His gaze drifts from Riser to me.
But he freezes.
His whole body stiffens.
“Holy fuck...” he breathes, blinking.
His eyes sweep over my body. Over the ropes. The cuffs. The oil slicking my chest.
Over me.
“Grayson!” I sob, feeling so ashamed to end up in this situation.
I arch up, pulling at the ropes with my legs, desperate to free myself and close the distance between us. The van creaks under my struggle.
But Grayson doesn’t move. He seems shook. Staring.
His lips remain parted, breathing ragged, and for a terrifying second, I think there’s something else in his eyes?
Heat.
Want.
No.
I stop moving. The van goes still. That’s when I hear it. His deep, raspy voice, barely audible as he speaks to himself. “Come on, Grayson. Quit looking. It’sher. She needs you.”
A beat.
Then, sharper and more commanding: “Yeah, that’s it. She’s my girl.”
My heart stutters, confused in every way possible.
“Grayson?” I choke out, afraid again... but not of Riser.
This time, he blinks. His trance shatters and he drops to his knees.
He unclips my wrists, but the cuffs remain. He unknots the rope at my ankles fast,silent.
“I—I thought he was gonna kill me,” I say, my voice shaking.
He pulls his shirt off, then tugs it down over my head, shoulders, and handcuffed wrists. His face is a storm of shock, frustration, and rage all crashing together.
Grabbing my arm, he drags me out of the van.
“Get in the truck,” he growls, holding my door open.
I step up and he hoists me inside, buckling my seatbelt. He barely looks at me the whole time.
Soon, we’re flying down the road. Streetlights blur past like ghosts.
Grayson grips the wheel so tight, the leather creaks under his palms.
Every inch of him is flexed. Wired.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
Again, he doesn’t look my way. His voice is hollow.
