Page 112 of The Wrong Quarterback

I turned, my legs barely carrying me as I stumbled toward the hallway, each step echoing in the silence. The walls seemed to close in, and I felt his gaze follow me, piercing and unyielding.

“Where are you going, Casey?” His tone was almost gentle, but I knew better. I didn’t answer, just kept moving, my mind racing with the next steps—steps I didn’t want to take.

“I’m going to pack,” I managed to say, my voice trembling.

A pause, then his footsteps, close and fast. “I don’t think so.”

Before I could react, his hands were on me, strong and unyielding as he lifted me off my feet and slung me over his shoulder.

“Let me go,” I screeched, struggling to get away from him—but his grip was ironclad. He opened a door and carried me down a set of stairs, each step echoing ominously as we descended. The basement air was cool, the walls dark and unfamiliar, and when he finally set me down, I staggered back, taking in my surroundings.

The basement was…finished, like a small apartment. A bed was pushed up against the far wall, a TV mounted nearby, and I could see the edge of a bathroom door. It was clean, orderly, and set up with unsettling precision.

“Why am I down here?” My voice wavered as I tried to make sense of it.

He didn’t hesitate. “Because I told you, Casey—you’re my endgame. If it takes you a little while to realize that, that’s fine. But you’re not running away from me.”

I blinked at him. “So—so what, you’re just going to leave me down here?” I said with a laugh…waiting for him to laugh too.

But he didn’t.

“Yes. Until I’m sure you’re not going to run,” he said calmly, turning to go up the stairs. “I’m going to go make dinner,” he called over his shoulder. “Your favorite—chicken parmesan.”

He closed the door, and I heard the sound of a lock clicking into place. A few seconds later, I heard the door closing at the top of the stairs.

I still tried the knob, though, pounding on the door after I realized it was locked, screaming for him to let me go. Even then it took me at least an hour to realize this was really happening.

Parker Davis had just locked me in his basement.

CHAPTER 30

PARKER

Icracked some eggs into a bowl and then added some salt and pepper, setting it aside to dip the chicken in as soon as I pounded them down. I paused for a second, listening to hear if Casey had stopped screaming and banging on the basement door yet.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Nope. Not yet.

Would it make the situation any better if I told her that the basement setup was pre-existing? The house was meant to be rented out to four students, with three bedrooms on the main floor and another apartment in the…basement.

Had it come in handy when she tried to leave me? Yes.

But I hadn’t prepared it for her, like a serial killer. That should mean something, right?

I had no idea when I’d joked with my brothers about having someone in my basement a few months ago that I’d find myself here.

Sounded a little like fate if you asked me.

I heard the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the front lock. Before I could even register the thought of visitors, the door swung open, and Jace strolled in like he owned the place,holding a gallon jug of milk in one hand and a corn dog in the other.

“’Sup, QB,” he said around a mouthful, nodding as he gave the milk jug a casual shake, as if that justified his sudden entrance. He took another bite of the corn dog, completely unfazed by my silence.

I raised an eyebrow, resisting the urge to look at the door that led down to the basement. “A corn dog and milk? Really, Jace?”

“Protein and calcium, my man,” he said, holding up the corn dog like it was some sort of winning lottery ticket. He plopped himself down in a chair, and took a swig straight from the milk jug without missing a beat.

“It’s actually not a good time,” I began.

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