Chapter 27 Mara #2
I pause by the door and crack it open an inch, peering into the hallway—dim and empty.
Most of the household staff have likely retired for the night.
Downstairs I can hear the faint murmur of Dad’s voice—probably on a call in his study—and the clink of dishes as the housekeeper, Rosa, tidies up from dinner.
No sign of security in the hall, but I know there are at least two guards doing rounds outside, and one stationed by the front entry.
My best bet is the garage—Milo’s second car.
I ease out of my room, keeping to the carpet runner to muffle my steps.
The house is silent enough that I swear I can hear my own heartbeat.
At the top of the staircase I pause, listening.
Dad’s voice carries from behind his closed office door downstairs, but no one else seems around.
I creep down the back stairs toward the garage, sticking to the shadows.
In the small alcove by the garage entrance, I spot exactly what I need: Milo’s keys, dangling from the decorative hook where he always leaves them.
Bless my careless brother. I snatch the keys and press the button to unlock the garage door.
With a soft mechanical whir, it opens, revealing the sleek midnight-blue Mercedes inside.
The car gleams under the low light—a curved, predatory shape just waiting to roar.
My pulse thrums in my ears as I slip into the driver’s seat. The leather hugs me like a glove, and I run my fingers over the steering wheel, the silver Mercedes emblem catching a glint of light. Here goes nothing.
I push the start button, and the engine purrs to life, quiet and smooth—too quiet. I was expecting a roar that would surely alert the whole house. But of course, high-end engineering has its perks. This beast could probably do 90 mph and still sound like a contented cat.
I press the button to open the outer garage door. It begins to lift, revealing a slice of the driveway and the iron gates beyond. Beyond those gates: freedom. Or something like it.
Easing the car into drive, I roll out onto the driveway.
The dashboard clock reads 11:42 p.m.—right on schedule.
My stomach does a nervous flip as I approach the gate.
One guard stands at the security booth, illuminated by a pool of light.
I can see the outline of his firearm at his hip, the radio on his shoulder.
My fingers tighten on the steering wheel.
With a metallic groan, the iron gates swing open.
I lift a hand in a casual wave and roll through.
The moment I’m past the threshold, I have to fight the urge to floor the gas.
Instead, I accelerate gently down the tree-lined drive that leads away from the house, keeping my speed in check until I’m well beyond the perimeter.
As soon as our estate disappears from my rearview mirror, a wild laugh escapes me.
I can’t believe I just pulled that off. The thrill of it buzzes through my veins—part fear, part exhilaration.
I half expect to see flashing lights of a security SUV chasing after me, but the road remains dark and empty.
I’m free. At least, for now.
I push my foot down on the accelerator. The Mercedes responds with a burst of power, engine humming smoothly as the speedometer climbs. The suburbs blur past me.
Dad would blow a gasket if he knew. I clench the wheel, my knuckles white. There’s no turning back now; I’ll deal with the fallout later. Right now, a more pressing question looms: What am I walking into tonight?
I know the general area—a wealthy neighborhood not far from campus, known for its oversized modern homes and high walls.
Why would Dredyn and the others have a house there?
Is it one of their family estates, or some Syndicate safehouse?
The Syndicate seems to have their hands in everything.
For all I know, they own half the properties in this city.
My gut twists at that thought. If the Syndicate’s involved . . . But Dad said they weren’t behind the murders. And I want to believe him, even if something about it feels off. Regardless, I doubt Dredyn would lure me into a trap. If they wanted to hurt me, they’ve had opportunities before.
No one forced me to press down on this gas pedal. No one forced the excited tremor in my chest when I imagined seeing the guys again. This is my choice, for better or worse.
Twenty-five minutes of tense, speeding, night driving later, I turn onto Westbrook Drive.
The houses here are monsters, each one hiding behind tall gates or manicured hedges.
My navigation app announces I’ve arrived at number 427 just as I roll up to a sleek black gate adorned with minimalist silver numbers: 427.
There’s no keypad or intercom that I can see.
But before I can panic about how to get in, the gate begins to open on its own, an automatic smooth glide.
I swallow, guiding the Mercedes through.
A long, curving driveway leads to a house set back from the road, partially concealed by towering oak trees.
What I can see of the structure is strikingly modern—sharp angles, floor-to-ceiling glass walls, and soft exterior lighting that highlights the clean architectural lines.
Whoever owns this place must be loaded. Perhaps one of Dredyn’s friends? Or one of the brothers I haven’t met yet?
I park the car behind a matte-black Audi and kill the engine.
Silence descends, and with it, a wave of nerves.
My bravado from the drive over starts to falter as I sit there in the quiet, staring at the house.
A light is on near what looks like the front entrance—a tall glass door framed by stone. They know I’m here.
My heart gives a traitorous thump. Why am I suddenly terrified?
I’m about to walk into a house, alone, with the three of them, and I barely have a clue what I’m doing.
This was a bad idea. The thought flashes and for a second I consider reversing out and speeding away.
I could go back home and pretend this never happened.
But where would that leave me? Right back in my satin-trimmed cage, aching with regrets and what-ifs. No. I didn’t risk all this just to chicken out in the driveway.
I force myself to get out of the car. The night air is cool on my flushed skin. Pulling my hoodie tighter around me, I approach the front door. My reflection in the glass is faint, just a pale oval of a face and dark hair in a messy tumble around my shoulders. I look as strung-out as I feel.
