Page 81

81

CONNOR

I can’t sleep.

I’m too tense and wired from that call I received earlier.

My gaze drops to the bed.

Allie’s curled beside me, breathing soft and even.

I move to her. My hand rests on her hip, anchoring me, keeping the chaos inside my chest from swallowing me whole.

But my mind won’t stop. Not for a second.

Stryker confirmed that Landon is in Key West, too.

My hands curl into fists. The bastard is using Allie as leverage, trying to manipulate me into controlling Daltyn.

Because Landon wants Peyton.

And so does Daltyn.

He wouldn’t be here otherwise.

I just wish I could find him. Talk to him. Figure out what the hell we’re walking into.

A long sigh slips from my chest.

I don’t know what’s worse. How close Landon’s already gotten, or how many steps ahead he is.

* * *

Before sunrise, I slip out of bed and settle at the kitchen table.

The flowers I bought for Allie sit in a gaudy vase Gram gave us, still wilted like they know what’s coming.

I check my phone. No updates from Stryker. Just a “working on it” text from hours ago.

I pull up maps. Start marking locations where I saw Peyton. Where the hooded guy, who I firmly believe to be Landon, ducked into that alley. Where he reappeared.

Where Allie spotted him.

I’m not just waiting anymore. I’m preparing.

By the time Allie walks into the kitchen, the sun’s creeping through the curtains, and I’ve had enough caffeine to fuel a riot.

She’s in my jersey, hair messy, her eyes sharp and sleepy. She looks like sin and salvation wrapped together.

And for a second, I forget the storm outside.

Something feral stirs in me. I consider throwing her over my shoulder and taking her straight back to bed.

“Don’t even think about it,” she says, arching a brow. “You look like you’ve been up all night prepping for war.”

She’s not wrong.

My eyes drop to the jersey again.

“I still have enough energy to?—”

She cuts me off with a hand.

“Save it.” Her expression softens. “Any updates from Stryker?”

I stare at her momentarily. Last night, I told her that Stryker is a hacker. We lived in the same neighborhood and attended the same school until my parents divorced. Allie took it all in stride, not even flinching over him being a hacker. She just asked if I used his help to hack into her phone during our road trip or time in Vegas.

When I told her I did, she looked upset, then angry, before finally saying, “I don’t know why I’m surprised. I should be pissed. But you’re… you.”

“Not yet. But he’s close.”

I don’t tell her about the second burner ping Stryker flagged an hour ago. The location was two blocks from the beach bar we visited yesterday with Gram.

I’m debating whether to text him again when a loud, sharp bang rattles the front door.

I’m out of my chair in seconds, adrenaline flaring like a match dropped in gasoline.

I yank open the door, prepare to go to war… and freeze.

Daltyn stands there, blood dripping from his knuckles. A bruise already blooms along his cheekbone.

His eyes meet mine. His voice is clipped. Rough. “We need to talk.”