Pippa is the most unbearable person on the face of the planet. I literally want to shoot her in the face. I drove my car to her apartment last night, thought better of leaving it anywhere near her building, drove it eight blocks away in an underground parking lot, and then walked a mile in the pouring rain to turn up on her doorstep at midnight, soaked to the bone.

 

“Ridden hard and put up wet, I see,” is what she’d said to me. Those were the first words she chose to speak when seeing me for the first time after I’ve been shot at, threatened¸ faced off with a horde of Mexican gang members, and then confronted with the harsh reality that my sister is now some motorcycle club president’s old lady. I guess I shouldn’t expect much else from her, realistically. I did tell her I was sitting on a beach drinking mai tais in Hawaii. Her grim mood as she let me into her apartment last night indicated that she was more than a little pissed that I hadn’t asked her along. Her mood doesn’t seem to have improved with a good night’s rest, either.

 

“I’m assuming Lacey will be accompanied by your good friend Mr. Mayfair this morning?” She stirs at her tea so viciously that it’s a surprise any of the liquid remains inside the cup.

 

“Probably. Which is why I’m going to make sure I’m not.”

 

“What’s the matter with you? I thought you liked this guy? What happened to the whole, what if I don’t want anyone else crap you were texting me two nights ago?”

 

Of course she would bring that up. The truth is…since Zeth drove me away from my sister back in the hospital, away from my parents’ place, and back into my old life, I’ve wanted…I’ve wanted my old life. The whole thing. All of it. The boring, mundane routine of going to work, eating, sleeping, going back to work. I can hardly lie to myself; of course I know that I’m developing ridiculously strong feelings for a man who can surely be nothing but bad news for me, but for a moment, just a couple of days, it would be nice to feel like my largest concern in life is deciphering the other doctors’ handwriting so I can make sure I don’t double dose any of the patients.

 

“Just because I don’t want anyone else doesn’t mean that I do want him, Pip. Not in the way you’re thinking, anyway.” I cram toast into my mouth, trying to cut the conversation short. Pippa’s not the sort of person to let a full mouth get in the way of a confrontation, though. And that’s what this is: a confrontation. She’s been itching to have this out with me for a while now, I just know it.

 

“Remember that time when you asked me for Valium and I wrote you a script? No questions asked?” she asks quietly. It feels like the blood in my veins has just turned to ice water. Do I remember that? Do I remember clasping hold of that bottle in my fist and staring at it for a full hour before I had to leave my house and travel across Seattle, houses and buildings whipping past me in a blur, as I journeyed to meet Zeth for the first time?

 

“Ah, yeah. Of course.” The memory is seared like a brand inside my brain. The moment changed me forever. Pippa doesn’t know this, though. Or she shouldn’t. That she’s even mentioning it now seems to be hitting a little close to home. “Why do you ask?”

 

“Because I wasn’t worried about you then, Sloane. You were asking me for under-the-table meds, really strong, addictive ones, and you were acting like a fucking crazy person at the time, too. And yet the whole time I was never worried about you. Not enough to demand to know what was going on in your life. You were stressed out over your sister. We had Boards. Whatever. I knew all of that and I didn’t wanna give you a hard time. So instead I gave you the script, and I never said another word about it. But now, it’s like…I feel like this guy is ten times worse for you than taking a bunch of Valium. Even if you were addicted, I would still think this guy is worse for you than the drugs.”

 

I can feel the blood draining from my face. She’s never spoken to me like this before; true, she’s always been a bit of a hardass and more than a little over protective, but seriously, this is the first time she’s spoken to me like I’m an idiot who can’t be trusted to make their own decisions. “What do you mean by that?” I ask.

 

Pippa puts her tea down on the kitchen counter, walks around it and takes both of my hands in hers. Her eyes are peaked with worry, her brows banked together in a frown. “I love you, Sloane. You’re like a sister to me. I know that’s no consolation to you—that you’ve been terrified for your actual sister, and that’s been a main priority for you—but you have to know I’m always going to look out for you. This guy…” She shakes her head. “This guy is bad news. The kind of guy you avoid like the ever-loving plague. And you’re not doing that right now. I’ve seen this all before, Sloane. This attraction you’re feeling, it’s like being pulled into the shadows, and I also know that that probably feels really good. It’s almost undeniable, probably. You’ve fought for so long and so hard to keep your head above water that sinking now seems like the best possible option. But trust me, it’s not. Giving in to someone like that, to a controlling guy who refuses to let anyone else hold any power over him, it won’t end well. He’ll break you. He’ll take everything you’ve built and tear it down, and coming back from something like that is so much harder than recovering from any regular addiction.”

