Only to freeze at the sight that greets me.
The handcuffs are still hanging on the bed rail, but the part where Waylon’s left wrist should be encased sits on the unmade bed, the cuff open wide and empty. The Kindle I gave him lies on one of the pillows—but no Waylon.
And one glance at the open bathroom door tells me he’s not in there either. Or in the kitchen…..
He’s gone!
Waylon got out of his handcuffs somehow, and now he’s disappeared!
CHAPTER 12
He’s gone.
The biker whose name I only found out last night has disappeared.
Shock, panic, and a small but concentrated sense of regret clash inside my chest as I sink into the chair where I ate my last few dinners right across from him while he sat up in bed. Where did he go?
And why did he leave without saying goodbye?
The front doorknob suddenly rattles, jarring me from my thoughts.
Waylon!
I jump up, prepared to rush forward and open the door for him.
But then I realize he managed to escape from the bed I kept him chained to like an animal for days. How about if he didn’t come back to thank me for patching him up? And what if he’s not alone?
On second thought, I reverse course toward the storage closet where I hid all the knives.
But before I make it there, Waylon strolls in—easy peasy even though the door is designed to automatically lock as soon as I close it behind me. Like this is his apartment and always has been.
And does he offer an explanation about why he’s out of his handcuffs and walking around freely?
No, he just stands there and stares down at me, his expression thunderous.
Weirdly, I’m the one who has to break the silence.
“Hey, how did you get out…and back in here?”
“Ain’t that many locks out there that can keep me out and this building’s old.” He shrugs like breaking and entering are no big deal—just like shedding a pair of handcuffs.
Realizing I have no answer for that statement, I ask, “Where were you?”
Another shrug. “I wasn’t sure you’d remember to bring condoms back with you, so I decided to take care of it myself. Wasn’t expecting to find you hugged up with another guy when I came back around the corner.”
My eyes widen. “You saw me with Jonathan.”
“I saw him put his arms around you,” Waylon answers, his voice barely level. “I saw him kiss you…."
“Wait…” I start to assure him that Jonathan never made it all the way to my lips before I pulled back.
But then, indignation finally catches up to stop me from defending myself to the guy I owe zero explanations.
“You shouldn’t have done that. You shouldn’t have broken out of my apartment to get condoms I didn’t agree to use. And you definitely shouldn’t have been spying on me!”
He just looks down at me, that dry-ice gaze of his burning me everywhere.
I tremble inside. The way he’s staring at me—not from the bed, but standing up. Even in sweatpants, he reads exactly like what he is.
A criminal. He hums with danger.
“Why did you come home?” His voice is low and vicious. “Why aren’t you with him now?”
I blink. I’d been expecting some kind of defense from him. Not questions. “What?”
“Why did you come back?” Waylon demands, sneering down at me. “Why aren’t you at his place right now with his fingers in your wet pussy?”
“Are you really trying to shame me?” I yell back at him. “Just for talking to another guy? I don’t belong to you, Waylon. I can talk to whoever I like.”
He stills. Then tilts his head to the side, like an animal who’s caught a scent. “What did you just say to me?”
I swallow. Scared. More scared of one man than I’ve ever been in my brother’s house full of gangsters.
But I say it again. Because it’s true, and he has to understand. “I don’t belong to you.”
He regards me for a long, hard beat, then strides forward.
It takes everything inside of me to stand my ground. I can’t cower. Not with someone like him. It’s better to let him slam into me than to let him know I’m scared.
But I don’t end up having to stand my ground after all. He pushes past me, climbs into the bed, sets the brown package on top of the nightstand, and….
Refastens the empty handcuff around his wrist.
I blink. Several times. It’s like watching a tiger voluntarily return to his cage and close the door himself. “What…? What are you doing?”
“It’s time for another lesson.”
His declaration stops my heart. He has no power here. But my breath freezes inside my lungs.
I shake my head, not understanding. “What? No. We’re not going to….”
“First rule: always do what I say. No backtalk. Come here.”
I recover my reason enough to reply, “That first rule is crazy. I’m not going to just give in because you said so.”