The blisters on my feet were beginning to swell as darkness washed over the shore. I’d reached the other end of the town, stopping by the marina where the boats were docked. I had to take off my boots and limp the rest of the way. The wood was cool and soothing against my aching feet. I stopped by a small, white, and rusty houseboat floating next to the deck calmly, like it didn’t have a care in the world, just like its owner.

I realized I hadn’t called him before my arrival, again, making the same mistake I had with Trent.

But Bane wasn’t Trent. Bane was a friend. In fact, we’d never been losers. Neither of us could destroy the other person.

I climbed aboard his boat and knocked on his door. He opened, shirtless, a girl and a guy—both half-naked—sitting on his bed. His blond hair was shaggy and his eyes were red from smoking.

“I need you,” I croaked, feeling the tears in my eyes again.

Bane nodded solemnly, not taking a breath before he instructed, “Craig, Shea, get your asses out of here.”

I collapsed into his arms. He held me together loosely, like the safety pins on my backpack, making me feel no less forlorn than I did when I got on his boat.

Then, my only friend in the world clutched me close to his chest and whispered into my ear, “I told you so.”

SAYING I DIDN’T WANT VAL there was the understatement of the fucking decade.

Problem was I had zero choice.

I got home at six, fully intending to change into some workout clothes and go downstairs to the gym to let out some steam after Edie had walked into her father’s office with the flash drive holding all of my ammo, but I had a surprise waiting for me at the door.

Fucking Valenciana Vasquez, leaning against a wall, looking twenty shades of sex-on-red heels, and of course, it did nothing for me.

“Trent.” She batted her eyelashes, a venom-glazed siren. “Long time no see.”

I walked right past her, jamming my keys to the hole. “Hey, you heard no complaints from me.” My jaw ticked once. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

She braced herself against the wall, probably overwhelmed by my underwhelming reaction. If she was expecting tears, shouts, and ‘we’ve been waiting for you’ Hallmark card sentiments, she was deeply mistaken. Luna was mine. Mine to love, mine to raise, mine to fix. Val just presented a complication to me, and I was going to eliminate it, nip it in the bud before she could say Jack-fucking-Robinson.

“I’m here for my daughter, of course.” She scoffed, slithering in my direction and sneaking through the door I’d opened.

“What in the good fuck do you think you’re doing?” I asked when her shoulder brushed the doorframe. I blocked her way with my body, turning around and making sure she had no room to slide between my arms.

She blinked away her shock at my steel voice. When Valenciana found out she was pregnant with Luna, she’d asked for five hundred grand to make the pregnancy go away. It had been borderline cute, how she’d thought she could blackmail me. My answer to her had been—go ahead, sweetheart. Have my kid. Money wasn’t the issue—I could pay her off with little to no effect on my lifestyle. But having an abortion on my dime was out of the question. It was different if it came from her. But since she’d given the choice to me, I chose not to choose. Simple.

So she’d had Luna. Then she’d walked away from us.

And now she’d come back.

If she thought she could do so without an explanation and declaration of intention, she had another thing coming.

“I’m trying to get in so we can talk.” She stomped her heel.

“Luna is going to be here any second now from dance class. She can’t see you.” Each of my words dripped ice, so I wasn’t surprised to see her shiver.

“Who took her?”

Is she a dancer? What is she like? Does she have any other hobbies? So many questions she could have asked. Of course, that would require her to give minimum of two shits about her Luna.

“None of your business. You wanna talk about my daughter, we do it somewhere else. My office. A coffee shop. In another fucking state. No matter where it’ll be, you won’t get access to her until I figure out your angle. Now go.”

“Trent…” Val glided her way to me, hell on heels, her palm on my chest. I threw it off, giving her a piercing look. She swallowed, batting her lashes. “I flew all the way from Georgia,” she whispered.

I started laughing, about to give her a piece of my mind, when the elevator slid open and Luna and Camila walked out. Camila was holding Luna’s backpack, while my daughter bounced on her steps—something she’d started doing ever since Edie had come into our lives—and awarded me with a smile that melted quickly when she realized I wasn’t alone.