He narrows his eyes. “Don’t push it, kid.”
I snort and stumble toward the balcony, my fingers gripping the railing so hard it digs into my palms. The city of Portland sprawls beneath me, lights flickering like stars. Every one of them feels like a reminder that I don’t belong here. That I’m trapped. Even worse now than I ever have been. I don’t know what to do. Emma’s little plan to help Micah and I won’t be enough now. Even if Rookdidagree to help, Alexei’s involvement just made everything so much more complicated.
How am I supposed to carry on? Will we continue our tour? Will Alexei’s reach find me in cities thousands of miles away? My chest heaves, but it doesn’t help. I curse under my breath, hating the coldness in my hands and the ache in my chest. The words replay in my mind.You belong to us now.
I lean over the railing and stare at the drop, my stomach knotting. Part of me wants to run, vanish, disappear. And part of me wants to jump right fucking now and end it all. But I close my eyes and drag in a deep breath.
I pull out my phone, thumb hovering over the screen, and think about Emma. Maybe I’ll send her just one text to let her know I’m thinking of her. But I don’t know if I can anymore. If I’m under Alexei’s thumb, then being with Emma is more dangerous than I’m comfortable with. She’s a bright light in my life, and I’m so grateful that I’ve reconnected with her. But honestly? I’m scared. The truth is worse than anything she could imagine.
She might know who I am under Nolan...but I worry what I will become under Alexei.
I drop my forehead against the railing and let out a long, low groan. My body is buzzing with adrenaline and fear and rage. My mind spins in circles around the same thought:
I’m in too deep, and I can’t get out.
I turn back inside, forcing myself to walk through Alexei’s apartment like it’s nothing. But I feel every inch of the leash he just forced around my neck. I slump into the couch in the living room, my head falling back. I close my eyes, wishing for a second, justone second, that the world would stop spinning long enough for me to figure out how to survive this.
But I know there is no easy way out.
Chapter twenty-six
EMMA EASTON
I sit across from Dr. Cassie Waters, pretending to concentrate on the salad in front of me. She’s talking about a new group session she’s running, insurance hurdles, and other practical things. I nod and murmur polite responses, my fork stabbing mechanically at lettuce while my mind races elsewhere.
The memory of last night keeps creeping in. The way he’d pulled away from me, and the sharp panic in his eyes before he bolted. And then silence. No texts, no calls, nothing until three in the morning.I fell asleep. I’m sorry.They were brief and apologetic, but they didn’t tell mewhy. And I don’t know why. I don’t know anything about what happened after he left. I tryto push it down, shove it behind the professional mask I wear at work, but it’s a constant pressure in my chest.
Cassie laughs at something, and I force a smile, nodding like I’m really paying attention. I sip my water, feeling the horrible and familiar flutter of anxiety, and remind myself to breathe. Keep it together.Clients first.
After lunch, I sneak a glance at my phone to see a single message from him.
JUDE
I’m okay. Sorry again.
I frown. I’ve had several clients who struggled with substances, and they’d often be unpredictable like this. So, it makes sense. They’d be hot and cold, happy and helpless. I just have to be patient with him. I text him before I can stop myself.
Meet me at the beach tonight. Fire. We can talk.
I hit send, stomach twisting. I want to help him, see him, figure out what’s going on. I hate that I can feel my grip on him loosening—and I hate even more that part of me wants to tighten it.
The rest of the afternoon drags by, but I stay steady with my clients. I ask the right questions. I listen. I remind myself:this is what I do. This is where I matter.
But beneath the calm, professional exterior I try to hold, something in me is starting to slip. I’m beginning to understand that there’s nothing I won’t do for him.
The beach is quiet when I arrive, the sky a soft wash of orange and pink. I set the blanket down carefully near a makeshift fire pit, dragging along a small cooler with a few drinks. But my chest is tight because he never texted me back. So I breathe through my anxiety and stare out at the water, hoping he’ll appear. His Audi is still in the driveway, so he must be home.
When I hear the crunch of footsteps on the sand, my stomach lurches, and relief floods me before I even process it. But my relief falters just as fast when I see how exhausted he looks. His faded, ripped jeans hang loose on him, the black hoodie he always wears swallowing his frame. His hair is messy under the dim evening light, and his eyes...I don’t even know what his eyes are saying tonight.
And it scares me.
I stand, brushing sand from the blanket as he approaches. “You made it,” I smile, trying to keep my voice light.
He shrugs, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, not meeting my eyes. “Yeah.” His voice is rough.
I pat the blanket. “Sit. Let’s get a fire going.”
He lowers himself onto the blanket with a sigh, dragging hisfingers through the sand, then letting them rest in his lap. “Emma...I—”