Page 69

Having someone care about my whereabouts is new. Travis never cared where I went or who I was with. At least not until toward the end.

He started asking more questions, insisting on coming with me when I left the apartment, but it was right around the time he broke up with Sally, so it probably had more to do with being lonely than what I was doing.

My phone buzzes in my hand, and I roll my eyes when I realize he’s calling me. Doesn’t he know you don’t call anymore?

“Hello?” I insert as much annoyance into my tone as I can, even if there is a funny feeling rolling in my stomach at the ideahe cares this much. Why does he have to make it so hard to walk away?

“Where are you? I’ll come meet you.”

I sigh. “Orion. I’m fine. Seriously. I’m not far from my apartment.”

“Where, Ember?” He growls. Why does he have to sound so sexy when he uses that tone? It should annoy me. Hell, if any other man growled at me, I’d probably throat punch him, but with Orion, I have to pointedly ignore the ache between my thighs.

“I don’t know what street I’m on.” I look around the side street as if it’s going to have a sign. “But seriously, I need you to stop worrying about me. I’ve been taking care of myself all my life. I don’t need a big, bad entrepreneur to swoop in and save me.”

Silence meets me on the other side of the line, and I can swear I hear him scoff, but it’s long seconds before he speaks again. “Ember, I want to make something perfectly clear to you. The next time you refuse to tell me where you are, I will tie you to the bed and bring you to the edge of orgasm for hours, maybe even days, if I can swing it. You’ll be so fucking mindless with need, and even then, I won’t take pity on you.” He pauses, probably amused by how labored my breathing has become all of a sudden. “I take your safety very seriously, and you’re making it difficult for me to make sure you’re safe.”

I nibble at my bottom lip, considering my options. I’m trying my hardest to distance myself from the man. I thought by giving him the cold shoulder this morning and all but throwing him out of my apartment that he would get the hint, but it’s obvious the opposite has happened. Somehow.

God, men are confusing.

The sound of tires on the street behind me drags my attention from the call and onto the nondescript van moving slowly at the end of the street.

My stomach rolls uncomfortably, and I pick up my pace. I need to get back out on the main road, even if I’m sure I’m just being paranoid.

“Ember?”

“I need to go,” I say quickly, ending the call and throwing my phone back into my purse.

I check my surroundings again, making sure I haven’t missed anyone lurking behind a dumpster, but as far as I can tell, it’s just me and the van, which seems to be getting closer.

Why would someone be following me?

It doesn’t make a lot of sense, but I’m also not willing to take any chances.

Ifthat van is following me, they could try to get me inside, which is only going to trigger a panic attack and make it impossible for me to escape.

No, I can’t allow that to happen.

I pick up my pace, pushing my legs as hard as they’ll go without breaking out into a full-on sprint. Even after months of physical therapy after the accident, my hip still aches when I push it too hard, and I have a feeling I’ll be spending my night in the bath trying to settle the pain as it is.

It doesn’t help that I only threw on a pair of open-toed sandals this morning with the floral dress I picked to make me look sweet and innocent at the corner store.

The van picks up pace behind me, the tires rolling over the uneven street as I approach the mouth of the side street.

So close.

Just a few more yards.

The telltale sound of a door sliding open is all I need to know I’m out of time, and I don’t hesitate to run.

I don’t care how much it hurts later, as long as they don’t get me in that van.

My feet hit the pavement with heavy slaps, and my hip screams in pain, but I ignore it all, just focusing on making it out onto the street.

“She’s running,” someone shouts, but I ignore them, pushing myself harder.

Hands reach for me, but I manage to dodge them, never pausing even as I round the corner and sprint up the street. It may be more populated, but that doesn’t mean I’m safe, especially given that it’s the weekend. There are far fewer people loitering when most of the businesses are closed.