Me: Emily’s in her room talking on the phone

Eli: We’ll be back tonight.

They’ve been gone for over two weeks. Longer than expected. It’s eaten Eli up to be gone this long from Emily. From what I understand, Cyrus is also close to losing his mind with the distance from Olivia, but business is booming with the security firm and we need the money to pay for Olivia’s treatments.

I pop the cap off another beer. This will be my last one for the evening. After two, I get my buzz on and I can’t buzz since I have a girl to protect.

Eli: Anything happen I need to know about?

I should tell Eli that Olivia gave Emily the picture, that Emily’s asking about Honeysuckle Ridge and that today she saw visual proof on a tree that her mother has been around the family more than Eli claims.

Emily saw her mother’s initials. She begged me for the truth and I walked away. An unseen wall divided us after so many layers had appeared to be peeled back. For a few minutes, I had connected with Emily and with three letters carved into a tree, that connection was shattered.

Fuck it. It was destroyed because I’m doing what needs to be done: keeping Emily in the dark. I take another deep swallow of beer. Why it bothers me that Emily withdrew, I don’t know. Attraction. That’s what’s between us. Just attraction.

Me: Emily scraped and bruised her leg today, but she’s fine

She’s fine. Fine enough to barely look at me when she went in to take a shower. Fine enough to eat dinner with Olivia and make conversation with her and not acknowledge me. She’s fucking fine without me.

Eli: We’ve run into trouble with the Riot over the past two weeks. Bad tonight. Keep vigilant. We’ve heard reports of the Riot 30 miles out. Too far south for them. I don’t like it.

This latest trouble with the Riot is news to me and the entire text causes me to pause.

A roar of motorcycles and the gun on my back radiates heat. The guys near the clubhouse spread out and it hits me that they aren’t visiting for shits and giggles. They’re here because we’re on the verge of nuclear warfare.

They’re here because Emily—the girl who has lit up my life like a fireworks show—is in danger.

And I’ve gotten lazy. Been so focused on getting to know her and on my problems with Olivia that I’ve lost sight of what could lay in wait for Emily in the shadows.

Me: No one will get past me to Emily

EMILY’S LIGHT FLIPS off. I pour out the rest of my beer on the ground, rise to my feet and then settle down on what’s been my bed night after night for the past few weeks: the bench outside of Emily’s window. Except tonight, I won’t be sleeping.

Eli: I’m counting on that

Emily

I JERK AWAKE and my heart pounds hard. At the end of the bed, Lars picks up his head and groggily assesses me as if I’m the one out of place. Stupid dog. “I didn’t invite you on the bed.”

He huffs and lays his snout on my ankles.

“There was a noise,” I say as if the dog could explain what ripped me out of a deep sleep.

The curtains near the window billow out in the strong wind and the fine hairs on my neck stand on end. I sit up and listen. The wind through the trees makes a noise similar to waves crashing along the beach and it’s an ominous sound.

It’s three in the morning. The witching hour. At least that’s what a friend of mine called it at a fifth grade slumber party. This is the time that the evil spirits of the world frolic and play. Should have thought of that weeks ago. Then maybe I would have stayed in the motel room and I’d be home in Florida.

Another powerful gust and a heavy vase on the dresser pitches over and rolls. Almost every window in this house is open and stuff is probably falling everywhere and banging to the floor.

I yank my feet out from underneath Lars’s head and slip onto the floor. The breeze is a blessing because of the heat, but a curse if I want to sleep. I ease across the floor to the window seat and set my fingers on the window to push it down.

Large clouds fly across the dark sky at unnatural speeds. As I go to close the window, a black form demands my attention and a rush of panic instantly paralyzes me. The shadow sitting on the bench outside the window inclines its head in my direction and I exhale in relief. It’s Oz. He looks me over and I wonder how much he can see.

My hair’s in a messy knot. Because I was hot, I stripped to my tank top and my boy shorts. Oz turns away from me, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. My eyes are drawn to the way the muscles in his arm flex with the movement and my mouth goes dry.

My lips part because I feel like I should say something. Maybe ask why he’s there or if he’s slept. To start some sort of conversation to return us to the easiness the two of us had shared before he caught me at the tree with my mother’s initials.

A bulge on his back along the edge of his jeans stops me from speaking. It’s shaped like a holster and a holster usually contains a... Oz glances over his shoulder at me again. I shut the window and the curtains collapse over the glass.

Adrenaline shoots through my veins. He has a gun. Oz has a gun. No, I was mistaken. It’s something else. Or maybe it’s not. I don’t know. I...just don’t know. Dad said I’m not in danger. I’m not. He wouldn’t lie to me. Everyone else might, but he wouldn’t.

It’s like ants are crawling on my skin and I can’t remain still. I pull on a pair of shorts and head for the bathroom. A cold washcloth should help with the heat and to clear my head.