 

I’ve been so still as she’s said this to me. I’ve blinked maybe twice, but apart from that I’ve sat frozen in dumb silence, trying to understand the words coming out of her mouth. I can’t sit still any longer. “You say you love me like a sister, Pip?”

 

“Yeah.” She nods, and her eyes are bright and a little too shiny—she looks like she’s on the verge of tears. “I do, Sloane.”

 

I squeeze her hands back, leaning forward and feeling my heart break just a little. “Then how can you not know me at all?”

 

Her lips part, her mouth falling open, and I know how this will go. We’re both volatile people. We’re about to have the fight. The fight that changes our friendship, maybe for good. Maybe irreparably. She pulls her hands out of mine.

 

“I do know you. I know that you—”

 

BRRRRRRRRRNNNNNNNN.

 

The robotic buzz of her intercom shuts down whatever she was about to tell me. My jaw is beginning to ache, and I realize I’ve been clenching my teeth. For a second we just remain frozen in silence, looking at one another. When the buzzer goes again, Pippa blinks and looks away, smoothing a hand over her immaculate hair. “That’ll be Lacey,” she says.

 

“Yeah,” I reply. “It will.” I get up and grab my coat, which is still slightly damp from last night’s rain. “Tell her to call me later if she wants to grab a coffee or something, yeah?”

 

“You’re not staying for the session?”

 

I’m already at the door, my palm feeling the press of the cool metal handle beneath it. “Not really standard for a civilian to be present during a patient’s treatment, is it?”

 

Pippa gives me a hard look. “She might not talk if you’re not here.”

 

“She’ll talk. She set up the appointment.” I hit the access button on the intercom by the door, then I open it and I hurry down the stairwell before Lacey—and probably Zeth—can make it up to her floor in the elevator.

 

 

 

 

******

 

 

 

 

In my book, running down flights of stairs are just as hard as running up them. My thighs and ass are killing me by the time I reach the ground floor. The fresh air hits me like a wall of ice, shocking the oxygen right out of my lungs. It’s cold. Way colder than it usually is in autumn, but for once the wind is absent, leaving the day still and calm. I’m waiting to cross into the park when my cell phone rings. Damn it. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Lacey won’t talk unless I’m there. I don’t see why my presence would be so important, though. I mean, she has Zeth. He’s been her be-all and end-all for months now. I’m about to pick up the call and tell Pippa that Lacey will just have to make do with her brother, when I see the number.

 

It’s an out-of-state number. Not one I recognize. I’m not in the habit of answering calls from strange numbers, but the source of the call this time has me breaking rules. Maybe…just maybe…

 

“Hello?”

 

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and then an entertained and altogether male voice says, “What’s up, Doc?”

 

A jolt passes through me. A deeply violent and unpleasant one. “What the hell do you want?” I demand. I know perfectly well who it is—it’s the man I recently discovered is married to my sister. I’d thought that perhaps it was Alexis calling me to, I don’t know, apologize for everything she’s put me and Mom and Dad through. But no. It’s not her; it’s her motorcycle-riding, tattoo-covered, smug-grinned husband.

 

“Well, hello to you, too, precious. Raining up there? Weather got you in a shitty mood?”

 

“The sound of your voice has me in a shitty mood,” I retort. I want to head north through the park, but I can’t. I can’t concentrate on anything but gripping hold of this phone and listening intensely to the asshole on the other end of it. I collapse onto the bench at the entrance to the park and commence in burning holes with my eyeballs into the concrete at my feet. “Is it Lexi? Is she okay?”

 

“Sure. She’s out now. We’re on our way back to New Mexico.”

 

“She’s already out? She needs rest! You can’t have her discharged yet. She should be—”

 

“You think I want her up and hustling before she’s ready, Doc? I couldn’t chain the girl to the bed. She’s got legs, y’know? She used them. Got up and walked out of there before anyone knew about it. So yeah. Maybe calm your ass down.”

 

I hate his tone. I hate that I’m even having to listen to him right now. “So why are you calling, then, Rebel?”

 

“Because you need to come to New Mexico,” he answers. “You need to come make sure she gets better properly.”

 

A dead weight settles in my stomach. “You’re crazy. I can’t come to New Mexico.”

 

“Why not? Let me guess. You’re headed back to work, right? The people at the hospital need you?”

 

I had been about to say that, but now I suck my bottom lip into my mouth. Mostly to stop myself from swearing very loudly.

