, cutting off my air supply while giving me a sinister smile. He’s enjoying this.

I shake my head the small amount I can move. He just stares at me, watching as my eyes water. I can’t help panicking as I struggle to breath. My hands move out of habit as they scratch his arm, but he’s too strong. Why am I even struggling? Isn’t this a much nicer death than what is likely planned for me? “I’ve dreamed about you being here with me. I’ve fucked my fist so many times to the thoughts of what I’m going to do to you,” he hisses as he releases me. I drag in painful breaths as I cough and splutter. My lungs burn, my skin itches, and bile bubbles away inside me as I try not to vomit over myself. “I did as was asked. I want my money,” Ken demands, not at all disturbed by Brian’s words to me, or his actions. “You don’t care what we’re doing here?” Brian asks him, a hint of suspicion in his voice. “I don’t give a flying fuck what you’re doing here. I just killed my son’s best friend; I certainly

don’t care about some woman I’ve never met before.” Ken’s voice is cold. “Good. I might be in touch if we need any further assistance from you.” Ken’s eyes narrow on Brian. “In touch? I don’t see why—” “You killed a man tonight. I own you now,” Brian ruthlessly states. Ken glares at him, but he doesn’t comment further. Perhaps he can sense the deteriorating situation. “Get lost. You’ve got a murder to cover up. You’ll have your money tomorrow,” Brian snaps. Ken gets in his car and drives off, not another word spoken. Still, I feel numb. It’s probably weak to want to stay trapped in my state of mind. Is there a rule book that says I have to be strong? “You gonna walk on your own, or do I need to drag you?” It must take me too long to answer because, within moments, Brian pulls on my ponytail,

dragging me across a dusty warehouse floor. I scratch at his hands, trying to get him to release me, as I kick out to gain traction with the floor so I can lift myself up. When he finally drops me, it isn’t because of my attempts. It’s because we have reached a new door. He pulls out a key and undoes the padlock, and as soon as he opens the steel door, reverberations of cries and moans echo from inside. Brian picks me up, shoving me against the archway of the door, and steps into me, his erection digging into my waist. “As much as I’d love to begin our fun right now, you’ve caused a lot of headaches for a lot of people. Therefore, I must wait to have my fun until the rest are here. For you, there will be a live audience.” I shiver as his words send a wave of terror over me. Then I struggle to grab ahold of my numbness. I need it. I can’t do this without it. “So quiet, my pretty?” He reaches out and caresses my face, his touch digging into my cheeks after a while, and then he fists my chin, ripping my

head to the side so fast I feel dizzy. “Don’t worry; you’ll be screaming in no time. They all do.” Then he pushes me through the doorway. Whatever hell I just stepped into is covered in darkness. However, there is no mistaking the cries and moans of pain. Where am I? Just as that thought filters through, Brian turns on the overhead light. The images I see slap me, and I know that, for as long as I live, no matter if that might only be a short time, I will never forget this. Nine women, all in cages, all naked, and all looking abused and dead inside. “I wished so many times I could hurt you when we were dating. You fit their profile, you know. No family, no close friends, a job that is done alone. Your temp work makes you as forgettable as any of these women. You could die today and no one would care. So many times I wanted to bring you here.” He sounds wistful. “But then I knew I would never find a girlfriend as stupid as you. “You never asked me questions. You never

wondered over our lack of a sex life. You didn’t care that I left you for weeks at a time. You were the perfect cover. So, I had to restrain. But now? Now I can do whatever the fuck I want and no one will give a shit. You are worthless.” His words spark anger inside me. But what really sets it alight is looking over at the women trapped here. That is what he thinks of these women, too? That they are worthless? He is wrong. He is the worthless one. He’s the asshole who is sick and fucked in the head. He is the one no one will miss if he were to disappear. “Why are you like this?” I ask, my voice sounding calmer than I expect, not stuttering or faltering. “Like what? Smart? Resourceful? Indestructible?” His chest puffs out with each false attribute. “Why do you enjoy hurting people?” “Because it’s fun. Because it’s a thrill. Because I hold all the power, and you are at my mercy.” He kicks my calf, forcing me to lose my

balance and fall to my knees. Before I know it, he is standing in front of me, gripping my head as he forces me to faceplant his crotch. “Right now, I could make you suck me off, and you wouldn’t have a choice. I could line up twenty men, and you could do us one after the other.” I punch at his legs, pulling my head back with all my might. But he’s right; I can’t do anything to free myself. “I can burn holes through your skin. I can pull your fingernails off one at a time. I can do anything I want, and there is no way you can stop me.” His voice sounds giddy. As soon as he releases me, I scatter away from him, knocking my back into one of the cages in my haste. I knew after what I saw on that video that Brian was a monster, but knowing it and seeing it firsthand are two completely different things. “You’re sick!” I yell, the cries of fear increasing around me. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I’m just not afraid to admit how we all truly feel.”

“No, you’re just a sick fuck!” I snap. He advances on me quickly, but then he sideswipes me and moves to the cage door beside me. Inside is a woman who doesn’t even look alive, let alone ready to defend herself. Entering the cage, he grabs her arm and drags her into a position he likes, one which leaves her legs sprawled out and vulnerable. His eyes look into mine, and I see no humanity in them. Only true evil. “This one is due to be put in the trash soon. I might let off some steam with her. Let you watch so you know what’s coming.” Bile rises inside my throat at what he’s suggesting. As soon as he drops his eyes to the poor woman, I search frantically for a way to help her. There must be a way. My eyes snag on something shiny, something only a few feet away on a table. I leap to my feet, willing my bones to strengthen and hold me up as I search for a suitable weapon. I find some truly barbaric and disgusting

instruments, but one looks more promising than the rest. An electric cattle prod. I don’t test it out, afraid the noise might gain his attention. Looking back at him, I see he has his hands wrapped around the almost unconscious woman’s throat as he pumps himself into her, his pants down by his knees. He’s distracted enough that I could easily make it to the door and perhaps even outside wherever the hell we are. I might even be able to hide and evade what is coming for me, but I can’t do that. I can’t leave these women here to rot for another second. Instead, I rush back over to him, step into the cage, and place the prod against his exposed ass. He screams at the rush of electricity zapping through him, the strength of which I wasn’t expecting, so I drop it in surprise. Luckily, the pain and shock forces Brian to seize up. Then he falls onto the woman who has yet to even make a single noise. The only reason I know she’s alive is because tears are falling down her face.

