Page 125 of Inked Adonis

And I thought things couldn’t get any worse.

Karma heard that and turned the dial up to eleven. Now, I’m in the last place on earth I would ever want to be.

My father’s house.

“This can’t be fucking happening,” I whimper, closing my eyes like I might be able to blink this nightmare away.

I try to swing my legs off the side of the bed, but one is heavily bandaged. I can’t move my knee at all. I have some mobility in the arm that’s splinted, but I won’t be able to catch myself when I attempt to stand up and, inevitably, topple over.

I need to get out of this room.

Out of this house.

More than even that, though, I need water.

My mouth is a desert and the sandpaper scrape of my throat is more pressing than the dozens of questions bouncing around in my head.

Then I spot the crutch leaning against my banged-up bedside table. I awkwardly lift my leg with my left hand and wiggle to the side of the bed so I can wedge the crutch under my armpit.

It takes three tries before I can haul myself to my good leg without collapsing back onto the mattress in agony.

Not that standing feels much better. I ache all over. Whatever pain medication I might have been given at whatever hospital I was taken to—was I even taken to a hospital?—is gone now.

Along with my purse and my phone. Even my satchel full of dog treats is missing.

I stumble across the room to the door, trying to be as quiet as possible until I know what’s waiting for me on the other side. I know whatusedto be out there: raucous barbeques that ended in shattered bottles and bruised faces. The crack of leather against skin. A thousand small moments of terror that taught me to walk silent, to breathe shallow, to make myself invisible.

You ran from your demons, Nova, and it got you nowhere, but I’m no coward.

Sam’s accusation is ringing in my ears. The cruelest fucking thing anyone’s ever said to me.

But despite that, there’s still that yearning low in my belly. I still want to see him. I still wish he was here.

And on top of that, there’s the guilt. Maybe he was right about the security, about the dangers lurking in plain sight. Look where my independence got me: right back in the belly of the beast.

But being protected isn’t the same as being controlled. And if there’s one thing my father taught me, it’s how to tell the difference.

I can love Sam—fierce, overwhelming, terrifying love that it is—and still choose my own path. Even if that path leads away from him. Even if it breaks both our hearts.

Right now, that path leads downstairs. I just need to make it down there, find a phone, and call... someone. Anyone. Even if I have to crawl out of here on my hands and knees.

My stomach churns with horrifying possibilities, but I blow out a deep breath and turn the knob. Because I’m no coward.

Until I step into the eerily quiet hallway and see the stairwell. The flight of stairs is enough to send tears springing into my eyes. My leg hurts just from the shuffle across my room. How am I going to make it downstairs?

But calling for help is not an option.

At least the steps have been carpeted since I lived here. Small mercies. The padding will muffle the thud of my crutch, mask any sounds that might alert my father to my presence.

I grip the banister with my good hand, testing my weight. Each step sends bolts of pain through my leg. Sweat breaks out across my forehead, my back. By the time I reach the little alcove between the kitchen and living room, I’m trembling and gasping for air.

I’m also wondering how the hell I got here.

Grams is listed as my emergency contact. Hope is my backup, followed by literally anyone else on the planet, then my dad. So why am I here? How’d we get that far down the list?

My grandmother isn’t exactly in a position to take me in, but she knows I’d rather be stripped naked and left on the side of the road than be released into the custody of my father.

But it doesn’t take a genius to put the pieces together. For all his faults, Daddy has never been stupid. He keeps his ear to the ground. So it stands to reason that he might’ve seen my name onsome report or had some back-alley scum lurking around to tip him off to that sort of thing.

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