 

“You’re gonna choose work over your sister? When she needs you? Again?” The tone in Rebel’s voice is mocking now. I am a strong person, but it almost takes more strength than I possess to stop myself from screaming into the phone.

 

“You know what she told you isn’t true. You know I never made that choice. Alexis never even gave me the opportunity.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But still…you’re getting the opportunity now. She needs you. She’s too proud and too humiliated to tell you that herself, so I’m telling you. You. Need. To. Come.”

 

The line goes dead. I lower the thing to make sure my ears aren’t deceiving me, and one look at the screen confirms that he just hung up. He actually just hung up.

 

What the—

 

“By the look on your face, someone just pissed you off. And it can’t be me for once. I only just got here.”

 

My breath catches in my throat. That voice. His voice. How the hell did he find me? I slowly raise my head and there he is, standing in front of me, hands in his pockets, looking…looking completely and utterly blank.

 

“I thought you’d call,” he says simply.

 

“Yeah. I know you did. Hence me not calling. Hence the note. Hence me not wanting to see you right now.” I may be telling him that I don’t want to see him, but I’m lying. When I’m away from him, I sometimes think it might be for the best. My thoughts up in Pippa’s apartment only five minutes ago are testimony to that. And yet, with him right in front of me, I don’t ever want him anywhere else. Not because I need him. Not because he makes me feel safe or that I need him to protect me. I’m strong and I’m capable, and if I really felt the need I’d just go to the police. I want him in close proximity because every time I look at the bastard now I feel his arms wrapped around me, and his chin resting on top of my head. I feel the slow in and out of his chest expanding as he breathes, holding me tight to him. I’ve done my absolute best not to think about it, but everything changed when Zeth held me back at Julio’s.

 

I’ve been drawn to him for the sex. I’ve been drawn to him for the power he exudes. Hell, I’ve been drawn to him for his arrogance and his sheer cockiness, which is infuriatingly attractive. I know in my heart I could easily have walked away from all of those things, though. It would have sucked, but I could have done it. But the weaker side to this man, who seems so indestructible, is the reason why I’ve felt myself tumbling, falling, sliding down some frightening, unnameable slope. And yes, I’m the ultimate coward because that slope does have a name; I’m just too terrified to acknowledge my descent. If it were an easier journey, felt more like I was floating gently, wonderfully, drunkenly through the whole thing like most other people get to, and I thought I might get a cushioned landing at the bottom, then I might be less worried. But this kind of falling involves bumps and scrapes, and wounds too raw to comprehend. And if I’m honest with myself, probably a bruised if not altogether broken heart.

 

Fuuuuuuuuck.

 

He gives me a stern glare, but I know him now. I know by the slight flicker in his eyes that he’s not one hundred percent sure he should be here. “Yeah. About that,” he growls. “We’re gonna have a conversation, you and I.”

 

“Oh, really?” I feel like throwing my damn phone at him. I know he sees the thought forming, because he eyes the cell phone I’m still clasping hold of with interest. Like he expects me to actually do it—he’s just waiting on it flying toward his head—and he’s curious how the whole thing will play out.

 

“Mind if I sit down?”

 

I pull the collar of my jacket up, shuffling along the bench, pressing my body into the far end of it. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’ll go away if I say no, is there?”

 

Zeth smirks at this; he sits down beside me, parking himself way closer than I’d intended, given all the room I just made for him. “If you really want me to go away, Sloane, I’ll go away. I’m not a creepy stalker. And I do have some pride. There are plenty of things I could be doing right now instead of trying to make nice with you.”

 

Yeah, right. Zeth must have plenty of other women he ‘could be doing right now.’ The thought makes me feel like throwing up. “Then I’d hate to keep you from them.”

 

“So you would like me to leave?” He angles himself toward me, his closest shoulder dipping down so that his body presses in against mine. He feels warm through my jacket; having him so close makes my palms tingle with anticipation. I want to reach out for him. I want to feel the pressure of his skin under mine, but after what happened when we were having sex, him telling me not to touch—I don’t want to go through that again. It hurt more than I care to admit. I clench my hands tighter around my phone.

 

“Sloane? All you have to do is say the word.” His voice has always been low, but now it dips into some octave I’ve never heard before. It almost melts my bones. He speaks slowly, and I see that he actually means it—his eyes are unblinking, focused solely on me, and there’s a tension in them that sends a shiver through my whole body.

 

“I—I don’t—” How do I do this? How can I tell him? Even thinking about making myself so vulnerable has my heart pounding in my chest.

