Chapter 22
FINLEY
I barely kept my eyes open the entire ride to the studio. The Uber driver kept giving me the oddest looks, as though he was checking to make sure I wasn’t dying.
There was no way I was going back to sleep after Jayden’s and Elijah’s surprise. I was too wired, too excited, too much of everything good and wholesome to do anything except spend every second with them until they had to leave for training.
I check my phone for a reply from Summer. Every Thursday, she has a full-caff latte from the coffee shop a few doors down from the studio. Except, the past two weeks, she’s asked for half-caff, so…
My phone vibrates with a reply just as I’m walking through the coffee shop door. The place is busier than usual, and it takes me twice as long to leave with our order.
I’m juggling the coffee holder in one hand and a box of raspberry muffins along with my phone in the other when the door opens. I wait for the person to come through while replying to a text from Christina, but instead, they say, “After you.”
I freeze.
The voice.
The eyes.
My pulse punches into my ribs at the thin-lipped smile.
Ryker.
I pull away when he tries to coax me through the door and slip through the narrow gap, avoiding any physical touch.
The only thought in my head is get to the studio. Fast. I don’t know why he’s here—why he’s following me—but I only want to get away.
My heart hammers in my throat as I fumble with my phone, trying to pull up Summer’s number so she can open the studio door for me. I find every damn number except hers in my panicked scroll.
Shoot. Shoot, shoot, shoot… SHOOT!
Putting one foot in front of the other, I focus on jogging down the steps to the sidewalk without dropping the coffees.
“Finley,” Ryker calls after me. “Finley, wait!”
No way.
“I just want to talk to you.”
No.
“Let me explain,” he barks, grabbing my elbow.
“Leave me alone,” I snap, jerking out of his hold.
My heart stutters, surprised he actually lets me go. But he stays in step with me, talking and talking—even though his voice muffles under the thundering in my ears. My breath comes in gasps as I race up the steps toward the small sidewalk where the studio is located.
“It was a long time ago, and we were kids. You know? So it’s normal to… to… to like… experiment. You know what that’s like? Experimenting,” he adds with a chuckle that makes my skin crawl.
I spin to look at him. It doesn’t matter what he says—I know it’s a lie. That same icky feeling he gave me at the bar when he pretended not to know who I was creeps down my spine now.
With his brow cocked, Ryker takes another step closer. His mouth hooks to one side as his gaze drags down to my feet.
“That’s what you’re doing with the two of them, isn’t it?”
The two of them.
He swipes through his phone, scrolling for a beat before pausing and smirking at the screen—right before he turns it toward me.
What? How? Shoot.
“People think LA is this huge city. That you can hide away and sneak around…”
“Wha—what do you want?” I grind out, staring at the photo of Elijah, Jayden, and me at the market.
I’m wrapped up in Jayden while Elijah watches us. Raptly. Like we’re everything he’s ever wanted. Like we’re lovers—me and him. Me and Jayden.
Ryker zooms in further—to the edge of the table where their hands are. Their fingers touch. Not accidental. Not innocent. The tips of Elijah’s fingers rest over Jayden’s. Lingering.
“It’s actually quite a small place…” My gaze darts to his. “LA, I mean. It’s not as big as people think.”
“Whe—where did you—” I stop. He didn’t get this photo. Ryker took it. “Why are you following me? Us?”
“Listening really isn’t your strong suit,” he muses. “Didn’t we just discuss how small LA is?”
“No. No, it’s not. It’s not small. It’s… It’s…”
Elijah said he isn’t a good person. That he’s a liar. A manipulator.
Shaking off the fog of panic, I take a step back, gripping the coffees and muffin box tighter as I move around him and rush up the steps to the walkway in front of East of Chic. Summer has to be at the studio already—she’s always early on Thursdays, so we can skip the office on Fridays.
Shit. The door’s locked when I try it, and the sign still reads Closed.
My pulse jumps up several notches, hazing my vision as I look around—stranded outside the studio with Ryker-freaking-Hallman casually sauntering my way. Aside from the coffee shop patrons, Thursdays are always quiet around here.
I don’t think he’s going to physically hurt me, but that photo on his phone… it could hurt Elijah and Jayden.
Spinning to face him, I stuff the box of muffins under my arm and shove my hand into my purse, searching for the pepper spray Christina insisted I carry.
“Stop,” I snap when he comes closer. He doesn’t, and my hand fishes around the random contents of my purse frantically. “Go away. Leave me alone.”
“I’m trying to look out for you,” he retorts, holding his ground like he has every right to be there. “A nice girl like you doesn’t deserve to be led on and—”
“I told you to leave.”
“I’m trying to help you… to save you from him. He’ll fuck you up. It’s what he does, Finley-James.”
His hand brushes my shoulder just as a flash goes off to the side.
Before I can shake him off, the reporter is already running—camera in hand.
“Get off me!” I shove him back, crushing the coffees into his chest. “Stop stalking me!”
“Fuck,” he spits, leaping away and swatting at the hot liquid dripping down his torso. “Stupid bitch!”
