Page 7

A couple of hours later,my dad still hasn’t called me back yet.

Like always, my phone is on vibrate, but I’ve tucked it into the back pocket of my jeans so that I have it with me as I dash around the apartment. Just in case I don’t notice the pulse against my ass, I pause every couple of minutes to check the screen, huffing when it’s empty.

It’s even worse when I get a buzz only for it to be a spam text or a reminder from my boss about a company deadline. Not Dad, though I do call him twice more so he knows it’s important.

I learned my lesson as a kid. Never put anything in writing if it can be used against you. So messaging about the invitation? Not a good idea, especially when Dad’s never left Harmony Heights before. He’s as involved with the Order as ever, even if he’s just another of the rank-and-file members who attends monthly meetings, nods at other Oweds, and rubs absently at the brand on his palm while watching the evening news instead of secretly running the entire town.

I was only considered a high pedigree Offering because there’s been a Dougherty in the Order ever since its inception,and the women in my line have all been in the same position I was before I snapped it.

I’m not going back. I’ll give my dad a heads up so that he can handle the inevitable fallout the same way he did when I left for college, but other than that, Desmond can wrangle a brand new bride for his late June wedding.

Because part of me knows that I’ve long been outrunning the Order, I always jumped at the chance to skip around so long as the moving expenses were covered by my company. You know what the best thing about doing that is? I don’t bother unpacking. Not completely. I always have my essentials together, and with a little bit of time, I can gather everything I need and be out in hours.

It takes three for me to pack up my SUV, leaving the furniture and appliances that came with the apartment behind, but taking the key with me in case I decide it’s safe to return.

Where am I going? No clue. Just out of Bridgewater right now since the only thing on my mind is getting away from the apartment that the Order tracked me to.

Can they find me again before the wedding in two weeks? I really hope not, and I get to cling to that hope for a little over a half an hour before I pull into the parking lot of a small convenience store to grab an energy drink, a matte black coupe following in right behind me.

I’m not paying attention to the other driver. Grabbing my debit card and my keys, I lock my car, then hurry inside. Four bucks later, I tap my nails anxiously against the aluminum can as I return to my car.

“Looking good, Loni.”

Loni.

My head jerks up. I’m Marie now. I ditched my first name years ago, but I know that name.

I know that voice.

And there he is. Dallas Collins, a decade older than I last saw him. His face is more rugged. His dark eyes harder. His body broader, with muscles bulging against the tight black tee he has on. His short-ish sandy brown hair—similar to his cousin’s—is tousled and falling forward in his face. As a small smile tugs on his lips, he runs his fingers through his hair, leaving track marks in the wild curls.

A black spade is tattooed along the side of his throat. Leaning up against the driver’s side of my SUV, one arm is crossed over his middle. He salutes me with the other hand, making sure to flash the Order’s brand on his palm.

A lump lodges in my throat. The slippery condensation on the side of the ice-cold can combined with my suddenly shaky fingers means that my four dollars go down the sewer once it drops out of my hand. The can pops open, the carbonated drink spraying everywhere, but while I gape at Dallas, he just raises his eyebrows at the mess I’ve made.

I shake my head, stepping away from the puddle and the spray. Forcing the lump down with a rough swallow, I find my voice: “What are you doing here?”

A small laugh. “Making sure you RSVP.”

Fuck.

“The invitation. You sent it.”

Of course he did. Dallas might be Jack Collins’s only son and the future head of the Order, but even when we were kids, Dallas was his father’s top enforcer. He knows everything about everything when it comes to the Owed, and makes sure it all goes according to his father’s plan.

He nods. “That I did. And when you left, I was waiting to make sure you started for home. The wedding is all set to go so you don’t have to worry about anything but showing up for your dress fitting, sweetheart. But you… you headed north instead ofwest.” He clicks his tongue. “If you can’t remember the way to Harmony Heights, you can follow me.”

A gesture toward the black car I barely noticed before.

The same car that’s parked behind mine, blocking me in.

Apart from us and a truck that might belong to the bored clerk inside of the convenience store, no one else is in the lot. Cars whizzing past on the main road are too preoccupied with their own journeys to notice that Dallas has put a stop to mine.

What the hell am I supposed to do?

And that’s when, before my panicking brain can come up with any idea, Dallas’s voice turns uncharacteristically conversational as he asks, “How’s your dad been? Talk to him lately?”

Bastard.