“You want her safe. She is safe.”

I thinned my eyes on him. She wasn’t, and even if she were, she was messing up plans and accelerating my timeline. I didn’t need the distraction.

“She thinks I arranged to bring her here,” I told him.

“And your pride hurts.”

Yes. Right now, she thought I was still obsessed and small-minded, every moment we spent together vivid and tantalizing in my memory.

I didn’t want her to know that was true. Ever.

I was supposed to be somebody by now. I was supposed to make her regret not wanting me, and this was humiliating. She shouldn’t be here.

“I’ll arrange it,” he told me.

I looked at him.

“When we’re done with her,” he clarified.

Rain tapped against the kitchen window over the sink, the sun already set as Rory and Micah walked into the room, dressed in their best as Micah rushed over to her side and smelled the food.

She didn’t smile back at him, but she didn’t move away, either.

“Did she ever mention what kind of alcohol she likes?” Aydin asked. “Vodka, rum…? Might help her loosen up. I was thinking of sharing tonight.”

I turned my gaze on him, straightening my spine at the threat.

Get her drunk. Get everyone drunk.

No.

He yanked out the last stitch, and I hissed, drawing everyone’s attention as they looked over at us.

Aydin leaned into my ear, whispering, “You think I don’t know you’re planning something?”

His breath ran down my neck, and fear coursed through me. I hated having him so close.

“You’ve spent a year whispering in their ears, trying to turn them against me,” he gritted out, “but you’ll never be able to do what’s necessary to take power, here or anywhere in life, William Grayson.” He dropped his tool, meeting my eyes. “You have no idea what it takes to be me.”

He moved away, and I held Emmy’s eyes as she watched us, paused in her stirring.

I remembered similar sentiments from her years ago, and a similar feeling around my friends even.

Nothing had changed for me here.

Not yet.

• • •

Thunder cracked outside, rain pummeling the windows, and I glared at Emmy as everyone sat at the dining room table and dug into their sandwiches. Her presence made everything harder.

I was going to kill Michael when I got home. I was going to drench his fancy, fucking suit in his own blood for sending her here.

“How did you know I was an architect?” Emmy suddenly asked.

I shot my eyes to Aydin.

He stared at her, looking confused.

“The gift,” she reminded him.

What gift?

“I…didn’t,” he answered. “There’s not much to do here. Figured you’d enjoy drawing.”

He gave her drawing pencils? Where did he get drawing pencils?

He sat there in his expensive black suit and black shirt, all of us dressed and shaved at Aydin’s insistence.

I had to admit, nice clothes made me feel human again, but I didn’t appreciate this prelude to whatever he was planning. Micah, Rory, and Taylor enjoyed the bourbon Aydin gifted to the table, chowing down on their sandwiches and sucking down shot after shot.

Emmy scooped up some soup she made with the entrée, sipping spoonfuls, while I tried to resist the sandwich as much as the alcohol.

I eyed the bottle of liquor, my tongue like sandpaper in my mouth. I wanted the burn of the drink in my throat. I’d been clean for almost two years, but only sober for one, and it was still hard.

I was sure Aydin knew that, and corrupting me was part of his plan.

I pushed the glass he’d offered away toward Micah.

“What kind of work do you specialize in?” Aydin asked her. “Homes? Skyscrapers?”

“Restoration,” she murmured. “Churches, hotels, city buildings…” And then she looked at me. “Gazebos.”

I forced a slight smirk, letting her know that I knew that she knew what I did to hers.

She may not have deserved it, but…

Okay, yeah, she kind of deserved it after she laid waste to my fucking heart. I wanted to break something of hers, too.

Fuck it. I was drunk and pissed that night.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Aydin told her.

She half-smiled, looking around the room. “Think they’d mind if I cleaned the place up a bit?”

“You already do.”

She laughed, and I swore I saw a blush cross her cheeks.

She continued drinking the broth, and I cocked my head, studying her.

She was flushed. Why?

“So did Will ever tell you about Devil’s Night?” she asked him. “We celebrate it in Thunder Bay. It’s coming up, actually.”

Then she looked at me, leaned back against her chair, and pulled at the collar of her shirt like she was hot.

I tensed. Something was off about her right now.

“In fact, I hear one of his best friends is getting married that night,” she said to him, but really to me.

Michael and Rika? Didn’t know that, but she didn’t need to know that. I hid my surprise.

“He doesn’t talk about home much,” Aydin replied.

Because when people know what you love, they know your weakness, and I didn’t trust Aydin. I was here to gain strength. Not bring more enemies down on my family.

Emmy continued, “It’s an annual festival of sorts, but it basically boils down to local rich kids basking in the gloriousness of their privilege.”

He laughed. “Yes, I know the type. Too stupid to set the bar higher because they’ve never been challenged.”

Her eyes glowed bright, her skin glistening a little. What was going on?

“It happens the night before Halloween,” she said, explaining her vast knowledge of something she barely knew anything about, “and it’s common to pull a prank as part of the ritual.”

“Did you join in the festivities?” he asked.

“Once.” She met my eyes.

Once? When?

“Didn’t he ever tell you, Will?” she asked me.

I narrowed my eyes. Who? And tell me what? She had gone out on Devil’s Night? With who and when?

But I sat there, acting like I knew exactly what she meant because I wasn’t fucking asking.

She laid her forearms on the table, leaning in. “Did you ever find what I had buried under the gazebo when you burned it down?” she asked. “Or is it still there under the dirt?”

I balled my fists.

“All the shit you don’t know,” she said. “So clueless. It’s almost comforting how you don’t change.”

I shot out of my chair, my limit reached and my control gone. I swiped my arm across the table, shoving my plate and shit onto the floor.

“You don’t get to waltz around this house, shooting off your mouth as if you’ve been through even half of what I’ve been through!” I shouted.

She stared up at me, her eyes piercing. “This is your life, and it’s not my fault,” she said in a hard but low voice. “Drugs and alcohol and more drugs and alcohol, mixed with how many women over the years?” And then she looked around the table, stopping on Micah first. “I know your story.” Then she flicked her gaze to Taylor. “And I can only assume you’re plagued by every vice in the book, judging from the leering and creep factor. What happened? Accidentally almost kill a girl when you kept the plastic bag on her head too long during sex?” She shook her head and gazed around at all of us. “You’re not monsters. You’re jokes.”