All I can hear is Elijah’s growl beneath the pounding in my chest.
Liar. Manipulator. Piece of shit.
I hate him.
Uncontrollable hell pounds through me—my chest, my face, my whole body—as I watch Ryker shake himself off.
I hope it burns. That he’s hurting the way he hurt Elijah. My Elijah.
“You—you’re an asshole, and I ha—hate you. I hate you for everything you did to him and—” Even if I don’t know what it is. “—for all the lies you tell and… and…”
Rage scalds down my throat, choking me. Stinging behind my eyes when he takes another purposeful step forward.
“You think I’m the liar,” he scoffs, head tipping to the side, eyes narrowed. “Is that what pretty Eli told you?”
“You have five seconds before I call the cops,” I warn, resisting the urge to retreat. I know my only option is to hold my ground.
Ryker chuckles, lips curling over his teeth. “I warned him, too. To stand up to the bullies. I warned him, and he didn’t fucking listen. So he had it coming… ask Presley.” His sickly smile widens.
“Presley.” My heart stops.
“Oh, if you think you hate me—”
“Hey!” Summer hollers from the steps. She’s clutching her growing belly as she rushes to my side. “Get away from her!”
“I was just leaving,” Ryker retorts, raising his hands as he backs away in the opposite direction.
Summer’s hand finds mine, squeezing hard as we watch him disappear from sight.
“Oh my God, sweetie…” She hops in front of me, patting down my trembling arms. “Are you okay?”
“I… I’m… oh shoot! Your coffee. I spilled your coffee. I’m sorry, Summer.”
“Don’t you dare apologize. That guy was harassing you.” Tugging me toward the studio door, she sorts through her keys. “Fuck, you’re shaking.”
“He knew my name,” I murmur. “Finley-James.”
Summer bundles me inside before locking the door behind us. Like we’ve done since people found out I work here, she lowers the blinds across the front of the office.
“Breathe,” she tells me. “Try to relax. I can call the cops and—”
“No.”
“Oh—o—okay.” Summer moves a stack of files on my desk before perching herself on it, pulling a pack of baby wipes from her purse. “I never leave the house without a fresh pack. It’s a mom rule. Remember that when you get there.”
I smile faintly as I clean the sticky, milky coffee off my hands, then focus on the sleeve of my sweater dress, scrubbing furiously at the cream wool.
Ryker knew my name, and I don’t know how. Aside from Elijah, nobody else uses it out here. Maybe Jayden’s said it a couple of times, but…
“That guy,” Summer starts, brushing my hair from my face. “He looked familiar. Like the one from the bar. The one Alice kept pointing out.”
I nod. “Ryker Hallman. He’s also the guy from the article…”
“Alice was right—he’s a creep.” She heads to the kitchenette and starts up the Keurig. “This calls for caffeine and sugar.”
The sweet caramel scent fills the air, followed by a warm hint of chocolate.
“Donut Shop mocha latte for you,” she croons, placing a yellow, daisy-painted cup with a lilac F on it in front of me. “And a salty caramel latte for me… because I’m salty about the fact we’re not calling the cops right now.”
“I can’t.”
Her brows knit over her bright blue eyes. “Why? The asshole’s harassing you. He knows where you work—”
“Everyone knows where I work,” I say with a grimace.
“I hate the media.” With a sigh, she adds, “You looked scared, Finley.”
“I’m fine, Summer.”
“Well, motherfucker is being blacklisted from the bar…” she drawls, tapping out a message on her phone. “Right… freaking… now.”
She shows me the screen. Three dots appear beneath her message to her husband.
Summer
Ryker Hallman. Blacklist.
The dots vanish.
Parker
Done.
Do I need an alibi? Lawyer? Bail?
Summer cackles as soon as she reads it. “Crazy man,” she mutters, typing back—but before she can hit send, her phone rings. She answers while walking to her desk. “I said no, bossman. Stand down, Parker. No one is fucking with me.”
Giving her privacy, I head to the bathroom.
Even though I already know I’m not getting the coffee stains out of the delicate wool, I’m angry and frustrated enough to keep trying. My mind replays the conversation with Ryker—the photo, his words, that smarmy sneer when he spoke of Elijah…
You think I’m the liar.
Is that what pretty Eli told you?
I warned him, and he didn’t fucking listen.
So he had it coming… ask Presley.
I look in the mirror, adjusting my stained dress. Like every time I think of him, I find my gaze in the reflection and cringe.
Whoever said the eyes are the window to the soul was right. When I look into mine, I see it—the shadow of the glacial wickedness in my twin brother’s stare.
Presley.
I suck in a sharp breath, trying to calm the churn in my gut.
Nothing good ever comes from him. If the devil had a physical form, I believe it would be him.
That’s how I know—how I’m certain—that whatever Ryker was referring to, whatever he and Presley did to Elijah, it’s not just bad.
It’s monstrous.
And I don’t care how long it takes. I’m going to find out what it is.