“You’re okay now. I’m going to help you,” I assure her, using my foot to kick Brian off her and having the unintended consequence of his junk facing me as he falls to his back. His body begins to relax now, and his fists clench as he begins to sit up. I thought the zap of current would have had more of an effect on him. Deciding to kill two birds with one stone, I reach down, pick up the cattle prod, and shock him again, making sure he’s unconscious by the time I remove the prod, as well as using the exposed part of skin I see. Is it possible to burn a penis off? Because, the way it’s smoking, I think it might be. I reach into his pants, which are now around his ankles, and find the set of keys and his cell phone. I place both in my pockets, then try to gently move the woman out of the cell. I have no clothes to give her, no blankets to offer her protection, but I think she’s past caring now. The rest of the women are watching me carefully, some eyeing me with hope, and others

not even seeming to care that they might be freed soon. I trap Brian inside the cage once we are out and feel a tiny bit better that he’s locked up. Next, I type Brian’s pin number into the cell phone. At least something good will come out of dating him. But, as soon as my fingers hover over his keyboard, I’m at a loss of what to do. Do I call 911 and risk the wrong people being alerted? I have no idea how many moles are in the police force. And I don’t know Sasha’s number or Declan’s or Joey’s. I don’t even know Van’s. The website only has an office number, which won’t do me much good now that their building is no longer standing. Who do I call? I scroll down Brian’s address book, knowing every person in this list is probably just like him. What do I do? Looking around at the cages and the abuse these women have put up with, I know I have to take a risk and hope I’m not going to screw things up. Therefore, I dial 911 as I move about and unlock each and every cage.

Some women rush out, while the others don’t move an inch at the freedom presented to them. When the 911 operator answers, I tell her I need the police, nine ambulances, firemen, and the bomb squad. I tell her there is a hostage situation. I tell her dead bodies are everywhere, and that the warehouse is full of stolen property. I even claim I see terrorist-looking plans and maps of every major city in America. I say everything I can think of to get every single department involved so there is no way to keep this quiet, no way to shut this down. That should be enough, right? When I’m asked my location, I have no answer to that. I just promise to leave the line open so she can trace the call. Then I tell them to find the address of one Detective Ken Smoke. Zander might be dead, but there is no way Ken is going to be allowed to dispose of his body. Zander is a good man and deserves to receive a proper burial, even if that is the only thing I can give him now. After getting all that out to the operator, I take a shaky breath, just as Brian begins to stir.

At first, it’s just quiet moans, and some jerks and jolts to his body. Then he grows louder, and by the end, he is screaming in pain. The women around me shake in fear, many huddling up into balls. All of them are too terrified to run away. “You fucking bitch! I am going to kill you! I am going to—” The rest of his words are cut off as the door to this hellhole is opened and three men make their way inside. They look as surprised as I am, and my heart painfully gallops when they also look surprised to see Brian in a cage and in pain, surprised to see some of the women free, and to see me there at all. What they clearly aren’t, is surprised to see a bunch of naked, abused women. “What the hell, Bry? What’s going on?” one of them asks as the other two pull out their guns and point them at us. My heart slows then, and I feel that numbness creeping over me again. The help on its way is going to be too late. It won’t make it in time. They

won’t be able to stop this. I push away the numbness and any lingering fear, and grab ahold of my anger. How dare we get so close to freeing these women just so these assholes can rip that freedom away! These women have suffered enough, and they will be freed from here, dammit! “It’s all over,” I say confidently. “You guys can either be part of the rescue party, or arrested for murder, as well as all the other fucked up shit you’ll be arrested for,” I tell them, sounding braver and surer than I feel. “Get down on your knees,” the same man barks. “I’m not kidding.” I hold up the still lit cell phone. “This place is probably surrounded already. Do you really want to go down like this?” I send a silent prayer that what I’m saying is true. Unfortunately, hoping for help to be here one minute after I call is impossible, but since they don’t know how long ago I called, I might be able to bluff my way out of this. “Bullshit,” the man yells, and his friend on the

left fires a shot that comes far too close to my head. “Get on your knees, or my friend won’t miss next time.” I glance around to see all the women who were strong enough to remove themselves from their cages are already in this position. Except, they are all shaking, many are crying, and a few are even just lying flat on the floor. There is no fight left in them. And I gave them hope that things might be over, only for them all to have that hope ripped away. I just need to keep these assholes talking. I need them to keep going until help arrives. Therefore, I get on my knees, keeping a strong hold of the cell phone as I face them, waiting to see what they want next. “What did you do to Brian?” one of the gunmen asks. “Burned his dick off. You want me to try it out on you?” I smirk, hoping my shaking isn’t obvious, even though the phone in my hand sort of gives it away. “Stupid bitch. Your death was already a

guarantee, but you’ve just drawn it out longer than any of the others.” “And how many others have there been?” Instead of answering me, the main guy signals to his two men. One moves to the cage Brian is trapped in, searching his own keys to find the one to open his lock. The other one saunters toward me. He kicks away the cattle prod I left a few feet from me, and then he rips the cell phone out of my hands and throws it to the ground before he stomps on it. I hope they had enough time to trace my call. “We’re going to need to move. Take him and the bitch. Kill the others. We’ll go to the backup location.” My lungs fill with air, ready to shout my denial, but I never get a word out because, surprisingly and not at all unwelcomely, Declan, in all his bearded glory, sprints into the doorway still occupied by the main guy and knocks him over. He then quickly takes aim and shoots the man by me in the shoulder, causing him to drop his gun, where it lands several feet away from us. This doesn’t stop

him from reaching down to his pant leg with his uninjured arm, attempting to pull out a new gun. Declan just shoots him again, a direct hit to the chest. When the man goes down, he collapses on top of me, and warm blood coats me as I struggle to get his dead weight off. At the same time as this, another gunshot erupts. I have no idea if this is a good thing or not, but Declan is suddenly leaning over me, not appearing concerned when he rolls the dead man off me. “Thank God!” I cry, letting him help me up, and then I hug him tightly as relief finally crashes over me. “Fuck, looks like we got here just in time,” he says, patting me on my back gently. “You hurt?” “No.” I shake my head, his shaggy beard tickling my forehead, as more tears race down my face and this whole situation begins to hit me. “But Zander, he … he …” “He’s behind you,” Declan finishes. I’m so shocked by his words that I don’t

understand what he means. “What?” “He’s behind you. To be honest, he’s giving me a pretty huge glare. Don’t think he’s happy about you hugging me for this long.” Declan doesn’t loosen his grip around me, though. Perhaps he is afraid I might faint at any second. I shake my head a little, my tears briefly clearing up. “Why would you say that? He’s dead!” I snap, angry that he’s making a joke out of this. “Then he looks pretty good for a dead guy.” “Ava,” Zander’s voice sounds from behind me, and I quickly turn around, almost falling over at how dizzy that makes me. Zander reaches out to steady me, even though Declan hasn’t let go of me yet. “How …? I saw you get shot,” I accuse him, though I’m undeniably happy he’s alive. Or have I hit my head and am dreaming this? “Yeah, that hurt like a son of a bitch.” He rubs his chest then, wincing. “How are you alive?” Zander might seem indestructible, surviving a bomb and now being