Before I can raise a hand to knock, the door swings open. I step back reflexively, my pulse jumping.
Dredyn.
He fills the wide doorway with his presence, and for a second I forget how to breathe.
He’s in black jeans and a snug charcoal T-shirt that clings to the contours of his chest and arms. His dark hair is a touch disheveled, like he’s been running his hands through it anxiously—or impatiently.
Those stormy gray eyes lock onto me, bright and intense in the low light.
A slow, unmistakable smile curves his lips, equal parts relief and triumph.
“You actually came,” Dredyn says, voice low and a little incredulous.
I bristle, trying to hide how my stomach just flipped at the sound of his voice. I cross my arms over my chest. “Don’t let it go to your head,” I reply, aiming for blasé, but it comes out a bit shaky.
He steps over the threshold toward me, and suddenly I’m very aware of how tall he is, how small I feel in his shadow.
My heart kicks up its pace. The last time we were this close .
. . Well, my memory supplies an array of sensations that make heat creep up my neck.
I clench my hands into fists at my sides to keep steady.
Dredyn’s gaze drags over me. “Do you have any idea how—” he starts, but then he just huffs and moves.
Before I know what’s happening, his strong arms swoop down and lift me clear off the ground.
“Hey!” I yelp, legs kicking instinctively.
In one swift motion, Dredyn hauls me up over his shoulder.
The breath whooshes out of me in surprise, my view suddenly one of broad shoulders and his back instead of his face.
My hair falls in a curtain, and I push it out of my eyes, squirming. “Dredyn! Put me down!”
He’s already striding inside, one arm locked firmly around the backs of my thighs to keep me from wriggling free. He kicks the front door shut behind us with a solid thud.
“Not a chance, Polly Pocket,” he growls, but I hear the relief under the tease in his voice. “You took your sweet time coming home.”
The nickname is drenched in sarcasm and something oddly affectionate.
I’d take more offense if his shoulder wasn’t currently digging into my abdomen.
I thump a fist against his back, heat flooding my face both from the sudden blood rush of being upside down and from his insinuation that this place—he—is home.
“I only came because— because I had questions,” I lie breathlessly.
It’s the excuse I’ve told myself the whole drive over—that I need answers he might have.
That this is about information, not… whatever magnetic thing sparks between us.
“Mhmm.” I can practically hear the smug grin on his face. Dredyn carries me down a hallway, moving deeper into the house with confident strides. “We’ll get to your questions later.”
I open my mouth to retort, but my protest dies on my tongue as I catch sight of our reflection in a large mirror on the wall, Dredyn’s tall, muscular frame carrying me slung over his shoulder like I truly am some wayward damsel.
It’s ridiculous… and yet the image sends a strange thrill through me.
Part of me wants to keep fighting him, to demand he put me down right this instant.
Another part—a secret, shameful part—likes this display of possessive strength.
It drowns out the constant fear in my head, replacing it with pounding blood and a wild heat.
I settle for a half-hearted wriggle. “You’re being a caveman,” I grumble, trying to sound annoyed.
Dredyn’s hand slides up from my thighs to briefly squeeze my waist, holding me firmly in place. “You need some more insults. You’ve used that one before.”
He carries me through a doorway into a softly-lit room that looks like a luxurious living area—sleek leather sofas, modern art on the walls, floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the moonlit lawn outside.
The door clicks shut behind us, cocooning us in a hush.
Finally, Dredyn eases me down off his shoulder, sliding my body along his front until my feet touch the cool wooden floor.
We stand there for a moment, just inches apart.
I’m breathless from the manhandling and the adrenaline of the escape, and maybe from being pressed against his solid body.
Dredyn hasn’t let go. His hands rest on my hips, holding me steady as I regain balance.
My palms ended up against his chest in reflex, and I can feel the rapid thud of his heart beneath the soft cotton of his shirt. It’s racing as fast as mine.
Our eyes meet. The air between us feels charged, heavy with everything we’re not saying. I should step away. I should yell at him for the caveman routine, demand those answers I pretended were my reason for coming, but I don’t move.
I just stare up into Dredyn’s face—the face I’ve been trying so hard to banish from my mind.
His dark brows are drawn, concern flickering over his expression even as he tries to smirk.
He lifts a hand to my cheek, brushing back a strand of my hair that’s fallen forward.
The gentle touch sends a lightning bolt of warmth through me.
“You’re okay,” he murmurs, almost to himself, and there’s a raw undertone to his voice.
I realize then—he was worried. Maybe he still is.
Something in my chest softens, even as I bristle outwardly. “Of course I’m okay,” I snap, attempting to reclaim my bravado. “Although, it’s a little hard to stay that way with you slinging me around like a sack of flour.”
His lips twitch, that ghost of a grin returning. “You’re far more precious than flour, Mara.”
I huff, not trusting myself to speak without betraying the stupid smile threatening to tug at my mouth.
I fold my arms over my chest, trying for nonchalance to mask the whirlwind inside me. “Well, I’m here,” I say quietly. “Now what?”
Dredyn’s eyes shine with a mix of hunger and reassurance as he steps closer once more, his voice low and sure. “Now,” he says, “you’re not going anywhere.”
He’s right. At this moment, I’m not going anywhere. Despite all my promises to myself, despite my guilt and my better judgment, I’m here with Dredyn. And the most dangerous truth of all? A part of me is undeniably, deliriously happy to be home.