“You don’t get to say that,” I whisper. “You don’t get tobeon my side when you dragged me into a goddamn snake pit.”
He steps in again, slow this time, like he’s approaching something feral. “Peach… I was trying to protect you. I’ve always been trying to protect you, and right now, you need to protect us because this is them beingnice.If he brings us in here again you’ll leave in a fucking body bag.”
My body shakes, and I look away before he can see the tears spilling over.
“Then help me get Tommy back,” I whisper. “Help me getout. I can’t do this to Brooke.”
“I will,” he says, wrapping a hand around the back of my neck. “I swear to you, Jasmine. I will fix this, but right now, you have to play the game, until I can find a way out that doesn’t get us killed.”
I suck in a sharp breath. “Okay, but I don’t like this.”
He pulls me in close, placing a kiss on my forehead. “I know, Peach. I know.”
14
LANDON
Jasmine doesn’t fallasleep until three in the morning—not until I promise to wake her up early enough to finish her essay before her date with Brooke tomorrow. She makes me swear on something stupid, like my passport, and something more fun like my future children. I tease her and sayour future childrenwhich she agrees to because she’s too tired to open up her eyes.
I tried to get some sleep but I can’t sleep at all.
I feel too guilty to be in the same space as her, breathing the same air, letting her trust me like I didn’t just sign her up for a life sentence with men who’d gut her before asking her name. I fucking dragged her into this mess. If it wasn’t for me… Well, if it wasn’t for me, she’d still have to deal with Isaiah, or worse—Xavier.
I’m no hero. Never claimed to be. But I’m her best bad option.
Unless you count her actual best option, the golden boy of clean records and the only other person I trust to keep her protected: Conner.
But outside of Conner, I am her best shot at making it out here alive, which means if I want to ensure she stays alive, I fucking need Conner.
It’s five in the morning by the time I make it to his sterile-ass apartment on the other side of town. Everything about it screams overcompensation—white walls, untouched granite countertops, blinds that open automatically at sunrise. I know Conner’s schedule like the back of my hand, partly because I’ve lived with him from the age of sixteen to twenty-four, and partly because he’s the only person more predictable than a sunrise.
He wakes at 5:03. Not 5. Not 5:05.5:03, because it gives him exactly seven minutes to stretch, wash his face, and put on those ugly grey running shoes he refuses to replace.
I light a cigarette on the stairwell. No point ringing the buzzer yet. In exactly five minutes, he’ll leave the building for his daily four-mile loop through the park—looping counter-clockwise because “it’s more efficient for left turns.”
I take a drag.
I’ve got four and a half minutes to figure out how to convince the cleanest man I know to help me clean up a bloodstained fucking war.
By the time I’m on my last pull of the cigarette, the metal door to Conner’s building slams open so hard it rattles the stairwell railing. He steps out like he’s already mid-fight, hoodie half-zipped, jaw clenched, and when his eyes land on me—leaning against the wall, reeking of smoke and guilt—he growls. Like a fucking animal.
“Fuck off,” he snarls without breaking stride, already jogging toward the park like I’m a bad memory chasing his heels.
“Come on, Con,” I say, tossing the butt and falling into step beside him, the air cold and sharp in my lungs. “I didn’t mean to?—”
“Make her cum in the middle of my fucking class,” he snaps, turning the corner so hard I nearly get clipped by a Prius. “Yeah, you didn’tmeanto, but it happened anyway.”
“I mean, fuck, man. You want her,” I say, breath hitching as I match his pace. “You think I didn’t notice? I would need to be fucking blind with the way you look at her.”
“You don’t know what I want.”
“Bullshit. I know you better than that. You like your routine, your job, your alphabetized spice rack. But her?” I glance at him. “She wrecked you, and youlikedit.”
He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t look at me. His fists clench tighter, knuckles paling as they pump at his sides. I let the silence stretch a second too long, then say what I came here to say.
“Just admit that you want her,” I say, half a chuckle buried in a cough as the cold morning air scrapes my throat.
Conner grunts and veers left into the park, like the path might swallow the conversation if he walks fast enough.