shot twice, but no one is that lucky or bulletproof. “I was wearing my bulletproof vest. I wear one for anything remotely dangerous. Other than the night we took the USB, I didn’t think I needed it again yet. Then my office was bombed. While it wouldn’t have made a huge difference if I had been wearing it, it would have protected me from some of the glass. I decided, until this case was over, I’d wear the vest every time I left the house. I thought it was an overreaction to wear it to see Ken, but I promised myself I wouldn’t take any more risks for Van’s sake. If I’d known …” He shakes his head, pain shooting through his expression while betrayal sits deep within his eyes. “I would have never taken you there if I thought he …” “So, you’re … you’re alive?” I dumbly ask. I’m speaking to him, so of course he’s alive. “Yep. Luckily, he didn’t decide to shoot me in the head,” he says, taking me back to that moment when I felt so useless, so helpless. I couldn’t do anything but hug Zander’s head to me. Ken said it made it easier to shoot him, not being able to see his face, but it turns out it meant he couldn’t deliver

a headshot, even if he had wanted to. “Your head …?” I stare at the dried blood and dark bruising around his forehead. “Gonna have a headache for a while, probably should get checked out, but I’ll live. Did he …?” His voice cracks. “Are you hurt?” Before I can answer, Brian starts up his cursing again, still cupping his manhood. Zander glares at him, immediately taking a step toward him, no doubt ready to do something to shut him up, although he’s still locked in his cage. The second man is bleeding on the ground, his keys spilled out beside him. The other man who did all the talking appears to be knocked out. “I shoved a cattle prod over his junk until he passed out. Apparently, that hurt,” I tell Zander, who surprises me with his laugh. “Fuck yeah.” He gifts me with another large smile before he turns serious again. “You okay, though?” I feel Declan move past me. He must have left to get blankets, because he’s covering up the women and helping them to sit up or stand.

I hear sirens blaring in the background, their sounds growing closer. Someone is on their way, and hopefully, they are on our side. “I’m fine, I think. I called 911. I asked for … well, everyone. I didn’t know who to trust.” Zander gives me a small chuckle. “Heard your 911 call on the way over here.” He steps forward, finally bridging the gap between us, and gently cups my face. “You did good. We’re going to have so much law enforcement here that there is no way to cover anything up.” He lightly caresses his thumb over my sore cheek. “You look raw here; did he hit you?” His voice is little more than a growl. “It doesn’t matter.” I shrug it off, my relief dragging me down as emotions begin to overwhelm me. “I can’t believe you’re okay. I thought … I was sure you were dead.” I cry now, everything hitting me again, and Zander wraps me in his arms and holds me close, keeping me standing. “Let’s get out of here and into some fresh air,” he suggests. “But the others,” I say through my tears. “We need to help them.”

“You already have. Help is almost here. They will be seen to soon enough.” Zander lifts me into his arms princess style and carries me out of that toxic room and through the outer area. I’m surprised to find it light outside as the sun begins to rise. “Where are we?” “We’re just off I-94, close to the Wisconsin border.” Shit, just how long was I in that trunk? “How close were you to me before I called 911?” “We were close. Jerry was able to remotely trace Clarke’s phone from the numbers you gave us. We would have been here sooner, but it wasn’t easy to do. There was some serious encryption Jerry had to break through to activate it. Don’t even wanna know how many laws he broke to do it.” “Couldn’t you have just been tracing Brian the entire time, then? Seen where he went?” “We couldn’t ever be truly sure when he was going to be here. Declan followed him to a bar

where they would switch up cars. It means his car won’t ever be seen or photographed in this area. We hadn’t managed to follow him once he hit that bar. Add in that, he would have easily been able to figure out his GPS was switched on, and once that happened, his next step would likely be to get a new phone and a new number. Then that avenue would have been lost for us in the future, like right now.” I nod, leaning my head back against Zander and appreciating the feel of him more than ever. I wipe at my eyes, but more silent tears fall down my face to replace them. “That’s twice I thought you were dead. Two times you’ve cheated death,” I tell him, my voice shaky. “I was sure I had lost you, too. Let’s not do this again to each other, okay?” He squeezes me to him. His words are light, but his meaning is heavy. “Okay.” The sirens are louder now, and it is only minutes before the first police cars scream to a stop by us. We are told to put our hands up, and Zander

has to put me down as he tries to explain what is going on. Meanwhile, more police arrive, as well as two fire trucks. I can’t see any ambulances, but later I’m told they had them waiting at a safe distance until the scene is deemed safe. I did indicate there was a bomb, fire, and a hostage situation. Plus, they heard a gunshot on the end of my call before the now dead man stomped on the phone and killed the line. I internally groan at the mess I made by telling so many lies over the 911 call, and about the fact that there is no way this nightmare is going to be over anytime soon. Once the scene is cleared and things begin to be sorted out, I am subjected to an unbelievable amount of questioning. Not only at the warehouse, but also at the nearest police station. Zander and Declan are taken away, too, but at least the women are being seen to by EMTs and taken to hospitals. I doubt their mental health will likely ever be the same, but their bodies will heal. We got to them in time. The rest is a blur. Questions, more questions,

and finally a doctor comes to check on my injuries. I only have bruises and some scratches, nothing dramatic, but they at least add more evidence to my story. I’m separated from Zander, but as soon as I am allowed to see him again, he tells me Jerry released part of the videos, sending the parts where Brian is visible to every police station email so there is no hiding that he was not a good guy. I haven’t heard how he is doing and I really don’t care. I hope his penis drops off and he spends the rest of his miserable life in prison. It is almost a full twenty-four hours before we are finally allowed to leave, and I’m dead on my feet. Joey picks us up, and I vaguely remember getting into the backseat with Zander, Declan ranting about something from the front seat, before I rest my head on Zander’s shoulder and am fast asleep. The next moment, we are outside of Van’s new bedroom at Sasha’s parents’ house. He’s jumping up and down in his excitement to see me.

“Van, please calm down. She’s sleeping. I just wanted you to see that we’re both fine. We’ll be going back home soon,” Zander hisses, torn between being annoyed and wanting to be quiet. “But it’s midmorning. Can’t we go home now?” Van pleads, keeping his voice down. “Not yet.” “Can we wake Ava up and do something?” “No, she needs her sleep, buddy. So do I. Sasha told me she’s going to take you out later. She wants your help buying a game console.” “She does?” Van breathes the words out, and I know he’s way more excited about this news than the thought of waking me up. “Yeah. Can you help her for me?” “Hell yeah!” he quietly cheers. “Is she going to buy games, too?” “I’m sure she will, and she’ll need your guidance.” There is a moment of silence before the air turns heavy again. “Are you sure Ava’s okay?” “She’s fine. And later tonight, if Ava’s up to it,

