She’s vanished from my life completely.

The only reason I haven’t freaked out and filed a missing person’s report is because I’ve talked to Jason. Well, screamed at him is more like it. Apparently, after Annie left my apartment last week, she gave Jason the old heave-ho and packed her bags. She boarded a plane to her parents’ home and took off for West Virginia that very night.

Good for her. She finally did what I’ve hoped she’d do for ages.

Of course, Jason is blaming their break up on me. He thinks I threw him under the bus because of my extreme hatred of him. I choose to let him believe that. The truth is¸ I might hate him, but Annie is in love with him. I would never hurt her to get to him. Although I’d hate to see them get back together, there’s no denying a small part of me hopes that maybe this will be the catalyst he needs to change his wicked ways, though I highly doubt it.

Jason’s the least of my concern. The only person I’m worried about is Annie, and as far as I know, she’s in a good place right now. Lord knows, I wish I had my parents around to fall back on when I’m feeling my worst. Like now.

Sometimes, I think about what they might say to me. I imagine my dad’s soothing baritone, the way my mother’s fingers used to comb through my hair, tickling my scalp. The unique scent they seemed to carry with them wherever they went. To this day, whenever I smell patchouli, I think of Dad.

I’m half sitting, half lying down in bed, an open bag of Cheetos next to me and a two liter of Pepsi propped up between my bent knees. With only work to occupy my nights, this could quickly become a pattern for my days. Running used to be something I looked forward to doing every morning, but now it sounds like such a chore. Watching morning chat shows and binging on junk food is far more appealing.

I’m absorbed in a segment about wearing heels while cleaning the house as a way to firm your butt cheeks, when I hear someone knocking on the front door. It’s a rapid, persistent knock that demands immediate attention. Grumbling, I transfer my snacks to the bedside table and shuffle into the living room to answer it.

I’m still licking the orange Cheetos dust from my fingers when I open the door. Ransom—or Rebel—stands on the other side of it. His neutral expression flickers with a hint of amusement when he takes in my disheveled state, but it’s gone so fast it’s hard to be sure it ever existed.

Gripping the door, I cock my hip out and lift an impatient brow—a signal for him to spit out whatever he came to say.

He doesn’t waste another moment. “I’ve given you time to sort through whatever dysfunction you’re dealing with,” he snipes. “Time’s up.”

Instantly, I recognize the pushy man before me. Stepping back, I sweep my arm out, allowing him entry. “Rebel, so nice of you to pop by unannounced. How exactly do you know where I live again?”

“I have my ways.”

I take his cryptic answer to mean he either dragged it out of Ransom, or he followed me home from work one night. Either is a fair guess. I’m learning that when these Scott men want something, they’ll go to any lengths to get it.

Rebel’s dressed in a sharp pair of black slacks and an expensive thin navy sweater that hints at every bump and groove of his muscled torso. It’s the perfect mix of business casual I’ve come to love on him and he wears it better than any man I’ve ever met.

Hands shoved deep in his pockets, Rebel visually inspects my place. I don’t imagine it amounts to much in his eyes, considering his own lap of luxury. Mine is also a hell of a lot dirtier, considering I haven’t had much incentive to clean lately.

“Did you have a reason for being here, or are you just curious to see how the other half lives?” I remark. The caustic tone in my voice isn’t purposeful, it just comes naturally.

“The other half?” He turns to look at me, his expression blank. “Having money hasn’t turned me into an asshole who looks down his nose at college grads, Josephine.”

“Oh, it must come naturally then.” I smirk as I walk past him and drop down into a chair. Today I’m all out of give-a-fucks, so I cut right to the chase. “I’ll ask you again, why are you here?”

Edging past the coffee table, Rebel seats himself on the edge of it, directly in front of me. Resting his elbows on his knees, he leans forward, his wide shoulders bunching around his ears. “You walked out on me,” he starts, his voice a low growl. “No goodbye, no see ya later. Just walked out the door.”

“I did,” I say with a nod of agreement. And I would do it again. “You seemed to have lost interest, so I went home.”

“Lost interest? Hardly.”

I roll my eyes, remembering the vision of Red kneeling between his open thighs. “If that’s true, where have you been all week? I haven’t seen you lurking around the club lately.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks. “I was out of town on business.”

How gloriously convenient for him. “With Florence Nightingale?” I presume.

His brows pinch together in confusion. “What does Florence have to do with anything?”

I give a bored shrug. “I just figured after that amazing blow job, you might have found yourself a traveling companion.”

“I have no idea what you’re rambling on about. I haven’t seen her in weeks.”

Vaulting from my seat, I point my finger in his surprised face. “You’re a damn liar! I saw you two with my own eyes.”

Surging to his feet, Rebel glares down at me, his expression equally filled with rage. “Then you need glasses because, babe, you didn’t see shit!”

“Don’t call me that. You lost that right when you decided to invite her over and have sex with her while I was sleeping in the next room.”

“You’re fucking crazy. That never happened,” he seethes, his face mottled red.

“I know what I saw! You were drunk off your ass and she was right there, sucking your dick for anyone to see. You didn’t even bother to wait ‘til I was gone.” Emotion surges into my chest and throat so fast I nearly choke on it. Breathing heavily, I try to regain some form of control.

Rebel’s expression is pinched tight with confusion and outrage. If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost say he was telling the truth. Almost. But I trust my eyes far more than I trust his word.

“I was drinking, yes,” he says slowly, visibly working to keep his tone level. “But I never—never—invited anyone over, least of all her. What reason would I have to do that?”

I fold my arms over my chest, glaring up at him. “Maybe because you completely overreacted to the situation and wanted to punish me?”

“I admit,” he says, his large hand patting the air between us, “I can be a little hotheaded sometimes, but I still wouldn’t have done what you’re accusing me of.”

“From the looks of it, you were blackout drunk. How the hell do you know what you would or wouldn’t have done?”

His expression evening out, Rebel closes the space between us, placing us chest to chest. In a low, dark voice, he says, “Maybe you’re right. For argument’s sake, let’s say I willfully participated in sexual acts with another woman right under your nose. Are you going to stand here and tell me you’re any better? That you didn’t turn around and do the exact same thing you’re accusing me of?”

My mouth goes dry. “What are you saying?”

He chuckles darkly. “Not so righteous when the tables are turned are we, pussycat?” Lifting his hand, he tucks my hair behind my ears. Then, cupping my jaw, he studies my face with a slow, creeping smile that is absolutely terrifying.

“I saw you leaving my brother’s room that night. Remember what I told you, pussycat?” he asks. Then slowly, he lowers his mouth to my ear as one hand snakes down to cup me between my thighs. “Nobody touches this but me. Who does this pussy belong to?”

A sudden rush of heat pulses through my veins. He knows. My eyes slipping shut, I take a shuddering breath. It’s only a question. A question that has a simple answer. Despite my fury, I can’t resist the temptation he stirs inside me to say it, to tell him exactly what he wants to hear and I desperately want to be true. “You.”