“Try me.”
My core clenches at his words. I don’t want to risk him following through, so I scramble after River as he strides to the front door. “How long are you planning on keeping me here?”
River unlocks the door, leaving it open for me to follow him inside.
The guys’ house is big. I guess when you’ve got four FBI agent salaries you can afford to splash out. Polished wooden floors line the hallway and lead into an open plan kitchen and living area. The brown leather sofas where Jude and I sat eating Chinese catch my eye and I take a moment to process that was only yesterday. In less than twenty-four hours, I’ve told the guys mylife story, had potentially the best orgasm of my life, seen a dead body, and got drugged and chased off the road.
It hits me like weights dropping on my shoulders and pretty much all my fight drains away. I close my eyes for a moment, then follow River up the stairs to the right.
He’s waiting for me when I make it to the top.
“I don’t have a change of a clothes,” I say, the words coming out on a sigh.
“Jude’s at your house, packing up a bag.”
“Of course, he is,” I mutter. It’s yet another invasion of privacy but River’s made it clear he couldn’t care less about that. The controlling S.O.B stops outside the first room on the left and ushers me inside.
The lock on the door screams at me. “Do I get a key to that?”I ask.
River’s gaze bores into me. “No.”
My cheek twitches. I don’t like being confined. The urge to run simmers under my skin but my ankle hurts and my limbs are lead.
The room is nice. A double bed with a wrought iron headboard serves as a centerpiece and I sink down onto the navy comforter. Built in wardrobes with dark willow doors line the wall opposite the bed and the dark blue wallpaper with gold highlights gives the room a cozy vibe. As prisons go, I’ve seen worse.
River looks at me from his stance by the door. “You could just tell me whatever it is you’re hiding.”
I blink up at him and lift the corner of my lips in a watery smile. I spread my arms out wide. “Home sweet home, right?”
River sighs and shakes his head. He leaves me alone after that, shutting the door behind him. I don’t hear the lock turn but the threat’s there all the same.
My five-mile radius has shrunk to house arrest and there’s a lock on the door I don’t have a key to. The message is clear. The more I fight this, the less freedom I have.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Jude
I FEEL LIKE crap. I don’t always take medication for my ADHD but with all the added stress my brain was moving too fast for me to function, so I took a dose this morning. The meds work wonders at slowing down my thoughts, but the downside is I never really feel like myself when I’m on them. I need to book a checkup with my psychiatrist because it’s not the same for everyone and I am by no means anti-meds. If my parents had let me have them as a kid, it would have been a game changer. But no, having a neurodivergent son would have been too much of an embarrassment.
Even with the meds, the last forty-eight hours have been hell. No-one’s cooked anything for dinner, so I just nuked the leftover Chinese in the microwave and now it looks as pathetic and tired as I feel.
Yesterday, I got back from picking up Freya’s stuff and went straight to her new room. I tried to talk to her, but she took the bag off me without saying a word and shut the door in my face. She hasn’t left her room since.
I dropped off food this morning and I was going to take her some Chinese, but River proclaimed he’d had enough of her sulking and marched upstairs.
I’m leant over the island, a forkful of noodles halfway to my mouth when the shouting starts. The fork clangs against themarble top as I drop it and race upstairs. I take the steps in threes, bracing myself to a stop against the door frame to Freya’s room.
She’s kneeling up on the bed, River glowering down at her.
Oz stands awkwardly in the corner, holding a first aid box. His eyes widen at me in the universal plea for help.
I look back at Freya, trying to take stock of the situation. The oversized t-shirt she’s wearing swallows her whole and covers most of her pajama shorts. The tartan bottoms stop just above mid-thigh and I have to stop myself from staring at all that bare skin.
She may be small, but her gaze is fierce, and it flashes my way. “Get him out of here,” she demands, pointing at River.
Stone encases River’s voice. “You don’t make the orders round here.”
“This is too much!” she shouts.