we’ll get pizza for dinner.” “Yes!” Van forgets to soften his voice, and it jolts me a little at hearing the loud outburst. “Quiet,” Zander cautions. “Go into the kitchen; Sasha has a late breakfast waiting for you.” I stay quiet, not wanting to alert Van to the fact that I’m awake. I’m not sure I’m ready to face him yet, though I am glad he seems more like his old self again. Zander was so close to dying yet again, and Van was incredibly close to losing the last member of his family again. Let’s hope he never realizes how close that came to be. Zander carries me into the bedroom we were using previously. “You need to shower and change out of these clothes,” he tells me, obviously aware I am feigning sleep. I nod and let him lead me into the bathroom. He doesn’t close the door and none of the desperation from the last time we were in here together is present. I just feel tired. He methodically strips me, only pausing to

glare at a new bruise or injury displayed. Then, once I am naked, he does the same to himself. As he heats the shower water up, I stare at the dark bruises covering his temple and forehead. They look angry, sore, and I doubt they will be disappearing anytime soon. Every time he looks into the mirror, he will see Ken’s betrayal. He’s lucky those hits didn’t do worse damage. He could have easily suffered brain damage or even death from those blows. Just how much luck do we have? Will it be enough to get us through whatever else is coming for us? Or, are we in the clear now? “What happened to Ken?” I murmur, my voice croaky from all the talking I did while being interviewed nonstop for hours on end. Zander’s eyes narrow in anger at the mention of his name. “He made it back to his place to find me missing and an undercover police car waiting for his return.” He walks me into the shower and under the water, the warm spray soothing my aching muscles. “Turns out, he stopped off at a bar to get drunk. I suppose I should be flattered that he

didn’t think he could dispose of my body sober.” Zander’s fury is obvious. I rub my hand over his chest in the hopes of giving him comfort. “It’s not your fault he turned out to be a bad person.” “I had no idea he was in financial trouble. I should have checked in with him more. I didn’t even know Imogen had left him until a few months after she was gone. I never bothered to ask her why she left. I figured it was just a byproduct of losing their son.” “This isn’t your fault,” I repeat. “You know he didn’t even have a clue about any of this shit. First he heard of it was when I called him. Then he just used the information I gave him to contact Brian and the assholes in on it with him, and they worked up a deal. If I had never called him, he would have never gotten himself involved.” “A good cop doesn’t do what he did. You might have placed him in front of the door, but he chose to walk through it. If he didn’t do it with this, he would have done it another way. You can’t

blame yourself for that.” He nods, letting his head run under the spray before he steps back and soaps up a loofah. Then he washes me clean, and I do the same for him. There is no fun or flirting this time. No lingering touches or teasing kisses. Instead, I feel clean, well taken care of, and safe. It’s what I need. I even allow Zander to dry me with a towel once we step out of the shower. With damp hair, he walks me over to the bed and pulls the covers away. Both naked, we climb in as a bone-deep tiredness takes over. With his arms around me, I fall asleep, wishing his arms were enough to ward off the bad dreams. But they aren’t. I wake up crying. I wake up screaming. I wake up with images of those cages and the state of those poor women. I dream of myself being tortured; of people I know and care about being hurt while I am helpless. Sometimes, I awake and don’t remember what I saw or heard. I just know my heart is racing and I’m scared. Zander can’t stop these images from coming at

me, yet he does hold me every time I wake up, offering soothing words and promises that everything will be okay. It’s enough to calm me, keep me in his arms, and go back to sleep. For the next three nights, he does this, even with us back in his apartment. Van has gotten over his panic from our quick escape from the apartment and the drama that followed. No nightmares and no lingering issues present themselves. He settles back into the final days of school while Zander takes me back to my own apartment to collect some of my things. He told me I will be staying with them for the time being. I don’t argue, because I don’t know how I will handle being alone. Brian didn’t spend much time in my apartment, but what memories do live there are enough for me to know I can’t spend another night there. Therefore, I need to search for a new place to live. I’m not sure what is happening with Zander and me. He keeps me close when he is home, but during the day, he gives more statements to the police, and he and Sasha are currently searching for

a new office space. I have been told I will be needed to testify when things end up in court since I was abducted and taken to the building they were keeping the women. I agreed because, what else could I do? I want to put this behind me, but I can’t let this pass without making sure I do whatever I can to ensure this never happens again. *** It’s on the eighth night back at Zander’s that things shift between us. He gets home late, which is unusual after only early nights this past week. I can’t help worrying about him, aware that the danger is over for him, yet this world isn’t a safe place. He slips into bed, and I turn onto my side to face him, feeling his hand seeking mine out under the covers. “Hey,” he murmurs. “Hi.” “Thanks for dinner. The pot roast tasted

amazing.” My response is swallowed up when I feel his fingertips lightly touch my thigh, moving the material of my nightie a little to expose some skin. My breath hitches, my skin flushes, and while the touch might be perfectly innocent, the fact that we haven’t done anything more than kiss since before I was taken pushes my body into hyperdrive at just the thought of more with him. “I think we might have found a perfect office space today,” he says conversationally, and I try to pay attention to his words when his hand floats a little higher up my thigh, his pressure remaining light and almost ticklish. “Oh, yeah?” “Yep. And I made another decision today.” “What is that?” Now he touches my hip where my panties sit. There is no mistaking when he moves to the front of me and slips his hand down into my panties and cups my pussy. I gasp, moving onto my back so he has a better angle, and my legs immediately open for him.

“I think you should stay here until after the trial … just in case.” His words send a spike of fear through me. “You think I’m in danger? Do you think they’ll come after me? After us?” I blurt out, moving back to my side and making him lose his grip as I lean over him. “No,” he quickly assures me. “You’re safe. We’re all safe. Nothing is going to happen.” “Then why do you think I should stay here?” “Because I want to do this to you every single night, and it will be hard to do that without you sleeping next to me.” He finds purchase again, slipping a finger inside me. “Oh …” I lamely reply, my mouth remaining open as I close my eyes and enjoy the sensation of him penetrating me. “So, do you agree?” I try to think about what his question was. What am I agreeing to? “Just until the trial?” I confirm as he rubs his thumb over my clit, eliciting a groan from me. “Yep. The trial might take months, perhaps

even years to get through. Then, after that, we can properly discuss moving in together,” he explains, slipping another finger into my channel, and I grind my hips to get some friction. “Show me exactly what you plan on doing to me every night,” I demand, loving the smile he gives me in response. “It’ll be my pleasure.” It turns out, it’s both of our pleasures. This time when his cock enters me, it isn’t fast, it isn’t quick, and it isn’t full of desperation. But, it is no less passionate. He moves slowly, lovingly, and with precision so I feel every inch of him as he brands me. It is magnificent. His tongue makes love to my mouth as his cock makes love to my pussy, and as cliché as it sounds, I know this is the exact moment I fall from in lust with Zander, from in serious like with him, and go headfirst into being in love with him. No one has ever made me feel so alive, so taken care of, and so loved. When I climax, it is with tears in my eyes and

love in my heart. It is the most beautiful moment in my entire life. I’m emotionally spent by the time we finish, our breathing heavy and my body riding on cloud nine. Nothing could be better in this moment. Then Zander begins to kiss down my neck. “That was an incredible first round. Now on to round two.” Okay, now it’s the best moment of my life.

