I glare at him for a beat before taking in the rest of the space. It’s clean but basic, with just a small television resting on top of a set of drawers and a tiny table with two flimsy-looking chairs on either side of it.
Not even a couch.
My eyes slip shut, my chest aching with the need to cry.
Why does the universe hate me so fucking much?
What did I do in my past life to ensure me such terrible luck in this one?
I don’t realize he’s moved until his fingers brush my cheek with soft reverence, tilting my chin up until I’m forced to look at him.
“What’s wrong?”
A startled laugh tumbles from my chest before I can catch it. “I think the better question is, what isn’t wrong? Because my ex’s crazy brother stalking me, you hiding out in my trunk like a fucking serial killer, and then driving me right back to the place I was trying to run from all sound so right? What about seeing my ex for the first time in a decade? Or almost losing the only person in this world that pulled me through the worst time in my life?”
It’s not until he wipes them away that I realize tears are rolling down my cheeks, the agony finally forcing itself out.
“Keep going,” he murmurs.
“What?” I whisper.
“Give me your anger. Give me your sadness. I can handle it, just let it all out.”
Pressing my eyes closed, I force a deep breath into my lungs before shoving at his chest with as much strength as I can muster.
He barely moves, but I do it again and again as rough sobs hiccup between us, each one hurting more than the last.
“That’s it, Siren. Give me all your pain,” he encourages me, even as I shove him again, this time forcing him back a step.
I’ve never considered myself a violent person, only ever resorting to it when my life has depended on it, but it’s almost freeing to release everything that’s been festering all these years.
So I keep going. I keep shoving. I keep crying. And then when I can’t take it anymore, when my body is so exhausted I physically can’t lift my arms, my legs give way beneath me.
I brace for the pain of my knees hitting the rough carpet, but I never do.
Strong arms wrap around me as Ryker lowers us both to the ground, holding me against him so tight it borders on pain.
I try not to think about the fact I can’t remember the last time I felt this safe or cared for or that it feels so fucking right in his arms.
I try to think of anything other than the way my body relaxes into his like it’s the most natural thing in the world, or how my racing mind settles whenever his arms are around me.
Because all of that would mean I have feelings for Ryker, and that’s one thing I absolutely cannot afford as my life implodes around me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
DAMON
NOW
Fucking Ronan.
They were long gone when I came out of the restroom, but when I went to start my car to follow the tracker I slipped into Chloe’s pocket during our scuffle, I found it dead.
And there’s only one person that could be responsible.
My own fucking brother.
It took me almost an hour to reconnect the wires and get the engine started, and by the time I make it to the motel the tracker tells me Chloe is in, there’s no one in sight.
