Page 41

"And what if I don't want you to stay?"

Those arctic blue eyes slide sideways to examine me and I don't miss the hitch in his voice as the question leaves my mouth. Like a knife, the guilt cuts through my chest, deep and lasting.

I am spent. Physically and mentally, I have reached a threshold I didn't even know I had.

Dylan actually came here, came for me. And I can still remember the moment when he was about to say those words to me–he may have been the only one brave enough to admit his feelings, but he wasn't the only one feeling them.

I'd always thought hearing that would make everything better. That the hurt would just disappear, and I'd be happy again. But now, I knew better. It just hurt more.

When I look down at my phone, there's another message from Valentine Black.

Come to see me now. We need to talk. The sinking truth of my situation weighs heavily on my back.

My head is pounding. Shame prickles at the back of my eyes and coils in the pit of my stomach.

It's a familiar emotion, but one I haven't felt often since my teens.

I can still feel the ache in me, from the way we fucked–no, made love, from the shame of being so fucking weak that I need to shoot up to survive the day, from the look Dylan gives me when he sees the evidence of it.

I can't will myself to turn around and look at him.

I am too raw to deal with the aftermath of him actually coming to LA.

"Let me buy you a real breakfast. We'll find a diner somewhere around here. And we'll talk."

"Can't," I grunt, attempting to manoeuvre around him. "I have to go, Dylan. Fucking move."

"No." He stands his ground. "Tell me why."

"Back the fuck up, or I'll have to hit you.

" I glare at him, showing him with my eyes that I'm not kidding.

I fucking loathe this. I hate it so bad my stomach is churning.

But I also know I don't have much time. I have to go.

I can't risk Valentine sending someone in here to check on me, or worse, coming himself.

"Hit me if you want to," he hisses. "I'm not moving until you fucking tell me why. Tell me what's pulling you out of this room right the fuck now, at nine in the morning when you just told me you work at parties!"

"Nothing is pulling me out," I growl. "I'm leaving because I want to. I don't want to stay with you. End of story."

The look in his eyes hacks me apart. I think I'm actually losing blood, and limbs and fucking organs.

"That's bullshit," he whispers. "You want to stay, I know you do.

You're mine," he says with such finality.

"Whatever you think you are right now, whatever you're actually doing in this damn city, whatever the reason for this strange behavior, you're fucking mine, Noah.

You're my worry, my heartache, my burden.

And I know that the only man I choose to open my heart again for would have the decency to be honest with me if he in fact doesn't care about me anymore. "

It's the most heartbreaking thing he's said to me yet. But I force a roll of my eyes, which are watering more and more with each second of this torture. The pressure behind my eyelids is too much. I shove him out of the way so he doesn't see. So he can't tell how much I despise what I'm doing.

"Thanks for the fuck, Dylan." He lets me push him aside, and I open the door, slinking out of the kitchen.

I stomp next door into my bedroom, and I don't miss the sound of the apartment door slamming as I close mine.

It makes me cringe. He left. But that's what I wanted, what I needed him to do. To stay the fuck away from me.

Backing up against my door, I'm fighting to catch my breath.

My heart is so heavy it's in my stomach and I'm practically hyperventilating, gripping the door behind me while I try to breathe.

My eyes squeeze closed, tears sneaking behind them.

Everything inside me feels rotten, diseased. None of this is right.

He's good... he's so fucking good, and that was my biggest mistake.

Thinking I could have someone like him. I'm fucking trapped in this.

I can't escape it. I can't have anything good, and I can't run from this.

Not ever. I deserve this. While I'm sputtering for air, my phone chimes again.

I pull it out of my pocket with shaky hands.

Now means now, Noah.

"Why are you not on a plane to Alaska with your man, Noah?"

I flinch at the voice, forgetting Silas was back home, lying on his bed.

His gaze is vacant and unimpressed, serious, like it always is after he comes back from a night working the Hollywood Hills.

The difference between him and me is that I'm only selling the drugs.

Silas is selling something much much worse–his body.

"Please, Silas," I bite out with a shake of my head. "I can't right now..."