Epilogue One year later… I have learned many things about myself over this past year. Many I wasn’t sure were good things, like being nosy and selfish. Still, I surprised myself in the end. I discovered I am stronger than I knew, braver than I thought possible, and my taste in men isn’t all that bad, since Zander has turned out to be a winner. I went through an ordeal not many people understand, and my life has only gotten better since. Like how I have grown and found someone to grow with. Plus, my web design business has taken off, and my life now feels full and happy. I’m not the same person I was one year ago. I also realized I am incredibly stubborn and competitive. Both attributes Van has helped bring

out in me. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Van asks, his cocky smile so similar to Zander’s that it makes me pause. Can I actually do this? I lost the last eight times I challenged him, but I have gotten closer each time to winning. “Yep, I’m ready.” “Same reward as the last times?” he checks, and I nod. The reward being the loser has to clean up after dinner. It probably doesn’t sound like the biggest deal, but it’s worth it enough for Van to keep putting it up, and it doesn’t cost me any money, so I’m not going to argue. “Okay, I’m pressing the button,” he warns, clicking the elevator button, and I watch as the lights slowly glide downward to ground level. “When I win, I’m going to cook something so complicated that I use every dish we own,” I taunt Van, who appropriately pokes his tongue out at me. “Hey, babe,” Zander calls from behind me, closing his car door just as the elevator door dings

and opens. “Don’t distract me!” I yell out at Zander, not even bothering to turn around to look at him. Instead, I sprint into the stairwell, letting the door slam shut behind me as I race upward. I leap three, sometimes four, steps at a time, grabbing the rail to help propel me upward and nearly take out a man when he startles me. “Out of the way!” I scream at him, not caring how rude I sound. I’m completely covered in sweat as I pound the last few steps and launch myself through the doors on our level and take the few steps to slam into our door. A second later, a ding echoes and Van rushes through, his shoulders drooping when he sees I made it first. “I won,” I huff, not even sure if they are audible words. “Rematch!” “No way.” I shake my head. My legs feel like jelly, and my heart is thundering in my chest. I doubt I will ever be able to make that feat again.

Zander soon follows up at a slow jog, shaking his head at me and smiling at how put out Van looks. “You’re not really going to make something that uses every pot and pan we own, are you?” Van’s voice is a mix between pleading and whiny. “Yep.” I nod. The last thing I feel like doing now is standing in the kitchen and making something complicated and likely ridiculous just to use up every dish, but a promise is a promise. Maybe I can just make a mess in them all without really needing to use them … “No way. Zander! Let’s get takeout! Please!” he begs. “This one time, I’m going to have to agree with Van,” he tells me, reaching out so he can help me to my feet. “What? No way!” I complain, sounding a lot like Van. “We’re celebrating tonight,” he informs us both. This is when I notice the high energy surrounding him, as well as the grin he can’t seem to get off his face.

“We are?” I ask. “Yep.” Zander takes out his keys and opens the door, letting us in first before closing it behind him and placing his keys on the side table. I drop mine there, too, and let him lead me into the open space, watching as he turns back to face me, still smiling huge. “Celebrating what?” I press, quickly thinking back over our recent days together to see if I can jog any memory of whether he was working any big cases or not. Maybe he closed one? “Is this going to be an anniversary thing? ’Cause I don’t want to be here if that is the case. I’ll take my pizza to go and sleep over at Jeb’s,” Van quickly says. I redden in embarrassment, knowing why he doesn’t want to be here if that is the case. Van has most definitely not walked in on anything or seen us in any compromising positions, but he did overhear us once. I was mortified, and even Zander was a little embarrassed. Van being the little shit he can sometimes be, asked us a million embarrassing

questions about what the moans meant and why I was suddenly so religious. We had ourselves tied up in so many ridiculous lies and stories that just telling the fake excuses was embarrassing. I like to sometimes call out to God in the middle of the night … I stubbed my toe so I was groaning … I had to call Ava’s name because she was having a bad dream, which also explains those moans … I was asking what she wanted for dinner this weekend and everything I suggested was a yes … I wanted him to know I was coming to that barbeque thing Sasha was putting on … That then meant Sasha had to put a barbeque lunch on, which was a weird thing to ask her to do while not explaining why we needed one. It was awful. I think I spent that entire conversation beet red. Then, a few days later, Van asked Zander in private if we were having sex. He had been learning some things about it at school. Van had meant the

question in general, since we slept in the same room, but Zander thought he was talking about the night of lies. Consequently, he came clean since he didn’t want to scar Van, and ended up scarring him anyway because he then had confirmation that he heard us “oldies” having sex. It has been an awkward few weeks ever since, and Zander and I have been too terrified to do anything with each other with Van home. I won’t even allow it when Van’s asleep. Therefore, for the past month, I have been visiting Zander in his new office so we don’t have to abstain from sex completely. We have christened his desk, his chair, his couch, each wall, and as of a few nights ago, his personal bathroom. It got to the point where I couldn’t walk into his office without my body reacting since I started associating the space with sex. Zander was the same. I think I nearly killed him when I walked into his office right in the middle of a meeting. I was just dropping something off for him like he had asked, but I left him with more than I brought with me. He

had a hard-on for rest of the meeting. He told me later that he couldn’t even stand up to see his new client out. Hence, while Van brought up our anniversary with one unsavory thought in mind, I can’t help remembering that we already celebrated our “anniversary” just a few nights ago. That was when we broke in his personal bathroom. I feel a warm flush as I let those memories wander through my mind briefly before I quickly box them away. This is so not the time to be recalling those toe-curling moments. We decided to make our anniversary the day of our first kiss, which also happened to be the night we first had sex. Hence, the bathroom sex. We decided to make it a tradition and do that every year. Not that we haven’t had loads of bathroom sex in the meantime. I don’t know why, but it’s like our special place. As to what this celebration could be about, I don’t really know. “It’s not an anniversary thing,” Zander growls, messing up Van’s hair before he can duck out of the

way. “I found us a new place to live.” “We’re moving?” I gasp, not even aware he was looking, let alone close to finding somewhere. “Yep.” “Is my room bigger?” Van rushes to ask, clearly his main concern. “It sure is. Twice as big as what you have now,” he tells him, and Van whoops loudly, running around the apartment with the energy only a kid could have at the end of the day. I watch him race around, not sure how I feel about being left out of this discussion. Then again, I have just been living here and putting money in when I can. I pay for some groceries, and perhaps a few things I got for around the place to soften it up a little. We never talked about money before because it’s never been important to either of us. What if, by not having that talk, by not paying half the rent, I forfeited my rights for any future involvement in things like this? Do I even have the right to feel annoyed by this? Haven’t I given him this assumption by not bringing it up before now? Zander wraps his arms around me, pulling me

