Page 8 of Emmy's Ride

Once upon a time, I had wished for exactly that—for him to stand beside me, to choose me over the club, to put us first. To include me.

And when he hadn’t… I forced myself to accept it.

But now it felt different, and I didn’t trust it. Didn’t trust him. Didn’t trust myself. I stepped past him, my shoulder barely grazing his as I moved toward the door. “Let’s start with Mr. Goldberg. You don’t need to go. I can do it by myself. I don’t need a bodyguard.”

Austin didn’t try to stop me, but his words followed me.

“Too bad, Emmy,” he said. “You’ve got one.”

My steps carried me out of the apartment, my pulse was racing for all the wrong reasons. And that terrified me more than anything.

On the drive home, my mind worked overtime on why someone would trash Luke’s apartment. We’d come up blank with the neighbors. No one had seen or heard the break-in. But that wasn’t all that was on my mind. All too often, my thoughts went straight to Austin. How that man could get under my skin.

When I got home, I locked my door and leaned against it, exhaling slowly as I pressed my palms against the cool wood. My heart still pounded, the ghost of Austin’s voice lingering in my head.

Too bad. You’ve got one.

Damn him.

I shoved off the door and tossed my bag onto the kitchen counter, rolling my shoulders to shake off the tension. It didn’t work. My mind was still tangled up in the past, memories creeping in the moment I let my guard down.

I hadn’t seen Austin in years. Had spent all that time convincing myself I was over him. That I’d moved on.

But standing in that apartment, feeling his presence settle over me like a weight I couldn’t shrug off, I had to face the awful truth. I hadn’t moved on at all because no man had ever come close.

I let out a bitter laugh and walked to the fridge, pulling out a half-empty bottle of wine. No glass. I twisted the cap off and took a swig, welcoming the cool relief.

There had been others, of course. A few flings. One almost-relationship that had lasted six months before I ended it. I knew it was going nowhere. I felt bad about it because he was a really great guy. I could have been happy with him long-term, but I wanted more than just happiness. He deserved more than someone settling for him.

It took me years to understand why. No matter how good a man was, no matter how much sense we made on paper, none of them was Austin.

And in bed?

God help me, I’d tried to find someone who could match him. Someone who could push me to the edge the way he had. Someone who could wreck me. I squeezed my eyes shut, but it was too late. The memories hit me fast and hard.

The way he used to look at me across a crowded room, the heat in his gaze setting my blood on fire. The way he’d back me against a wall, his voice rough with need as he murmured in my ear, “You know how this ends, Em. So stop pretending you don’t want it.”

The way he could take me apart with nothing but his hands and that wicked, talented mouth. I braced my hands against the countertop, inhaling harsh breaths. He had ruined me for anyone else. The worst part was I had let him. I’d begged him even.

With a frustrated groan, I took another drink straight from the bottle and stalked to the couch. Flipping on the TV, I scrolled aimlessly, trying to find something—anything—to distract me from the ache in my chest.

Because I wasn’t going to do this. I wasn’t going to sit here and drown in memories of a man who had never been able to choose me the way I had once chosen him. I would not let Austin King do this to me again.

My phone buzzed, breaking through my thoughts. Frowning, I grabbed it off the coffee table and glanced at the screen.

Unknown Number.

I stared at the message, my pulse a steady but rapid thud in my ears.

Meet me at Juno’s Tavern. 10 PM.

No name. No explanation. But I knew. Luke… or someone who knew what happened to him.

My stomach twisted as I clutched the phone in my fist. It could be a trap. It could be nothing. But if there was even the smallest chance that it could lead me to my brother, I had to take it.

A voice in the back of my head whispered that I should call someone. But who?

The cops? They hadn’t done a damn thing when I reported Luke missing. The Kings? Austin?

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