 

“They’re just words, Sloane. They’ve never killed anybody. It’s actions that are solely responsible for that. And right now, we’re just talking.”

 

God. Can it really be that simple? With him? I take a deep breath. “Okay, fine. I don’t want you to go.” I keep talking before he can even open his mouth to respond. “But can you please not be an unbearably smug asshole about it? I’ve had a really shitty morning already. I don’t need that on top of everything else.”

 

To his credit, Zeth doesn’t even bat an eyelid. “I’m giving up on trying to work you out,” he announces. The statement really knocks the wind out of my sails. I’d been expecting something scathing or imperious, not an admission of defeat. And he’s been trying to work me out? I’d have thought it was entirely the other way around.

 

“Too complex for you, am I?” I try to keep my eyes steady, but the way he’s looking at me, straight into me, has me breaking out in a nervous sweat. Zeth lifts one shoulder, still leveling me with those deep brown eyes. Eyes made for trapping a person indefinitely within their violence, but also in their brutal truth.

 

“Pretty much,” he says. “I keep thinking I have you all figured out, think I can anticipate what’s coming next with you, but then you prove me wrong. And I’m hardly ever wrong about people.”

 

“Does that annoy you?”

 

“You’re afraid of me getting bored of you.” He just says it. Like he reaches inside my mind and plucks out the most irrational, yet most real fear that’s bouncing around in there. And then he just says it, like him laying it out there in the stark light of day doesn’t make me incredibly vulnerable.

 

“No! No, I don’t—”

 

“Lies aren’t a part of this conversation, Sloane. They’ll never be a part of any conversation we have again. Do you understand?”

 

He doesn’t ask me if I understand in a way that might make me fear for my life. He asks me plainly. He asks me as though it’s a genuine question, and he needs me to agree to it. Any pretence there might have been between us dissolves like smoke.

 

“Okay. Fine. So this is it, huh? This is the part where we lay our cards on the table?”

 

Zeth shrugs. “Only if you understand. Only if you can stop fucking pretending for five minutes and be honest with me.”

 

I let that sink in. This isn’t a challenge like so many of our interactions have been. Nearly all of them, in fact. No, this…this is something entirely different. This is either the beginning or the end. Of what, I’m not completely sure. I guess I’m about to find out. “Okay. I promise. I promise I’ll never lie to you again.”

 

Zeth nods, still unsmiling, still not displaying any of his usual arrogance. “Good. So admit it. You’re afraid of me getting bored of you.”

 

I hold my breath. I’m teetering on the brink; it seems as though this is a trap of some sort, and I guess in a way it is. Giving him this kind of information feels like giving him the upper hand. But fuck it. I’m so tired of dancing around things with him, not knowing what the hell is going on. This is all past due. “Yes.” My voice doesn’t shake. “I’m afraid of you getting bored of me. Before you brought Lacey to the hospital, you were clearly living a very different life to the one you’ve been living over the past few weeks. How long until screwing one chick isn’t enough for you? It’s basically a surprise every time I see you now. I suppose one day you’ll just stop coming, and that will be when. That will be when you’ve had enough. I’m assuming it’ll be soon.”

 

Zeth watches me as I say this. He doesn’t react. Doesn’t move an inch. When I’m finished, he sits up straight and turns away from me, looking out over the park before us. The thick silence that follows makes me feel like throwing up. But then he says, “I’ve never been looking for enough, Sloane. I’ve always been looking for less. And I’m tempted to walk away from this situation about fifty times a day because you’re more than that. You’re too much.”

 

My heart feels like it’s exploding in my chest. Too much? I feel absolutely ridiculous when my breath makes an audible choking sound in my throat. I’ve known it all along, but to hear him say it? It feels like I can’t breathe. “I’m not a psycho stalker, either, Zeth. I don’t want anything from you. I’m not gonna sit in my car outside your place in the pouring rain, listening to Depeche Mode, plotting ways of winning you over or something.” I get angry toward the end, feeling stupid, and my voice rises. I hate that he can make me feel like this. So worthless.

 

He lowers his head, tucking his chin into the collar of his jacket. He still doesn’t look at me. “That’s not what I meant, Sloane,” he says softly. “You’re not asking too much of me. You’re just too good for me.”

 

If I’d have been hit with a sledgehammer, I’d feel less surprised. He thinks…he seriously thinks that? “Zeth—”

 

Zeth doesn’t give me chance to question that. He stands abruptly, narrowing his eyes, though still not looking at me. “I’m going to wait for Lacey. I’ll swing by your place tonight. Gather some stuff together and be ready by eight.”