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“But what about Ainsley? I can’t leave her at the apartment and not tell her what’s happening.”
“You’ll probably be safer the less she knows. So will she.” That’s a good point. And knowing her, she’d only make things worse somehow.
I’m only a few minutes from the end of my shift, anyway, so I clock out before ducking through the back door, where Jase meets me. It’s a quick, tense walk to his house, the two of us cutting through the night that fell between my visit from Griffin and now. Neither of us says anything, and it’s probably safer that way. Once we get to the house, we can try to make sense of all of this.
Except when we get to the house, it’s clear something is off before we reach the front door. Namely, because the front door is wide open. “I hope you forgot to lock up,” I murmur, staring from the sidewalk. It’s a last-ditch effort to come up with a reasonable explanation for what I’m looking at.
“Shit,” he whispers, then holds out an arm to block my way. Like he doesn’t want me to get any closer to the house. He could save himself the trouble since fear has me frozen in place. Fear that turns to terror when I notice the broken window next to the door.
“I’m going to go in and see if anyone’s still inside.”
He must have lost his mind. “No! Don’t do that!”
“What else am I supposed to do? Leave and pretend I don’t live here? And it’s not like we can involve the cops.” I see his point, but all it does is nauseate me. We can’t go to the police. It would mean answering too many uncomfortable and possibly incriminating questions.
“Then let me go in with you.”
“No way.” He barely sounds like the Jase I know when he squares his shoulders and starts off toward the house. I hate feeling like I’m watching him march to his doom, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
At first, my phone’s buzzing is more of an annoyance than anything else. I pull it out of my pocket on reflex, and it takes a second for the text from an unknown number to filter through my awareness.
Unknown: If you want to keep your brother safe, come to the hotel. Alone.
TEAGAN
My thumbs are poisedover the keyboard, prepared to type a message back to whoever’s texting me. Only what do I say?Who is this? Right, because I’m sure they’ll come straight out and tell me. Somebody texting from an unknown number to send a cryptic message is going to offer that kind of information.
What do I do?I open my mouth, ready to call out to my brother, but something stops me. If I show him the message, there is no way he’s going to let me leave on my own. If I don’t leave and do what this mystery person tells me, I could be putting him at risk. I have no idea who I’m dealing with, and I have never felt so lost and scared.
Get a grip. Whoever sent this will be waiting for me. They might also be waiting to hurt me. Is it worth it, though, if it keeps Jase safe? Could I live with myself if something bad happened to him, and I could have stopped it?
That’s what settles it and gets me moving while my head spins, and I try to come up with a way to get to the hotel. There’s a bus stop at the next corner whose route comes close enough that I could easily walk the extra couple of blocks after reaching my stop. I’ve already made up my mind by the time I make it to the metal and glass shelter and sit down on the cold, hard metal bench to wait. The buses usually run every ten minutes or so—I shouldn’t have to wait long.
I only wonder how long it will be before Jase realizes I’m gone. The thought of how he’ll react makes guilt twist my guts. I should’ve told him.No, dummy, he would have stopped you. There is just no way of winning, is there?
That’s the question on my mind when a car I shouldn’t recognize but do pulls up in front of me. My heart lodges itself in my throat, and I’m on my feet as soon as I make out the hulking man behind the wheel. He couldn’t have been far away when I got that text. Did it come from him? It’s almost like he was waiting for me to show up here.
The passenger window rolls down, and Griffin leans over a little, calling out the window. “Hop in. I’ll give you a ride.”
“How do you know where I’m going?” The humorless smile that passes over his lips tells me what a stupid question that was. So I go for another one, instead. “How do I know you’re not going to hurt me?”
“I’m not going to hurt you. That’s not what I do. I’m here to help, and I suggest you get in the car and let me take you where you need to be.”
He could have hurt me if that was his plan, right? I have to believe that because otherwise, getting off this bench and into his car is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.
But it’s for Jase. I have to believe I’m doing the right thing.
He waits until I fasten my seat belt before pulling away from the corner. “I guess I don’t need to tell you where I’m going,” I murmur.
“Your guess is correct.” All I can do after that is stare out the window, chewing my lip, hoping this isn’t the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. Maybe even worse than going to the hotel in the first place. I did that for my brother, too, didn’t I?
And there it is, just as unremarkable as it was when I first visited. Instead of stopping out in front and letting me out of the car, Griffin pulls around the corner and steers the car into an underground garage that empties onto an alley just wide enough for a car to turn left or right when it pulls out. I wouldn’t know it was here otherwise—there’s no evidence of it from the street. My heart hammers loud enough that I wonder if he can hear it as we roll down a short ramp and come to a stop in the first empty space. The handful of used spots are inhabited by cars that probably cost more than a small house.
It shouldn’t surprise me to find a familiar figure standing next to our space, hands clasped behind his back like he was waiting for us all this time. And I thought my heart pounded hard before this? It beats so loud I can barely hear the click of my belt when I unlock it.
“Thank you, Griffin,” Mason murmurs as we approach, but his attention is focused on me. His expression is unreadable, so I can’t tell if the sight of me is a good thing or not. I wish he would give me a clue. It’s pretty unnerving not knowing if he hates me or not. Or why I’m here in the first place. Or who gave him permission to fill out a pair of slacks the way he does.
“Did that text come from you?” I don’t know where this sudden bravado is coming from or what gives me the nerve to come out and ask him like that. The man towers over me and could probably snap me in half without hardly trying. I should probably watch what I say.
