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Chapter 17
OAKLEY
Wakingupinthemost luxurious silk sheets is definitely something I could get used to, as opposed to the sandpaper I sleep in back in my apartment. Which reminds me, that’s exactly not where I’m waking up right now, despite my relentless objections.
Last night, Zade demanded they take me back to his place, and at first, I was confused, assuming he meant the apartment across the hall from mine. Only when we arrived at the DeVil Hotel and found ourselves in the penthouse suite, everything became crystal clear.
I was right. Zade doesn’t live in that shitty apartment across from me. His life is here, and after having a quick glance around, it’s clear this is more than just a home to him. This place is his whole life. He has a connection to it. Every inch of the apartment looks as though it fits him perfectly. The sharp lines, the cold marble, hell, even the ridiculous security measures he had to take to get up here.
The only problem is, I don’t want to be here.
They haven’t exactly kidnapped me. I have free rein to walk around, but when it comes to striding right out the door, that’s where they draw the line. I have to admit, it’s a huge step up from their usual tactics of locking me in a cement cell.
When we got in, Cross muttered something about a spare bedroom and thrust a towel into my hands, offering me a shower. Though it felt like more of a demand, and it was one I was more than happy to refuse out of sheer pride. But the moment I walked into the bathroom, I couldn’t resist.
I figured Zade was loaded when I realized he owned the penthouse in one of the most luxurious hotels in the country, but it didn’t really occur to me just how rich he must be until I walked into that bathroom. It was stunning, and after flicking the lock on the door, I bypassed the massive shower and went straight for the bath.
It wasn’t until I was fully submerged in the hot water that the question hit me—Why the hell are the boys renting cheap-as-shit college apartments when Zade has a home like this? I can’t pretend to know anything about the other three’s financial situations, but assuming they have anything to do with whatever last night’s ball was about, I could make a solid argument that their pockets are just as deep as Zade’s.
After I’d soaked in the bath for over an hour, I wrapped my towel around me and left the bathroom in search of something to sleep in. The boys were sitting out on the balcony, their sharp gazes locked on me through the window, and it was almost as though the second I walked out, their conversation died. They must have been trying to figure out what the hell to do with me. But I couldn’t care less because I was captivated by the stunning panoramic view of the city.
The city lights glittered and danced on the horizon, and I found myself pausing in the middle of Zade’s ridiculously impressive home, my hair dripping over the floor just so I could take it all in.
Realizing that I was standing in nothing but a towel, I quickly scurried around the apartment until I found Zade’s master suite. I welcomed myself in as though I had nothing to lose, quickly bypassing his massive bed before strolling right into his walk-in closet. Tearing open drawers and scanning through his clothes, I found a pair of sweatpants and a white tee and hastily pulled them on.
Coming back to the here and now, I stare out the window into the busy Monday morning, watching as the world passes me by, a sense of restlessness consuming me.
Enough is enough. I can’t keep going like this. I need answers and I need them now.
Throwing my silk sheets back, I scramble out of bed and pad toward the door. I have no idea what time it is, but from the silence on the other side of the door, I can only assume it’s early. My heart starts to race, not knowing what I’ll find. These guys are so unpredictable. One minute I’m kidnapped, and the next I’m a guest in a luxury apartment.
They can flip in a matter of seconds, but what choice do I have? I’m not about to spend my day locked up in here when I could be out there, figuring out what the hell is going on. Besides, I have work tonight, and I have absolutely no intention of getting locked up here indefinitely.
My fingers curl around the handle, and I slowly inch it open, peering out into the apartment to find Sawyer passed out on the couch. There’s no sign of the others, and I bite my lip, wondering how this is going to go.
Slipping out of my room, I tiptoe across the penthouse. Pausing halfway toward the kitchen, I glance down the hall, making sure Zade, Cross, and Dalton aren’t about to jump out at me with the twisted idea that they can start hunting me through the apartment like the psychopaths they are.
With the coast clear, I move closer to the couch, my gaze settling over Sawyer as he sleeps soundlessly, his arm propped behind his head. Like this, it’s almost possible to imagine him as a nice guy, someone who’ll come to my door with a bouquet of flowers, a cocky little grin, and a promise to give me the night of my life. But then I go ahead and remind myself that he’s nothing but a cold, calculating asshole, just like his friend. His only redeeming quality being that cock between his legs.
I go to slip past him when I notice his phone left on the end of the couch, and my brow arches. Now is probably the only chance I’ll get to make a run for it. I could slip out of the apartment and get my ass out of here in the blink of an eye, but then I’ll be leaving with no answers. Or . . . I could reach down and take his phone and find the answers for myself.
Shit. What the hell is wrong with me? I swear, I’m really a smart girl. I make good choices, get good grades, and I don’t sleep around. But since showing up here in Faders Bay, I’ve become a stranger to myself. I should run. I know that deep down, so why the hell am I lingering in the living room, holding my breath as I reach toward the phone?
Goddamn, I’m such a fucking idiot.
My fingers curl around the cool metal of Sawyer’s phone, and I let out a shaky breath before quickly scurrying away, trying to keep quiet. I head into the kitchen before leaning up against the counter and glancing up at him across the apartment. He’s still sound asleep, and a twisted grin stretches across my face, finally feeling as though I might just get somewhere.
Glancing down at the phone, I blow my cheeks out with a heavy breath. The likelihood that this thing doesn’t require a passcode is not looking great, but I try my luck. Swiping my thumb across the screen, my jaw drops as the phone unlocks. I gape at it, unable to believe what I’m seeing.
Holy hell. Who doesn’t have a passcode or even a pattern or thumbprint requirement for their phone these days? Having it freely available for snoopy little eyes is almost unheard of, but fuck, if he’s going to practically offer it all up on a silver platter for me, who the hell am I to deny it?
Heading straight for the text messages, I start scrolling, opening the most recent and finding a text from some girl named Brandi that came through late last night, and within seconds I realize that Brandi is nothing but a thirsty hoe.
I hastily click out of it before going to the next. A text from Stacey, hitting up Sawyer only a few hours before Brandi.
It goes on and on, horny skank after horny skank, and by the time I’m reaching the tenth booty call in a roll, I start to wonder if I’m going to find anything at all.
“After you find what you’re looking for,” Sawyer says from the couch, his eyes still closed, “go cry to someone else.”
