Page 9 of Dirty Delivery

She leans forward, lowering her voice like she’s sharing a secret. “You’ve got to understand, love, Rylan’s been through things that’d twist most people up for good. He’s careful with what he shares. But if he brought you here, it’s because he thinks you’re worth protecting.”

I blink at her words. The weight of them settles in my chest as if Rylan’s delivery truck has parked itself on my ribcage. “Protecting me from what?”

Noreen straightens, her smile softening. “From whatever he thinks might hurt you. And trust me, he knows danger when he sees it.”

Her words stir something in me—confusion, frustration, maybe even a hint of guilt. I glance down at my hands. “He’s . . . frustrating,” I admit quietly.

She chuckles again, patting my knee. “That he is, love. But he’s loyal to a fault. Give him time. You might find he’s got more to him than you think.”

I don’t know what to say, so I just nod. Noreen rises, smoothing her apron and giving me one last kind smile. “If you ever get lost again, just follow the sound of the humming. I’ll point you in the right direction.”

“Thanks, Noreen,” I whisper softly.

She leaves me with a quiet hum, the sound lingering as I make my way back into the hall. Her words echo in my mind, and for the first time since I arrived, the house feels a little less intimidating.

Chapter Eight

Savannah

I march back to the guest room, my fists clenched at my sides. Noreen’s words still swirl in my head, but they don’t make me any less angry. Loyal? Protecting me? Rylan hasn’t even told me why I’m here, let alone why I should trust him.

The solid oak door slams shut with more force than I intended,the sound reverberates through the hallway as it rattles in its frame. My entire body feels like a coiled spring, every muscle taut, braced as though expecting a fight to erupt at any moment. My pulse pounds in my ears, so loud and frantic I wouldn’t be surprised if Noreen could hear it from wherever she is.

Gritting my teeth, I press my palms hard against my temples, the pressure sharp but grounding as I struggle to steady my breathing. I need to calm down, to get control of the storm brewing inside me. Letting this anger consume me won’t solve anything.

I inhale deeply, the air feeling too thin, too sharp, and make my decision. Staying here isn’t an option.

I need to leave. Now.

I scan the room, looking for anything that might help me get out of this ridiculous situation. My options are limited—no phone, no car, no clue where I even am. The mansion might as well be a fortress, and the thought makes my chest tighten.

The sharp knock on the door pulls me from my spiraling thoughts. Before I can say anything, Rylan steps in, his expression hard and unreadable.

“You can’t just walk in here,” I snap, my frustration boiling over.

“I don’t need permission to walk into my own house,” he replies, shutting the door behind him.

The audacity of this man.

“This isn’t a house; it’s a prison,” I spit, crossing my arms. “And you’re the warden.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t take the bait. “It’s for your safety, Savannah. You need to understand that.”

“What I need,” I say, stepping closer, “is to know what the hell is going on. Why am I here? Why won’t you let me leave? And what are you so afraid of?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he says, practically growing at me.

“Try me,” I challenge, holding his gaze.

He takes a step closer, and I immediately regret my bravado. There’s something about the way he moves—calm, deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey.

“You’re safer here,” he says, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “Out there, you’re a target.”

“A target?” I repeat, my heart pounding. “Why? Because some creep tried to assault me? That’s not exactly unique, Rylan.”

His eyes darken, and he’s suddenly much too close. His nearness is as intimidating as it is comforting. “It’s not just about him. There are people who would hurt you to get to me.”

“Why?” I demand, but my voice wavers. His intensity suffocates me, his proximity electric.

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