Page 44 of The Love Bandits

Here she goes again, trusting me to get it right, even though I’ve gotten it wrong every step of the way since the beginning of this thing. Maybe it was stupid of me to try to level up the Love Fixers. Maybe I’m only capable of glitter bombs and potshots on social media.

Nicole gets to her feet and claps her hands. “Okay, this has been fun and all, but nothing else is going to happen tonight. We need to give this a few hours to marinate, see if the fake is spotted.” Nodding to Jake, she says, “Sleeping Beauty, your bedchamber awaits.”

“Goody,” he replies, lowering Professor X to the ground—earning a yowl and a paw swipe—and then getting to his feet.

I follow them upstairs to the guest bedroom. Jake glances inside before shrugging and stepping in. He turns to say something, and Nicole shuts the door…then pulls out a key ring and locks it.

“Keep prisoners here often?” he asks from the other side.

“When needed,” she says.

It’s bluster—we’ve never needed it—but they must have had the door retrofitted so it could be locked from the outside.

Leave it to Damien and Nicole to do that.

“This is completely unnecessary,” Jake says from beyond the door. “As you’ve pointed out, I’m fucked. I need that necklace to save my brother, and if I don’t stay on Elaine’s good side, she’ll tell Anthony everything. Hurting her would hurt me, and if I’d planned on doing it anyway, I would have already done it.”

There’s an edge of panic in his voice, and I remember what he said about not liking confinement.

Rat in a glue trap.

Nicole snorts at him. “I’m not worried about you hurting her. I’ve seen her with a Yankees bat.”

“We’ll unlock the door once we’re back,” Damien says.

Then Nicole turns to me. “Don’t do anything I would do. And, for the love of God, take a damn shower.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

JAKE

Panic wraps around me, my pulse jumping around wildly like someone sent a rabbit leaping through my bloodstream.

Fuck, fuck, FUCK.

I pace around the room, feeling like it’s already closing in around me—a mouth, ready to chew and swallow. I roll up my sleeves and ditch the jacket, but it doesn’t help. My skin itches; my head hurts. My stomach feels like it’s eating itself. I need that door to be unlocked. I need it to happennow.

“Elaine?” I call out, but she doesn’t answer. There’s no sound at all other than the scuff of my feet on the floor and the creaking of the old boards.

I think of those sketchbooks, tucked away at the apartment, and the little bag under the floorboards. The things I carry with me from place to place are my anchor, my way of reminding myself that Jake Langston exists. I need them. If I don’t have them, it feels like the particles of who I am will drift away into the night. All I’ll have left is this body—anchored here. Caught.

“Elaine?” I call out a second time, not liking the shrill note in my voice.

I have to get the fuck out of this room. When I do, I guess I’ll need to find a ride or borrow hers. Coming back is a must,unfortunately—theydohave me cornered—but I have to get my things. If I have them, I might be able to calm down, to suck in enough air.

“Unlock the door,” I call out, my voice ragged. “Please.”

Nothing.

I know it will do jack shit, but I pound a fist against the wood, then a jagged sound escapes me as I knock my forehead into it.

I need to focus. I need to think. I can pick the lock. It won’t be easy, because they had a deadbolt put in, and I’m guessing they didn’t leave any potential tools in here.

Ryan’s better at picking locks than I am. When we work together, I’m usually the one who turns on the charm; he’s the one who sneaks in through the back door. But I can figure it out. As long as I can get enough air.

The lock squeaks, the door opens, and I tumble out into the hall—into Elaine, who’s wearing sweatpants and a short-sleeved red shirt, her hair wet around her shoulders.

She has a can of pepper spray in one hand.

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