against his front. I think he is leaning down for a kiss, but he drifts to my side instead and moves his lips to my ear, sending shivers from the way his breath caresses me. “We will have our own personal bathroom, and our bedroom is down the hall from Van. Plus, I asked the contractor to soundproof it.” We will be able to have sex in our own bed! We don’t have to leave the house to do it! That right there is a godsend. Nevertheless, my other thoughts weigh heavily on me. “You’re not happy?” he finally asks when I have clearly been quiet for too long. “I am …” I say carefully, aware that Zander’s huge grin has just fallen. “But …?” he encourages. “I didn’t even know you were looking for a place,” I point out. “It’s a surprise!” “But, don’t couples usually talk about this stuff?” I push, still feeling unsure about all this. “What’s there to talk about? It has four

bedrooms. We can share an office, one that is big enough to easily fit us both. It means you have your own space, but I can also work from home more often, too. The other room can be a spare bedroom, so if we have any guests over, they can actually stay with us. The kitchen is brand new. There is a walk-in closet in the main bedroom big enough to easily fit all of our stuff. It’s closer to Van’s school and close to my new office. And did I mention we have our own personal bathroom with a large shower and bench where I can sit you down and—” “Zander!” I snap at him, mindful that Van is beginning to lose steam and is edging closer to us now. “You are going to love this,” he assures me, squeezing his arms around me briefly as his smile returns in full force. “How much is it?” “What do you mean?” “I’ll pay half. Whatever it is,” I promise, doing a quick mental assessment over my bank account. How much would I even be able to afford before I used up all my savings? I need to get back into

doing temp work. “Why?” Annoyance tinges his voice. “Because, that is also what couples do!” “Babe …” he sighs, cupping my face. “Are you concerned about money? Because, you know I make a shitload, right? I have plenty from my parents’ life insurance payout, plus what Van and I were left. We’re not going to be struggling for money.” “I’m not concerned about that, not really. I’m just saying that it’s time I start pulling my weight.” I nod to myself after saying this, wishing I had come to this conclusion earlier. “Why? Why now? Why with this? I’m not asking for that.” He frowns. “But that isn’t fair on you. It isn’t equal, and a relationship should be equal.” He gives a little growl now, dropping his hands from me as he puts space between us. “What is this sudden need for everything to be equal? Where is the rule book where that is written in stone?” “It isn’t in a rule book. It’s just that this is what should happen if we don’t want money to get in the

middle of things,” I snap irritably. “It’s not getting into the middle of things. In an entire year, this is the first time we’ve even talked about it.” “Exactly. And you suddenly think it’s perfectly fine to cut me out of an important decision because you don’t have to think about me and money,” I snap, trying to force a calming breath into me so this doesn’t deteriorate into an argument. “I’m getting confused,” he finally mutters, irritation taking over his own features, no doubt matching mine, as he now takes another step backward, placing more distance between us. “Oh geeze, I know what this is. You’re about to have a fight. If I go to Jeb’s early, will you promise to save me some pizza for tomorrow?” Van asks, breaking through the tension for a moment. “We’re not fighting. We’re discussing,” I explain quickly. “We’re not discussing anything. You’re making up excuses for this to not be perfect. We should be celebrating right now,” Zander contradicts me. “Oh, so this is just some made up fight that I’m

bringing up without any reason to be angry?” I snap. “So, you’re angry now?” “Yep, definitely getting out of here,” Van mumbles as he types away on his cell phone. “Vaughn, go to your room!” Zander snaps. “Don’t snap at him. Van hasn’t done anything to deserve to be sent to his room,” I argue right back. “You’re right; you’re the one being ridiculous. You go to your room!” Zander retorts, and my eyes widen before they quickly narrow. “I know nothing about girls, and even I know that was dumb,” Van mumbles, taking himself into his room and closing the door behind him. With my hands on my hips, I take a threatening step toward Zander. “So, I’m a child now? I’m just here for you to boss me around?” “No—” “Because I’m getting sick of you bossing me around. I get that you’re the boss at work and in charge of everyone, but in here, we’re equal.” “There’s that word again.” He throws his

hands up, his frustration obvious. “Equal doesn’t mean we’re the exact same in every way. I’m bossy, so what? You usually like that about me. Should I expect you to join me at the gym so we can do the exact same workout every morning?” “Now you’re making fun of me? What the hell is wrong with you?” I cry, my breath shaky when I try to force another calming gulp of air inside me. “Wrong with me? I just gave you news that any normal person would jump in my arms, kiss me, and yell in excitement about, and you’re looking at me like I’ve just killed a puppy,” Zander growls, his body growing tenser until I wonder if the vein in his forehead might be at risk of popping through his skin. “I’m not looking at you like that!” I deny. Am I? “Well, I’ve clearly killed something.” He shakes his head at me. I hate how dismissive he is being. “Don’t be an asshole. All I’m saying is, I would have liked to be included in such a huge decision. Are you saying you wouldn’t care if I

came home and told you I bought you a brand-new car?” His face blanches, and I know I won that point. Zander is still obsessed with his car. It’s like the “other woman” in our relationship. He washes it every Saturday morning. Every. Single. Saturday. And I’m not so sure it isn’t more him caressing it under the guise of washing it. That isn’t normal, right? Who does that? Just leave it out in the rain if it’s dirty. We live in Chicago; it’s not like the weather is so bright and sunny that rain doesn’t happen all the freaking time! “That is not at all the same thing,” he splutters. “It is, so admit it.” As the buzzer at the wall goes off, we both glare at each other, willing the other to break our now staring contest to see who it is. “I’m out of here. See you tomorrow,” Van says, walking through us and forcing us both to break eye contact at the same time. “Wait, where are you going?” Zander demands, his ire moving from me to Van. “To Jeb’s. Don’t forget to save me some pizza,

if you ever stop arguing to order any.” Before either of us can say another word, Van shuts the door. “Damn kid,” Zander mutters, moving over to the window to glance down at the door down below. He obviously is okay with what he sees, which is likely Jeb and his father, so he turns back around to me. “Great,” he sarcastically retorts. “Van can’t even stand to be around us! Fantastic celebration!” “Oh, and this is my fault? Do you want me to just shut up and ignore any feelings I have? Do you want some dutiful girlfriend who just smiles at your every word? Is that what you want to teach Van to want?” “What the hell, woman? How did me giving you a surprise turn into this?” “Because it was an incredibly generous surprise, but you also made it clear that you don’t need my opinion. And for some stupid reason, that hurts,” I snap, grabbing my keys from the table by the door. “I need to cool off,” I say as I slam the door shut.

