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Ours.
As much as being threatened and blackmailed sucked, I at least understood that. I understood people trying to use me for their own ends, seeing me as a tool to be manipulated or discarded as needed. But I don’t understand any of this. And that makes it almost more frightening than when Malice put a gun to my head.
Before I can get my mouth to work, Ransom brushes his fingers over my bruised cheek, presses a kiss there, and then takes a step back.
“Take care of yourself, alright, angel?”
He gives me a little nod before turning and striding away.
I stare after him, my brows pinched together so hard that the space between them aches. He rounds a corner in the pathway that cuts across campus, probably heading toward where he left his bike, and as he disappears from sight, I open my mouth as if I’m going to call after him.
But I don’t.
Instead, I sneeze.
24
WILLOW
I spendthe rest of Friday and all of Saturday into Sunday in bed, sick with a cold after spending all that time lying on the ground at the golf course, wet and freezing.
On Sunday, I’m still curled up in bed, surrounded by the mess that comes from being sick. There are tissues scattered around the room where I tossed them, some of them missing the trash can. I was too worn down to get up and fix it, so they’re just littering the floor.
I’m feeling a lot better by now, the cold starting to fade, but I still don’t want to get out of bed.
My mind is still reeling from Malice’s actions and Ransom’s words.
How did this happen?
What does it even mean?
I knew I was in deep when they started stalking me after what I saw at the whorehouse. But this is something else entirely, and I’m so confused. I don’t understand their obsession with me.
Why me?
Just like I told Malice before, I’m no one special.
I flop back against the pillows, sighing softly. It feels weird to think that my life was easier back when I was working at a strip club almost every night and struggling to stay afloat as I juggled bills and school work, but it was. At least my head was never as full of as many complicated feelings as it is these days.
Curling up under the blankets, I tug them over my head to block out the late afternoon light, snuggling deeper into the little nest I’ve made. I’m just starting to doze off again when I hear a quiet sound out in the living room. It sounds like someone opening the door to my apartment, and I sit up with a jolt, my heart racing.
Footsteps cross the living room, and then Victor appears in my bedroom doorway, looking around my room with an expression of disgust.
“What the fuck?” I yelp, scrambling back in the bed until I’m pressed against the wall.
I’m already on edge from everything that’s been going on with these men, and I have no idea why he’s here or what he’s going to do. Malice is unreadable on a good day, but Victor is something else entirely. I can’t predict him, and the last time I saw him, he stood behind me and whispered things in my ear as we both watched his brother fuck some woman.
I wait for one tense, breathless second, waiting for him to say something or do something. But when he finally moves, he surprises the fuck out of me.
Striding inside my room, he starts… cleaning.
There’s a garbage bag in his hands, and he opens it, snapping it a few times before he starts gathering up the mess of tissues and things from the floor.
“Um,” I manage to choke out, blinking at him. “What are you doing?”
“Cleaning,” he says shortly, like it should be obvious. And I guess it is, but that doesn’t change any of the shock I’m feeling in this moment.
“Okay…” I drag out the word, watching as he takes the plastic grocery bag out of my little trash can and throws it into the big bag in his hands. He makes a face at the little metal wastebasket and mutters something I can’t hear under his breath.
