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My fingers curl into fists as my entire body screams at me to fight, but I can’t get out of these fucking ropes.

“I’ll give you a chance to apologize. That’s how nice I am,angel,” Kyle murmurs, his hands settling on my shoulders, giving them a light squeeze, and my skin crawls.

I ignore his request, wanting him to know I’m not just going to obey his command. “You really think this is going to work?” My voice comes out harsher than I expect. “That I’ll ever want you? That I’ll ever see you as anything other than the sick, delusional piece of shit you are?”

Kyle stills. His fingers twitch against my shoulders, and I know I’ve struck a nerve. He releases me and circles to the front of the chair, then a sharp, searing pain explodes against the side of my face. The slap echoes through the room, whipping my head to the side, building on what I already feel, and my skull is somehow throbbing more.

“You made me do that,” he says almost sadly, shaking his head like I forced his hand. “I don't want to hurt you, angel, but you gave me no choice.” He shakes his head. “I’ve heard the real you. The version of you that knows how to submit, how to be good. That’s who you are—not this mouthy, ungrateful version pretending he doesn’t need me. You need to respect me, angel.”

I drag in a slow, shaky breath through the pain. My lip is bleeding, and I can taste the metallic tang on my tongue.

What the fuck is he?—

Wait, angel?

“Angel?” I rasp. “Is that why you keep calling me that? Because of a book I narrated?”

Kyle tilts his head and hums. “Yes, angel. That’s when I could hear the real you. The boy nobody else noticed. The one who needed someone to love him enough to stay, and that’s what I’m doing.”

Of course, I remember the book. One of the main characters, nicknamed ‘angel’ by his partner, lived with an abusivefather who made him feel like he didn’t deserve love. His character easily slipped into a relationship where all he wanted was to make someone else happy.

I could relate to his character because I had an asshole dad, too. I also know what it’s like to want something steady and good, but the only person who’s ever fully seen me is Logan. So I don’t know where the hell Kyle gets off thinking I’m his, when I’ve made it abundantly clear I want nothing to do with him.

“That was fiction,” I snap. “It was a fucking job, and you’re the asshole in this situation. How don’t you see that?”

“You’re wrong,” he bites out. “It was you. I heard the need in your voice to be safe and seen. That’s when I knew I had to have you, had to save you. I could hear the ache behind every word.”

“That wasn’t me,” I object because how does he not understand that? “It was a character that I didn’t even write. I was acting!”

I don’t know why I keep trying to reason with him. He doesn’t even see me as a real person; he sees me as a fictional character who belongs to him.

Kyle shakes his head slowly. “No. You were honest for once. You let me in, and you’ve been mine ever since.”

My gut twists. “You’re sick.”

“No, angel.” He leans in close and grins at me. “I’m your salvation.”

Then he turns and walks away.

24

LOGAN

There’s so much beeping, someone make it stop.It’s persistent and annoying, and I don’t remember ever setting an alarm that sounds like this. My mouth feels like I haven’t had water in days.Why do I feel so out of it?I swallow against the scratchy dryness, and I think my lips crack. The beeping doesn’t stop; it’s pulling me closer and closer toward consciousness.

I force my eyes open, and the horrible fluorescent lights overhead sear into my retinas, and I wince. There’s a dull, throbbing pain radiating through my side. A creeping sense of unease claws its way up my spine as I realize I’m in a hospital, and reality begins to piece itself back together.

“Ryder!” I gasp, my voice hoarse and barely above a whisper, even though I try to yell out for him.

But instead of him being there, my mom jumps up and reaches for my hand.

“Oh, honey,” she breathes, her face a mixture of relief and worry as she fusses over me, smoothing my hair. “You’re awake. Oh, thank you, Jesus. Jim, he’s awake!”

My dad walks over, and they both stare down at me in the hospital bed.

“How’re you feeling, son? We’ve been worried sick about you,” he says.

“Where’s Ryder?” I ask immediately, ignoring his question. I know they’re worried about me, but I’m fine. I’m far more concerned about Ryder—there’s no way he wouldn’t be here right now if he could be.