I’ve seen him in action—he doesn’t know that, of course. Doesn’t know I’ve watched the footage. The ease with which he takes control. How he moves. How he dominates. How he slung that girl’s thighs over his shoulders without a single wobble.
It should unsettle me, but it doesn’t.
And the fact that it doesn’t is… distracting.
Okay, more than distracting
It’s playing on a loop in my head—entirely unhelpful while I’m trying to breathe and walk, and not spiral into fantasies I’ll absolutely regret by morning.
I need to focus. Stay steady. Because whatever this is—whatever line we crossed—it needs to be talked about. Faced head on.
Eventually.
But for now… I’ll walk.
The local shop is next on my list, and for once, I actually need a few things.
I hover in the feminine hygiene aisle, eyeing the rows of razors like I’m sizing up weaponry. It’s not glamorous, but let’s be honest—if something does happen between us, I’d rather not resemble a grizzly bear from the waist down. I need to have some standards, even in crisis.
I did manage a quick shave before I left home, but in the chaos I forgot to pack one. Typical. Survival essentials; minimal. Razor? Completely overlooked.
I’ve been so caught up in everything else—the kiss, the confusion, the questions I’m not ready to ask—that I almost forgot I’m still being trailed by an actual sex trafficking network.
Neat, how the brain files that one under ‘later.’
For a Wednesday night, the streets are unusually quiet—too quiet, like even the silence is holding its breath. The calm makes the walk back feel deceptively peaceful. Almost safe.
Until I seehim.
Adam.
Leaning against a brick wall like he owns the pavement, a friend slouched beside him—both of them lingering on the corner I need to pass.
He doesn’t belong here. This isn’t his end of town. He has no reason to be anywhere near this place. Unless he’s following through… the threat he made suddenly doesn’t feel so hypothetical.
I lower my gaze, tug my hood forward, and veer across the street, hoping the dim lighting and distance might be enough to keep me invisible. But my hair betrays me—blonde strands slipping out from under the hood, catching the streetlight like a flare.
“Where d’you think you’re going?”
His voice cuts through the air like a whip. I don’t look back. I walk faster, heart slamming against my ribs, pulse pounding in my ears.
And all I can think is how much I hate that I have to bring this to Cameron’s door.
Again.
“Come back here, you little bitch,” his voice cuts through the air, laced with venom—louder now, uglier than the last time I came face to face with him.
“Running off to your new boyfriend, are you?”
He and his mate laugh behind me, that mockery slicing deeper than I want to admit. I keep walking. Head down, fists clenched, every instinct screaming not to flinch.
I won’t give him the satisfaction. Not tonight.
I follow Cameron’s instructions to the letter. No black gates, no big entrances—just a sharp detour into the shell house like I belong there. I close the door behind me and lean into it, breath held. Victory, however small.
Until the first bang rattles the wood behind me.
My heart stops, mouth instantly dry, and my mind spirals.