"Fine. I can see there must be a good fucking reason why you're here talking to me and not someplace nice having breakfast with your boyfriend. So let me just tell you this. You have to put this moment away. You have to. Valentine's cruelty had taught me how to play the game if I wanted to live."

"How?"

"You're not supposed to care."

I remember that night in Cincinnati, my bloody hands and the police car and pain. That's nothing compared to this. This here is a never-ending abyss that provides no solace and no redemption.

_

I'm wearing one of my best fits tonight. I'm also blissfully high and ready to just fucking get on with it. There is no room for feeling sorry for myself, Val's instructions were clear–no more distractions otherwise he'll cut me off and I'm not sure I'll be able to do this shit day after day sober.

That one night off that I took on my own accord resulted in chaperones tonight.

Idiot, I silently berate myself. Such a fucking idiot.

Valentine fortunately didn't find out about Dylan, but he was becoming suspicious so he sent a couple of his dirty dogs to follow me around and make sure I was right where he needed me.

So I'm back at one of the homes in the Hills.

It's not the biggest of parties as it's not the weekend but LA is full of pseudo actors and wannabes and nepo babies who have nothing better to do than mingle with their own kind at any day of the week.

Like this guy that's breathing down my neck all night. I already sold him one wrap of cocaine but he came back for more, and if the gentle touches on my arm, my waist and not so subtle lip biting are anything to go by, I'm suspecting he likes me as much as my drugs.

He is an amazingly handsome man, with classic Hollywood leading man looks.

But of course, I will never be interested in another man again.

The problem is I can't tell him to back the fuck off because if I do, Valentine's dogs will snitch on me.

I have to be on my best behavior. Throat thick, all I can do is stay where I am, I don't push that hand away from me and nod politely at whatever he tells me.

"So do you wanna check out one of the master bedroom's upstairs?" The man squeezes my waist, pulling me closer. "We can have our own little private party?"

I flash him a tight smile, as I'm thrown back to my night with Dylan.

His hands on my waist while he made sure I got enough sleep.

I hadn't even realized how much my body needed that rest, or was it Dylan's body heat and just his mere presence that put my mind finally at peace allowing the brain to just switch off.

I can't help but replay every moment. I'm pissed at myself for losing my composure the moment I saw his face at my door.

But he is gone now and even though it ripped me apart, it's the best thing he could've done.

Lying to him left a bitter taste in my mouth.

But I'd become an expert at hiding the truth from Paul and Adel and Dylan.

In the months since they'd saved me, I'd learned what real love was.

..and what being part of a family truly meant.

And if saving their lives, saving Dylan's, meant I had to shamelessly lie to them, hurt them with my words, I'd do it all over again.

It isn't long before I'm yanked out of my thoughts by the low, familiar rumble of his voice. Not this random dude's voice–Dylan's voice. He isn't here, is he? I stiffen. It can't be?

"Don't touch him," he grits out as he angles himself toward the guy and levels him with a threatening, heavy-set gaze.

He looks the part of a cowboy with his hair falling recklessly out of his low bun, rugged, work-hardened body and possessiveness radiating from his every pore.

His chiselled jaw is covered with the perfect amount of dark blond stubble and his blue eyes remind me of a coming storm. He doesn't belong here.

Running a hand over the back of my neck, I ignore the sudden surge of emotion welling in my throat.

The burn behind my eyes. It's pathetic how easily I can be brought to my breaking point these days.

He looks at me, then the arm of a man. The fury in his eyes had brightened them to a shade that was almost otherworldly. "You don't want this."

I can't do much but shake my head and push that guy away from me.

"What the fuck is going on here?" That idiot frowns. "Who the hell is this guy?"

"Noah, let's just get out of here?" Dylan completely ignores him, acting like he's just an annoying mosquito he just squashed and the guy finally gets the message and leaves with a huff.

"No," my voice drops off and then I shake my head frantically. "I can't, I can't-" I begin but my heart is beating so loudly in my ears I can't even be sure I'm hearing what he is saying to me.