I’m at the point of exasperation sometime before five, combing through the pantry one last time, when I notice a smallbox in the corner. It sits inconspicuously on the bottom shelf under a stack of cookbooks and doesn’t look out of the ordinary, like it may hold spices or recipes. Something in me tells me to look inside.
Crouching down, I move the books and attempt to place them on the floor beside me without a sound. Only I drop one in the process, and it hits the wood with a thud. I freeze, bracing myself to hear movement as I formulate a plan to explain why I’m in here. I was hungry, I couldn’t sleep.
Seconds pass as I listen for footsteps. But after what feels like hours, I hear nothing and decide it’s safe to continue. I examine the box more closely and my stomach drops in disappointment when I notice it’s sealed with a heavy padlock. I tug the base of the lock in frustration, and miraculously it pops open. It can’t have been clicked into place.
I slip it off the box and gently set it to one side, pulling back the lid and inhaling sharply as I register what I’m looking at: a tackle box. Except each compartment is filled with clear vials.
Scanning them quickly, I snap photos on my cell for proof, and to Google the names I don’t recognize later.
Rohypnol
Gamma-hydroxybutyrate
Sodium thiopental
Ketamine
Epinephrine
Lifting the top compartment out, I find at least a hundred syringes. A memory of Nic’s face—a syringe sticking out of her arm—flashes through my mind. I squeeze my eyes shut. There is no reason a man would be in possession of these chemicals and instruments unless he were no stranger to using them.
My gut churns as I try to make sense of the two versionsof Aiden Foxx. The one that I witnessed hours before in the diner. And then the one who stood above me in my bedroom just after, looking like he wanted to kill me. These vials serve as a glaring reminder that I could be in the home of a monster.
Suddenly, I hear the sound of running water and I scramble, moving in what feels like slow motion to put the case back together. When I’m safely on the other side of the door of my room, I pray for my heart rate to come down.
I have no idea why Aiden has all those drugs. But I know one thing. If he ever tries to use one of them on me, I’ll smash his nose right through his fucking brain.
Chapter 25
Mia
The single headlight of a motorcycle in my rearview mirror as I drive back to Aiden’s house after a good long session with Briggs tells me I’m being followed. I can’t see the bike clearly; it’s already dark, but I know it’s been with me since I exited the bridge on Grayson Island. It’s been almost a week since Aiden made me come home with him, and in those seven days, having a bike trail me has become the norm. I even had a watcher when Libby and I went to a diner near Lavish on our break the other night.
The first morning, I woke up to see my car in the driveway, brought here from Lavish, and my key ring on the counter, holding only my car key. Of course, he kept my house key. Although Aiden was nowhere to be found, bags full of clothing sat on the kitchen table. All of it in my size, brand-new with tags. The fridge and pantry were stocked full of food.
He was gone most of the first two days. Club business, Roz said. And in the brief moments I have seen him, he has told menothing beyond that he’ll get Roz and a prospect to take me to my house to pick up my belongings. Yet I still don’t know when that will happen. Whatever it is that’s pulled him away, he’s a vault and shares nothing.
At least it’s allowed me time for more snooping. Not that I’ve gotten anywhere. Aside from the unlocked case of various poisons that scream predator, I have no better insight into who he really is than when I first arrived, and no indication he’s the other man who was there with Nic either, because his house is an empty tomb. I can’t figure out how someone could havenothingpersonal in their home. Every day, I’m more and more conflicted about whether I’m on the right track.
And Dagger hasn’t come back to the club. I’m almost convinced Aiden has overreacted, and Dagger’s forgotten all about me.
Each day, when I wake up, Aiden is gone. I go to work, and he arrives at the end of my shift and follows me home on his bike. And then he’s gone again, to his side of the house, or outside, fuck if I know. I know he’s here, but we don’t interact.
This is an arrangement. He made that painfully clear the first night when he taught me a lesson about trying to fight him. I mostly stay in my room at night, passing out after my shower, and if I happen to come out for water or food, he’s nowhere to be found.
So, color me completely shocked when I come into the house tonight to find Aiden in the kitchen, cooking.
He’s relaxed, wearing black sweats and a fitted black T-shirt. His feet are bare on the hardwood floor, and his cut is nowhere in sight.
“Well, this is…new,” I observe, setting my purse down.
“What’s on Grayson Island?” he asks, ignoring mycomment as the smell of Italian food wafts through the kitchen, making my stomach grumble. Oregano, garlic, parmesan. I’m starving.
So, itwasone of his men.There’s relief in knowing it was a Disciple, and I marvel at that reality. A month ago, a Disciple following me would have been a cause for fear, not relief. “You’ve barely spoken to me, and you’ve obviously beentrackingme. Why do you care what’s there?”
“I don’t trust you any more than you trust me. Answer the question,” he commands, and there’s an underlying warning in his voice. One that could mean he knows I’ve been snooping.
“Why do you care?” I repeat.