SINNERS & SAINTS GROUP CHAT
Jace: Next acquisition I do, I’m going to need an IV drip of whiskey straight into my veins. Just spent twelve hours trying to save three hundred jobs because some trust-fund CEO thinks legally binding contracts are suggestions.
Axel: Trouble in corporate paradise, Mr. Fortune 500?
Jace: More like trying to stop some vulture capitalist from destroying families for a quick profit. My lawyers are as homicidal as I am right now. Speaking of prison …
Axel: Smooth transition. But, yeah, anyone got Knox’s new burner number? Been trying to add him to these chats.
Ryker: For the love of God, no more phones. He spent a week in solitary for the last one. We’re trying to keep his record clean for parole.
Jace: Do you think he has a chance at parole this time?
Axel: What, you think they won’t release our favorite murderer? *grimacing teeth emoji*
Ryker: Call him that again, and I’ll personally ensure you need a lawyer.
Me: How’s he holding up?
Ryker: Better than any of us would. Says the prison book club is reading Fifty Shades of Grey.
Axel: No way.
Ryker: I’m kidding, moron.
Jace: Maybe we should just break him out. I’ve got the resources.
Ryker: Don’t even joke. He needs to keep his spirits up, guys.
Axel: In that case, should I tell him about my mysterious rash?
Everyone: NO.
38
BLAKE
A scream shattered the night. Not just any scream. The kind that stops your heart.
Tessa.
I charged out of my bedroom, down the hall, bare feet nearly sliding on hardwood. My mind raced with every possible threat—intruder, accident, injury—while my body moved on pure instinct. In a more lucid moment, I might have remembered we were fifty stories up in a secured penthouse. But all I could process was that sound, that soul-ripping cry that made my blood run cold.
The darkness in her room disoriented me for a moment. When I turned on the soft lamp by her bed, I realized there was no intruder. No threat. Just Tessa, tangled in sheets, tears streaming down her face as she fought an enemy I couldn’t see.
“No,” she whimpered, one hand pressing outward against a phantom attacker. “Please stop.”
My stomach dropped through the floor. Rage bloomed in my chest. Helpless, useless rage with nowhere to go.
“Get off me!” The raw fear in her voice made my hands shake.
“Tessa.” I reached for her, then hesitated, worried my touch would make it worse. “You’re safe. You’re home.”
She jerked away from my voice, still trapped in the nightmare. “No!”
Something inside me cracked, watching her relive this hell. I’d seen thousands of patients in pain, but nothing had ever cut quite like this.
“Tessa, wake up. It’s Blake. You’re safe.”
