Page 46 of Wild Night

What is time to myself? I don’t think I’ve ever had anything like that before. My entire life, every minute of every day, has been me surviving and sometimes even thriving from chaos. Though less on the thriving part and more on the surviving.

“What is going to happen to Lucian?” I ask.

“Do you care?” Monty quips, almost too quickly, as if he were anticipating the question.

I shift my eyes down to my running shoes, then slowly lift them back up to meet his. “I don’t know if I truly care. I guess it’s more curiosity and if I need to worry about him coming after me again. I know he imagined this whole thing going much differently, and I’m afraid he’ll retaliate again.”

As I say those words, I lift my fingers to my sore throat and gently glide them down, stopping at my collarbone. Monty’s nostrils flare, and I drop my hand completely. I thought he’d already seen that, and it was what he was talking about when he said I needed to heal.

“Do not worry about him, Posey. Not today, not ever again. Lucian Whitmore is nothing but a bad memory. Take your pretty red car, your jewels, and the money I’m going to deposit in your account and leave this place. Leave it behind you and maybe send old Monty a Christmas card every year so I know you’re safe and well.”

Tears well in my eyes again. I wasn’t expecting that, not a single word of it. Swallowing those tears, I close the distance between me and Monty, and this time, I initiate the hug.

“Thank you, Monty. I don’t deserve your kindness or your generosity,” I say on an exhaled breath.

He wraps his fingers around my biceps, firmly yet so gently, that I almost don’t realize he’s holding me until he shifts me backward slightly. He looks down into my eyes, searching them with his own.

“You don’t deserve the shit that was handed to you, Posey. You’ve tried your hardest to rise from what life gave you, and I won’t let a piece of shit like Lucian slap you back down if I can do something to help you. Like I said, all I require is a Christmas card.”

My lips curve upward, trembling. “Then a Christmas card is what you’ll get,” I whisper. “Maybe a summer salutation card as well.”

This earns me a chuckle, but before I can say anything else, I’m spun around and brought face to face with one of the men who dragged Ranae away. “Ready?” he asks.

“Take her to her place so she can pack her personal items, then to the safe house, where there will be a Vicious Reaper to take over.”

“Will do, boss.”

And that is that. The man doesn’t tell me his name, and I don’t ask. I follow him, no longer with the urge to run. He does exactly as Monty requires of him. He takes me to my place, waits patiently while I pack a bag, then drives me well into town to an older neighborhood, where he stops in front of a house that is seemingly a family home like all of the others.

I watch as he turns the car off and begins to unload my bag. I unfold from the front seat, and my breath hitches when I see the bike in the driveway. Instantly, I hope that it’s Ivy’s, but upon closer inspection, I know it’s not.

Following behind the guard, I stop as he extends his arm, his index finger out, and touches the doorbell. I hope that whatever turn my life is about to take is a good one… maybe even the best one. I could use a win.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

IVY

My phone rings.Groaning, I roll over and grab it from my nightstand, opening my eyes to check who is calling. The screen is so fucking blurry that I can’t make out the name, so I just slide my thumb across the screen and hold it to my ear, hoping it’s actually a call I want to take.

I cannot continue to fucking drink like I have been. I can’t even focus on a damn phone screen.

“Ivy,” I growl.

“We made it,” Shocker states on the other end of the line.

Sitting up, I lift my hand to my forehead and groan as the room spins. I feel lightheaded and heavy-headed simultaneously. I’m a fucking disaster, and I need to detox. He doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he clears his throat as he waits for me to get my shit together.

I do—barely.

“But?” I ask.

Shocker chuckles before he continues. “You knew there was a but, and there is,” he says.

I don’t respond, knowing that I need to use every brain cell that is somewhat functioning and sober to soak in and understand his words.

“They won’t let us talk to her. They have her at a safe house.”

“Who?” I demand in a growl.

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