Page 119 of Oblivion

“More than one what?”

“Tracker. It’s flashing quicker because you have more than one.”

Staring at the screen, I try to process what he’s just said. Evan didn’t just put one tracker in me, he put multiple trackers. “Where is his dot?” I demand.

“What?” Sebastian questions.

“His dot. I see mine, Starling’s, January’s, and yours. So where is his? Where are Clay and Hunter’s?”

“They’re not active. Until I turned mine on for Starling, none of ours had ever been active. They were just for in case of an emergency if we were abducted,” Sebastian says.

“Turn his on.”

Sebastian looks at me oddly. “Why?”

“Because if he’s tracking me, then I’m going to track him.”

It’s rare that Sebastian outwardly shows how devious and crazy he is. But I see it right now. I see the gleam of excitement in his eyes at the way Evan and I are playing our game. When Starling and I made our plan, we changed the rules. I stopped being just a pawn to be moved around at Evan’s whim, and right now Sebastian is excited to see what happens next. He wants a new game to start. I wonder if Starling knows that.

Since Starling lost her shit on the guys after Bunny left and revealed a lot of home truths she’d been suppressing, Sebastian has been slowly smothering her, terrified that she’ll leave him. I wonder if she realizes how much he’d enjoy playing with her again. Maybe I’ll help Starling figure out how to start a new round of their game of life next.

“Let me call him,” Starling says, distracting me and somehow managing to sound like the voice of reason when she’s the one who suggested all of this in the first place. Before I can protest, she has her cell in her hand, tapping at the screen, and putting it on speaker. It rings twice before the call is rejected and sent to voicemail.

Arching a brow at Starling, I turn to Sebastian. “Turn his tracker on.”

36

EVAN

Realizing that your devious, conniving, manipulative wife is absolutely perfect for you is a strange experience.

She tricked me when I thought I was the trickster.

She played me when I assumed I was the game’s master.

She’s my equal and superior in every way, and I just ran away from her like a pathetic child.

She’s pregnant. My baby is growing inside of her, and I only had a handful of moments to celebrate that before she dropped the bombshell that had me running for the door.

I did something really fucked up in the name of love, and I don’t feel bad about it. I don’t feel guilty—even though I probably should. But when she admitted that she did some fucked-up things for love too, I walked away.

With Starling and January and Bunny, they all ran because they were the victim of my brothers’ insanity, but apparently both Sammy and I are equally crazy, but instead of laughing, or fighting, or fucking, I’m sitting on the side of the road with my ass on the hood of my car wondering what the hell to do now.

I should go home. I should do something, but instead, I’m just sitting here, a little lost and feeling for the first time likeI truly know how the girls felt when their husbands toyed with their lives, and they had no idea.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting here when I hear the sound of a car approaching. Since I stopped, two good Samaritans have pulled over to see if I need help, but after I assured them I was fine, they both left.

As I glance down the road, I squint my eyes, wondering if I should be expecting to see the cops come to discover if I’m dealing drugs or doing something else nefarious, but instead, as the car approaches, I spot a familiar license plate on a white Mercedes.

Like a vision straight out of one of my dreams, my beautiful wife is behind the wheel, her long hair twisted up into a bun. Large sunglasses cover her face, her full lips are painted red, and an angry scowl is etched across her beautiful features.

I don’t move from my spot on the hood as she drives toward me. Instead, I watch as she slows and pulls her car in ahead of mine. Holding my breath, I wait for her to climb out, but when she does, I’m entirely unprepared for the sight of her in a pretty white dress that in a few months will cling to her growing belly and show off all of her new pregnant curves.

She doesn’t say a word as she turns and strides toward me, closing the distance between us until she stands a foot away from me, her hands resting on her hips, her shades still hiding her eyes from me.

“Come here,” I order.

“No,” she defiantly answers.

---