Page 118 of Wanna Play A Game?

Ryder crosses his large arms. “Life isn’t fair, little mystery. I thought you were old enough to understand that.”

The alcohol buzzes in my head. It’s been so long since I’ve had a drink that it’s already getting to me. I spit, “Oh, don’t worry. I learned that a long time ago. My bad, you caught me in a human moment.” I turn on my heel. “Have a good night, Ryker.”

He growls at the wrong name, and I slam the door. As I do, my courage leaves me, and I run down the hall, slipping back into Sawyer’s room. They’re both still asleep in bed. Carefully, I crawl back between them, needing to at least pretend they can protect me from the emotions rolling through me.

Sawyer continues to snore, but Miles shifts and throws an arm around me. He mutters, “Where’d you go?”

“Bathroom.” Tears prick behind my eyes. I want to say that I’m sorry.

“Mmmm,” Miles mutters into my hair. Within seconds, he’s asleep again.

Fuck. I don’t want to play this game anymore. How do I get off this ride?

Chapter 58

Ryder

The house is in a sad state. There are dirty clothes everywhere, and there’s almost no food left. My mind won’t stop running.

As soon as the grocery store opens, I go shopping. As I move through the aisles, I try not to think about how Cali’s pupils blew wide when I spit the whiskey into her mouth.

Fuck, she looked so beautiful and submissive. She can’t even help herself. Fucking attracted to every walking red flag.

Attracted or trying to fuck us over. Or both.

When I’m in the cereal aisle, my lawyer calls. I pick up on the first ring.

“Hey, they’re going to delay the suppression hearing. The officer is on vacation.”

I grunt.

“I’m still working on our deal, but just so you know, I’m not getting anywhere.”

Fuck. I squeeze my phone so tight that pain lances through my fingers. I was worried about that. If this goes to trial, I’ll be putaway for years, possibly life. And what about Miles? It was his mark originally. How they haven’t connected his DNA, I don’t know. I don’t want to uproot my family, but I’ll leave the country if this falls through.

“You there?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Just making sure you knew. I’d offer more, but I’m afraid this new guy’s morals are going to get to him.”

Someone rushes their cart around me like they’re mad. I realize I’ve been blocking the whole aisle.

I hang up. I’ve prepared for this possibility. I have accounts set up in offshore shell corporations, and I always keep lines of communication open with Wyatt. I always knew there would be a chance we would have to leave. I feel a scratch at the back of my throat.

When I get home, I get to prepping more meals for my men. I got enough for Miles’ favorite quesadillas and Sawyer’s meat and mashed potatoes. I try to bury myself in this task. I’ll deal with this and then the other stuff.

As I prep, I turn my shirt inside out before I get out the chicken. I don’t want the salmonella all over the outside. I refuse to wear that apron Sawyer wears. He never washes it, and it’s a miracle the man doesn’t get sick more than he does. As I prep, I reach for the knife block.

It’s not there.

I look through more drawers. Fuck. Where the hell are the knives? I look everywhere. They’re not in the kitchen.

I look for Miles to ask where he put them. His room is empty, and his bed is still made. I frown, then head to Sawyer’s room.

It’s covered in dirty clothes, but his bed is all messed up. Fuck, his room is a mess. I always take care of the laundry when I’m here, and I forgot to do it after I came back. That blondbombshell is getting into all of my routines. I grab up the clothes and start a load.

I shoot a text to Miles: Where are the knives?