When I make it to our underground parking garage, though, I realize I took Zander’s keys instead of my own. I glance down at the keys, and then over to his car. A naughty thought occurs to me as I unlock it and quickly get in. I haven’t driven his car since the night I stole it, and it’s probably wrong of me to do it now, but fuck him. If I really want to let loose and cool down, then this is the car to do it in. I take off, leaving my foot on the accelerator a little longer than necessary and hoping I get a ticket somewhere just to piss him off. It takes him ten minutes to realize I’m driving his car. When he calls me, I pull over to answer the phone, though his voice comes through the speakers. “Yes, dear?” I make sure my voice is sugary sweet. “You stole my car,” he blandly accuses. “Yep.” “I could have you arrested.” His voice sounds

calm, but perhaps more annoyed than angry. “You could. But I have to wonder, with how easy you make it, if you don’t want your car stolen.” He sputters at my insult. “You’re my girlfriend! I have to hide my keys from you now?” “Just a question. Did this car have that scratch along the side when you left it last?” I smirk cruelly, waiting for his predictable outburst. Zander gasps deeply, and I know I’m now just being mean. Bitchy and mean. “You wouldn’t …” he squeaks. “No, I wouldn’t,” I quickly give in, kicking myself for being this way. Am I an adult or am I Van’s age? “I … I don’t know why we’re fighting. I think I let this get out of hand.” I have never been like this. Am I just making a big deal out of nothing? I should be happy, shouldn’t I? We did need a new apartment. The one we are in now is just way too small. The office is unworkable, the shared bathroom a nuisance, and there isn’t enough room for all our stuff in our bedroom. We have two suitcases out in the living

room where we place the clothes that are no longer in season so we can fit our other things in the closet. Zander is a neat freak, and it is impossible to keep things tidy with three of us there. “No, I think this is my fault. You stealing my car is your fault, but the rest is on me.” “It’s just a car, Zander.” I sigh, tapping the wheel as I wonder what it is he loves so much about this car. “It’s my baby.” “Oh, really?” “You’re my babe. Definitely a step up from baby,” he rushes to soothe my bruised ego. “Just a step?” “More than a step. A whole staircase up from baby,” he quickly adjusts. I sigh again, relaxing into the seat. “How come we’ve never had sex in here before?” “You want to have sex in my car?” he gasps. I can’t tell if he is horrified or turned on by that idea. “I just think it’s weird that we never have. We have sex everywhere else; why not your car?”

“Babe, I don’t know how we got onto this discussion, but if your plan is to make it so we can no longer be decent in public, then you’re succeeding.” I smile a little at this, yet my mind feels scattered, my thoughts unable to stick to anything. I’m distracted, and I don’t like that I still feel hurt. “Come back home, please?” “I’m not sure I’ve cooled down enough for that. I don’t like us fighting,” I admit. “Then give me an hour and meet me at the address of our new place. Tell me your opinion on it.” “You wouldn’t have announced we have a new apartment if you hadn’t signed whatever you need to for it. You don’t need my opinion,” I point out, staring unseeingly out the side window, watching traffic pass me by. “I can get out of it if you hate it. I should have asked you before. I was just excited and … well, I thought it would make a nice surprise.” Tears well in my eyes at just hearing this, my anger completely deflated now.

“Okay.” “Babe, are you crying? Pull over if you’re still driving. It’s not safe.” “I’m already pulled over,” I promise him, wiping at my eyes and blinking in the hopes of erasing any trace of my tears or encouraging more to follow. “Good. I’m sorry,” he grumbles. “I don’t want you crying. I don’t want you upset.” “I’m not upset,” I say through my tears that betray my wishes as they rush down my cheeks. “Just send me the address.” “I will. I love you.” “I love you, too.” “One hour,” he confirms, his worry clear in those two words. “One hour,” I agree before he hangs up. I take several breaths and then drive around aimlessly, enjoying the mundaneness of it as I let my thoughts slowly filter through my mind. I don’t think I’m out of line, but I do think I helped our fight escalate to ridiculous heights. I hold plenty of blame in that.

Zander and I rarely fight. When we have a disagreement, we usually say a few words, one of us will leave the room to cool down, and then we are fine. I have never stormed out before, and we have never been mean about it. What does Van think of all this? I send him a quick text message, apologizing, and since kids live on their phones these days, he replies almost instantly, reminding me to save him some pizza. Van’s definitely not a mushy type of person. Under his message, I see one from the district attorney Zander is friends with. He let us know just yesterday that the last plea bargain was reached. Thirty-eight men were arrested over the abuse and murder of the countless women, along with many more arrested for aiding and abetting the men, one of those being Ken, who was already done for kidnapping and attempted murder. With all the arrest warrants they got, more videos were seized, which led to more victims and perpetrators being discovered. It meant I avoided having to testify in front of jurors, and no one will

be getting out on parole until they are easily senior citizen age, if they are lucky. Receiving that message was another life changing moment for me. That horror in my life could finally close, and even though I still get the odd nightmare, I mostly have put it behind me. Brian might not have lost his dick, unfortunately, but he won’t ever be a free man. I drive around a little longer, letting my mind wander, and then, with ten minutes to spare, I drive to the location Zander sends me in a text. It is in a much nicer part of town, and the building is huge, at least fifty stories high. I don’t know how much rent Zander is paying for this place, or if he’s bought it and has a mortgage, but whatever the payments are, there is no way I can afford half. I find a place to park down the block and walk my way back to the building. By the time I reach the front door, Zander is there, waiting for me. He quickly envelopes me in a hug, and I respond just as tightly in return. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I. Although, not about stealing your car. What kind of private investigating company do you run?” I joke, poking him in the side as he pinches my thigh. I leap away from him, exaggerating my pain. “Ouch!” “That didn’t hurt,” he grumbles. “I will be getting you back for stealing my car again. I might have a pair of handcuffs somewhere.” Now that idea warms me up, and I smile happily at him, making him groan before he drags me forward. “Come on; we need to get inside quickly before I am arrested for indecent exposure.” “Sounds kinky,” I mutter, letting myself be dragged toward the apartment building, where I am introduced to a doorman. I have never lived anywhere where there has been a doorman! “Please tell me we’re on the first floor,” I beg hopefully. “Twenty-eighth,” he tells me, and I almost pull my hand from his grip right then and there. “No way am I taking the stairs up twenty-eight floors!”

“I know,” he concedes immediately. I breathe out in relief. “We’ll take the elevator up to the twentieth floor and walk from there.” He grins at me, and I slap him hard across the arm. “No fucking way. You can do that, but I’m riding up in the elevator the whole way.” He rolls his eyes and gives me an exasperated sigh, but he does nod his head in agreement. “I swear, if Van tries to challenge me to run up twenty-fucking-eight flights of stairs, I will feed him seafood for a month,” I threaten, already knowing this won’t stop Van for long. He hates seafood, but he probably loves a challenge more. Zander laughs, but as we get closer to the twenty-eighth floor, I feel his nerves begin to build. Is he nervous that I will hate it? Is he nervous that this will cause another fight between us? “Ready?” he asks as the elevator dings with the knowledge that we have arrived. “Sure.” I’m really not. He keeps ahold of my hand as we walk down the hall and stand in front of apartment 282.

