“Goddammit.”

Damon was out there somewhere, and I didn’t trust him. She couldn’t just leave.

“Aren’t you going to stop her?” Kai challenged, sounding amused.

“I’m…” I shook my head, leaning on the window frame. “I’m not sure I can.”

I heard him breathe out a laugh. “You finally met your match, huh?”

She stood outside her car, still on the phone, probably with her mother. The smile on her lips reminded me of a younger Rika. A gentler, happier one.

Before I’d gotten a hold of her.

“I don’t know what to do with her,” I said in a low voice.

She was in my body, in my head, and…

I looked down at her, my heart aching at the way she pushed her hair behind her ear.

And she was creeping into other places, too.

“You really think you need to prove anything to her?” Kai asked. “You think she hasn’t been in love with you just the way you are her entire life?”

I continued staring out the window, not wanting this conversation with him.

“That’s what scares you, isn’t it?” Kai prodded.

“It doesn’t scare me.”

“I hope not,” he said, staring down at her. “Because you’ve corrupted her nice and good. She’s a force now, and it won’t be long before she’s brave enough to demand what she wants. If you don’t give it to her, she’ll find someone else who will.”

I turned my head, peering over at him. “I don’t need your warnings. I don’t lose.”

“That wasn’t a warning,” he shot back, not taking his eyes off her. “That was a threat.” And then he looked at me as he turned to leave. “Watch your back, brother.”

Present

I DROPPED MY HEAD BACK, letting the tip of my blade fall to the ground as I tried to catch my breath.

I hated fencing alone.

I hated being stuck alone.

It had been five days since I drove back from Thunder Bay, Michael and the guys following close behind, and if I wasn’t in class, then I was in my apartment.

Per Michael’s orders.

And if I strayed—to the bookstore or the grocery store—he’d be calling or texting, wondering where I was. I think he had Mr. Patterson and Richard alerting him when I didn’t walk in the front door at a certain time every day, and I was about done with it.

Alex had invited me for coffee with her friends tomorrow, and I was going to go.

Now that I knew my mother was safe, and actually sounding hopeful and more energetic, judging from the sound of her voice on the phone, I wanted to keep moving forward. My accounts were back to normal, and several contractors were assessing our house in Thunder Bay, getting ready to make bids on the restoration.

Whatever Michael and his friends were planning for Trevor and Damon, I didn’t care. I didn’t want any part of it.

Sick Puppies You’re Going Down played off my laptop in the kitchen, and I stood at the island, chugging a bottle of water, the light layer of sweat on my back cooling my skin.

I’d spent twenty minutes in front of a floor length mirror, checking my footwork and parrying with a tennis ball before finishing with thirty minutes of sequences.

Fencing wasn’t something I competed at, but it was something I endeavored to perfect. My father had wanted me to study it, and even though I could’ve quit at any time, I refused. It would’ve been closing a door. Leaving him behind in a way.

I just wished I had someone to practice with—a club or a program at a gym or something. It was dull training on my own, which was why I’d barely done any workouts since moving to Meridian City.

My phone started ringing, and I set down my water bottle, staring at Michael’s name on the screen.

Hitting Ignore, I turned off my phone and pushed it away.

Every time he called or texted, it was demands, orders, and updates about where I was, what I was doing, and if I’d talked to anyone today. He never asked me how I was or said anything nice.

Until he finally showed up, late and worked-up from his basketball practice, wanting in my bed.

He’d walk in, lock the door, and start stripping off my clothes, and everything I told myself to strengthen my resolve when he wasn’t here went out the fucking window.

I’d wrap my legs around his waist and let him carry me to my room.

He was winning, and here I was again, playing his game.

I made my way for the refrigerator to get another bottle of water, but three quick knocks hit the front door, and I halted, the hair on the back of my neck standing up.

It’s okay. If it were Damon—or Trevor—the door was locked, and no one could get in.

Walking slowly for the door, I tightened my fist around the handle of my foil and leaned in, peering through the peephole.

Nothing but black. The lapels of his jacket, a shirt, and then there was a sliver of smooth, tanned neck. I couldn’t see his face, six-foot-four as he was, but I’d know Michael anywhere.

“Who is it?” I asked playfully.

“Who do you think?” he snapped. “Open the damn door.”

I shook my head, laughing to myself. Any opportunity to aggravate him was a small victory.

Opening the door a few inches, I stood there, fixing him with a defiant stare.

“A little early, aren’t you?” I challenged. “You usually like your ass around ten.”

He hooded his eyes, not the least bit amused. “Let me in.”