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I contemplate finding somewhere else to stay for only a minute before passing her Blakely's ID. "It's fine. I need sleep."

She frowns but checks me in anyway. I take my purse, my backpack, and my keys and head up to the seventh floor.

I open the door and step into a moderately sized suite with a decent kitchen and a separate bedroom with a door…and black-out curtains.

"Thank god," I mutter to myself, stripping down to just my underwear and crawling into the bed.

My heavy eyes close as soon as my head hits the pillow. I feel myself drifting off to sleep when I suddenly remember…

How the fuck am I going to get into the concert tonight?

"Shit…"

I pull out my phone and look up Luca on Instagram. Judging by the photos and stories from last night, it does seem like this is a personal account, and he is actually the one posting the photos, not some PR person.

But I can't really message him from @terrorwithteagan, or he might find @trueterrorswithteagan and start to wonder what I'm up to.

That gives me an idea—one that might be better for getting his attention anyway.

I log out and create a new account, @blackliquoricenotpoison. I add one recent photo of myself to the grid and a selfie I took at the concert to my stories so he knows it's me before liking and commenting on his recent posts enough to get his attention, then send a DM.

"Hey," I read aloud as I type. "It's Teagan. Remember me? I'm in SF—would love to see the show tonight. I promise I'm not poisonous. A little taste never hurt anyone. Heart and winking face."

And send.

Now, I sleep.

By the time I wake up, it's already 2:00 PM. I grab my phone from the nightstand and instantly check my DMs.

Nothing. And he's viewed my story, so that means he's read it. He isn't going to message me back.

Fuck.

My only backup plan is scalping. I don't even understand how that works. Stealing—that might be easier.

I fuckingrefuseto go home.

I cross the hall to the bathroom where I shower, dry my hair, and apply makeup before heading to the kitchen. I fill the shitty coffee maker with water and one of those mesh coffee pods, hit brew, and wait.

"You really need to be more aware of your surroundings," a deep voice bellows from behind me.

A small scream escapes me before I scramble backward.

"And now you've backed yourself into a literal corner. Not very smart, are you?"

I open the drawer next to me and pull out a steak knife. Holding it out in front of me with shaky hands, I ask, "How did you get in here? What do you want?"

"I asked for a key to your room, and they gave me one," Declan says. He walks around the bar and into the small hotel kitchen, boxing me into that corner I've backed myself into. "That's cute." He nods, indicating the knife between us. "What are you going to do with it?"

The two brothers' builds are similar, but Declan is a couple of inches taller. And the eyes and hair, of course, are different, too. Declan's dark hair hangs in front of the cold, dark eyes boring holes into me. He grabs me by my wrist and then pries myfingers apart, taking the small knife and setting it on the counter behind me.

"What do you want?" I ask again. It comes out much quieter this time.

The hand still wrapped around my wrist tightens until it's squeezing me, sending electric currents through my body. He licks his lips before his mouth does something that might look like a smile on someone else, but it doesn't on him. Then, he pulls his own knife—the same six-inch blade he ran across Alana's neck last night—and runs the flat side down my cheek and under my chin.

There's something alive in those dead dark eyes now. He's either going to fuck me, or he knows what I'm up to, and he's going to kill me. I remind myself the person manhandling me is someone I know to be a murderer and that I shouldn't be excited by the prospect of the former.

"Your pulse is racing," he says, tightening his grip on my wrist again. He runs the blade down the length of my throat and to the top of the towel tied across my chest. "Am I scaring you? Or if I turned this knife around and shoved the handle inside your cunt, would it come out drenched in your pussy juices?"