Page 6 of Dirty Delivery

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet sinking into the plush rug. My mind races as I try to make sense of it all. Why was Rylan at my house at midnight? How did I end up here? And what the hell does he have to do with all of this?

The door creaks open, and I freeze. My fists clench instinctively, ready for . . . something. But it’s Rylan who steps inside, holding two mugs of what I am hoping is coffee after the night I’ve had. He’s dressed casually, but there’s an edge to his movements like he’s bracing himself for a fight.

“Morning,” he says cautiously, his voice low.

“Where am I?” My voice comes out sharper than I intend, but I don’t care. “Whatis this place?”

“You’re at my house,” he says, setting one of the mugs on the nightstand. “You’re safe, Savannah. That’s what matters.”

“Safe?” I repeat, incredulously. I grip onto the covers and pull them up tight against my chin as if I am shielding my body from any potential threat. “I woke up in a stranger’s house wearing someone else’s clothes. Explain to me how any of this feels safe.”

Rylan sighs, setting his coffee mug on the end table, running a hand through his dark hair—the same hair I’ve often imagined tangling my fingers in while testing out my latest toys fromBoudoir Bliss. Shit. Focus, Savannah. Now is definitely not the time to get distracted.

“You passed out after . . . everything. I couldn’t leave you there. Your door was busted, and . . .” He hesitates, his jaw tightening.

“And what?” I demand. I shove to my feet. “Say it.”

“And there was a dead guy on the floor,” he says with a slight wince.

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. Dead. The man who attacked me is dead. My knees buckle, and I collapse back onto the bed. "Oh my God," I whisper, staring at the floor as the enormity of it sinks in. Dead.

Rylan moves closer to me into a crouch so we’re at eye level. His expression softens but the tension in his shoulders betrays the storm beneath his calm exterior. "It wasn’t intentional," he says, his voice steady, even. "I hit him to get him off you, but he fell . . . hard. He hit his head on something. It all happened so fast."

My breath catches, and I can barely find the words. "You didn’t mean to kill him?"

He shakes his head, his jaw clenches. "No. But it doesn’t change the fact he’s gone. What matters now is you’re safe. That’s all you need to focus on."

Safe. The word feels heavy, almost foreign. I hug my arms around myself, trying to find stability in the whirlwind of emotions. He’s right, but knowing that doesn’t make it any easier.

“Why were you even there?” I ask with a tremble in my voice. “Why were you anywhere near my house at midnight?”

He hesitates, his gaze shifting away from mine. “I . . . I drive by sometimes. Just to make sure you’re okay.”

“You what?” My voice rises, a mix of shock and confusion.

“Look, my family isn’t . . . normal,” he says, standing and pacing now. “And I know what kind of people they associate with. I’ve seen what happens to people who get caught in the crossfire. I didn’t want that to happen to you.”

I stare at him, trying to reconcile the cocky delivery guy I thought I knew with the man standing in front of me. He’s different. Serious. Maybe even a bit scared.

“You’re insane,” I finally say, shaking my head in an attempt to clear the frustration clouding my thoughts. “Completely insane.”

“Probably,” he agrees. A faint smirk tugs at his lips.

And somehow, despite everything, that smirk makes me feel a little better.

Chapter Six

Rylan

“Why are you a delivery driver if you clearly have money?” Savannah’s voice cuts through the silence like a knife. She paces the edge of the living room, her arms crossed and her glare practically boring a hole into me.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. Of course, she’s not going to let this go.

“It’s complicated,” I say, leaning against the arm of the couch. “I needed a way to . . . stay under the radar. Keep things simple.”

She stops pacing and turns to face me, her brows furrowed. “Simple? You live in a mansion, Rylan. You clearly have enoughmoney to—I don’t know—do literally anything else. So why this?”

“Because it works,” I snap; my frustration finally bubbles over. “It’s the perfect cover. No one questions the guy who drops off packages.”

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