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Once the cotton is off my skin, I feel much better.
My skin cools.
I ball it up and prop it beneath my head, resting on my makeshift bed. I bring my knees into the fetal position.
The level of power Trent Aldridge yields is unmeasured.
He could use this power to better people. To build them up. To be safe and kind. He could use this strength to protect, not crush.
I won’t allow him to crush me, though. Nor will I shed a tear over him. I haven’t allowed myself to cry since I was little. Since my parents died. Since we lost everything.
Now is no different.
I refuse to let myself fall to pieces.
My eyes close, and I take a deep breath.
Nothing can be worse than that.
A creak wakes me up.
I’m not sure how much time has passed or how long I’ve been sleeping, but I’m groggy, and my eyes struggle to adjust to the darkroom.
There is no light, and I can’t risk the sound of searching for my phone, but a small sliver of the moon reflects into the home. Not enough to see anything. I gamble, reaching out to find my phone to use as a flashlight.
Not fast enough.
“Isn’t this cozy?” a familiar voice says.
Well, maybe something can be worse.
Chapter
Nine
TRENT
She’s curled up on the floor.
Head on what looks like a worn-out sweatshirt.
Sleeping tight after her nice, long walk.
I’m light on my feet as I move closer. A trait I picked up from the men I do business with.
Never let your enemies see you coming.
Or, in this case, hear you coming.
I’m standing a foot away from her before I speak.
Darkness bathes the room. Only a few slivers of light stream in from the window.
The very window she shimmied in through. Cyrus’s man, who loaded her furniture, was right. He predicted her point of entry through the window with a broken lock.
I watched it in full definition on the large screen in my bedroom, my A/C on full-blast, and a thousand-dollar comforter sprawled over half my body.
I’m a sick bastard because my comfort only makes her discomfort sweeter. I felt like diving into hell just to take a victory lap around my father.
