He hated everything that had to do with the Hill. He was from the streets, an ex-con, a thief, and there was no doubt he was up to his eyeballs in Race’s criminal enterprise. Shane Baxter had a reputation in these parts that was as legendary as the man who sired him. The man he and Race had taken down. They were not the kind of guys you wanted to mess with, but I really liked Dovie, so I braved the shark-filled waters she swam in to keep her in my life and call her my bestie.

I twisted my phone around and sent her a message:

Saw Race at the party tonight.

It took a few minutes for her to answer back.

What was he doing there?

He said working.

I bet.

I rolled my eyes a little at what was construed as “work” for him and typed out:

Someone had a gun and fired off shots inside. Race got me out but took off because of the police.

I was still pretty steamed about it, and still heated from the inside out by that kiss. Why did he have to taste so good, feel so right, yet be so wrong?

She answered back in a matter-of-fact way only someone firmly immersed in the Point could do:

He can’t risk messing around with the police. No one from here really can. I’m not surprised he took off. Is everyone okay?

Fine. Everyone was fine.

I wasn’t fine. Having an idea that someone was a criminal, that they might not be on the up-and-up, was something entirely different from having the proof right in front of your face. I didn’t understand that world, didn’t want to understand it, therefore, no matter how hot he was, how much he pulled me out of the monotony of my day-to-day life, Race Hartman would never be the guy for me, and that made things deep inside me burn.

Dovie and I chitchatted some more. Me about nothing in particular, and her about the guys. Bax scared me so much I was nervous and anxious around him, and I think Dovie tried to make him more human, more likable in my eyes, to offset that. And Race . . . well, he spun me around and it took every effort I could make to pretend disinterest instead of rabid curiosity every time she mentioned something about him. It was getting harder and harder to do.

I told her good night and sent a message to my sister to tell her good night as well. Karsen was a good egg, a kid who deserved to make it out of this house unscathed and unscarred from the state the Carters were currently in. She was a small little thing, with the same pale hair I had, but our mom’s brown eyes instead of Dad’s blue like I had. She was as sweet as could be, and when she shot back a smiley face, I finally settled into my routine for the night.

It was while I washed my face and climbed into the shower that I could finally admit that I was lonely, that I was sad, that I was overwhelmed with all the things I was feeling and the battle of always keeping the things churning inside me in check. In the shower I could cry and no one could tell. This wasn’t the life I wanted. This wasn’t where I thought I would be at twenty-one, but I had to adapt, had to change in order to do what was best for everyone, and that was just the way it was going to be. I didn’t have any choice in the matter.

I toweled off, ran a brush through my hair, and climbed into a pair of yoga pants and a tank to sleep in. The adrenaline from everything started to leach out of my system and I finally got to fall onto the mattress face-first. I was letting my eyes drift shut, trying really hard not to relive every flick of Race’s tongue, every scrape of teeth, when my phone lit up with a new message. It was late, and the only person I thought it could be was Karsen, so I bolted upright and swiped a finger over the screen.

It wasn’t from Karsen. It wasn’t from a number I recognized at all. It was five words, no big deal, but the rock that settled in my stomach when I read them told me something was off.

You looked so pretty tonight.

I just stared for a second before answering back.

Who is this?

So sorry I missed you.

What in the hell was that supposed to mean? I asked who it was again, and when I didn’t get a response, I just switched off my phone and tossed it back on the nightstand. I sat there in the dark for a long moment with my pulse thrumming hard and a creepy sense of unease making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I shivered before lying back down on the bed and pulling the covers all the way up over the top of my head.

Talking about “missing” someone when gunshots had been going off wasn’t funny, and I was raw enough not to like it one little bit. I closed my eyes and my brain started to question why exactly Race had pulled me out the back of the house when everyone else had been stampeding toward the front door.

This is why I didn’t have time for a guy like Race. If he had been anyone else, his motivations would have never even been in question. And what had he meant by “you’re the only one I’m worried about”? It was just because he wanted me, liked to play games with me because I was a challenge. But that was it . . . right?