Wow, that is a crazy number. “I got a spare key from the contractor. He hasn’t put in the soundproof walls yet, but we’re free to stay in here tonight. I thought maybe after a night here, you can make up your mind.” I nod, staring in wonder as he opens the front door, and am immediately overwhelmed by the amount of room in front of us. This place is also an open living room and kitchen, which is all a dark marble, including the fridge door to match. Exquisite. The living room looks ridiculously huge, and I hope that it will look less daunting with furniture. The next area will be perfect for a long dining room table, and the windows are ground to ceiling high. I look out at the view and see countless rooftops, buildings, and a beautiful sun beginning to set. The orange sky and the way the light hits the floor and lights up the walls around us looks stunning. I can imagine myself enjoying this view every day, not that we get much weather like this. He moves past the first closed door and shows me our office, Van’s bedroom, and then the

bathroom Van will be using, as well as the guest bedroom. I had no ideas places like this existed. At least, not without having to give up a body part to be able to afford. After oohing at everything, already envisioning what I can see us doing for each room and how I will organize the office, he finally takes me back to the first room. There, he takes a deep breath before he opens the door. My eyes are immediately drawn to the floor where Zander has set up a mattress, placed some bedding down, and then covered it all in rose petals. “Oh, Zander,” I gasp, squeezing his hand when I next notice the candles he’s set up around the room. “I wanted out first night here to be perfect. I want you to love this place as much as I do,” he tells me, excitedly dragging me to the adjoining bathroom to show me how large the bathtub is. That’s right; we also have our own tub, which will definitely fit us both! And he shows off how roomy

the shower is, and without innocent thirteen-yearold ears around to overhear, he finishes telling me his ideas for the bench. He’s being cheeky and fun, yet I know he’s still a little nervous, waiting for my verdict. “Come back out onto the bed,” he suggests, moving me toward it where I notice he also has a bucket of ice with a bottle of champagne off to the side. He really has been busy. He moves to open the bottle, but I stop him, which immediately wipes the smile off his face. “Just let me speak first,” I beg, seeing a forlorn expression settle over his features as his shoulders droop. “You’re right; this place is amazing, and I love it. If you say we can ditch your awful couch and buy a new comfortable one for this place, then I’m definitely okay with moving in here.” His smile returns, his face lighting back up, and he reaches out, pulling me toward him and kissing me long and hard. I’m breathless when he pulls away and reaches for the champagne again. “Wait, I’m not finished.” I wait for him to

settle. He leaves his arms around me, and I’m halfdraped over him. “If you had talked to me about wanting to move, if you had shown me this place before you decided, I would have appreciated it. I know we’ve never really discussed money before, but you have to realize that it felt like a bit of a slap in the face to find out you didn’t feel you needed me at all to make a decision like this.” “You’re right.” He hangs his head. “I’m sorry.” “I know you are, and I know that next time something important comes up, we’ll discuss things between us first.” I say it like a fact, but my voice has a small amount of warning echoing there. “Of course,” he rushes to agree. “Good, because I think we might have some big decisions coming up in our future and I don’t want this to be an issue again. I don’t like fighting, and I definitely don’t want to have the same fights over and over with you.” “I agree.” He waits a moment. I have obviously been quiet enough for him to assume I’m done. I’m not.

“There’s one more thing.” “Ava, this ice is going to melt before we even get to drink this. We have an entire night free of Van, and I am definitely going to make the most of it. Do you know how long it has been since I heard you scream while you’re coming?” I roll my eyes at him, trying to act like he’s being ridiculous, but deep down, I’m desperate to let loose and enjoy our freedom, too. “This will be quick. I don’t think we should make the fourth room a guest room.” “You don’t? Why?” His eyes widen as he comes to his own conclusion. “Are you thinking a gaming room for Van? Because that’s actually not a bad idea—” “I’m two weeks late,” I blurt out. “Late to what?” he adorably misunderstands. “Zander! I might be pregnant.” His mouth drops open. “Are you for fucking real?” he wheezes out, a smile so huge taking over his face that I can barely see his cheeks anymore. With zero warning, he wraps me in his arms and leaps to his feet, still holding me and jolting me,

no doubt risking a serious back injury for himself, too. “This is amazing news!” he yells at the top of his lungs, endearing us to our new neighbors, no doubt. He then swings me dizzily around, and I have to slap him to stop him. “Zander!” “This is the best day of my life!” he cries, his eyes shiny from unshed tears. I laugh as he kisses me chastely on my lips before he kisses me all over my face. “Zander, I might not be pregnant, you know. I’m just late at this stage.” And I have never been late in my entire life. Still, I might not be … maybe … Am I seriously ready for motherhood? “Then let’s go out right away. There is a drugstore on the corner—” “No,” I blurt out. “No? Why? Are you …? Do you not want this?” He stares at me carefully now, his undivided attention on me. “I do. I absolutely want this with you. But tonight is our first night in our brand-new home,

and I like knowing that the possibility is there. If I take a test and it comes back negative, it’ll put a damper on our night. We can buy a test tomorrow. For tonight, let’s just enjoy each other.” He smiles then, kissing my lips again, long and sweetly. “I love you so much.” “Even though I keep stealing your car?” “Yes,” he sighs dramatically, “even though you keep stealing my car.” I smile. We enjoy ourselves in our new bedroom. Then we get some takeout and feed each other as we laugh about all the comments Zander has had to put up with from Sasha. She is not at all fooled by our worktime nooky. Then we break in the bathroom because, well, it wouldn’t be us if we didn’t have bathroom sex on the regular. For many months, this night is the best night of my life. And then, a few months later, that changes to the night our son is born. He comes into the world happy, healthy, and surrounded by close family and friends, all full of love for each other and our little boy.

And all of this came about because I stole a car. The right car. And from that crime, I found love.

Note to Readers: Thank you for taking the time to read I Stole His Car. If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review from the vender of purchase so others may discover it, as well. Indie authors rely on the generosity of you, the reader. Your review, short or long, may help others in their decision on whether to try this book or not. All reviews are appreciated and welcomed. Thanking you in advance, Until next time! - Jessica Frances

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Looking for a New Adult Paranormal series? Check out Jessica Frances’s Taken Trilogy: Taken By Surprise Taken By Force Taken By Choice For a New Adult Sci-Fi Romance series, Check out Jessica Frances’s Invasion Trilogy: Earth Roth Oden For an Adult Paranormal Stand-Alone, Check out Jessica Frances’s ghost romance: Haunted Love For an Adult Contemporary Romance Stand-Alone, Check out Jessica Frances’s romantic comedy: Happily Ever Single And, for an Adult Dystopian Romance StandAlone,

Check out Jessica Frances’s futuristic romance: Revolution