Page 182 of Menace in Vegas

A bruise darkens his cheekbone. The kind that makes you wince just looking at it.

His shirt is torn. His breathing is shallow. Sharp.

He looks wrecked… and haunted.

He’s on the couch, shoulders hunched, eyes unfocused. Like he’s stuck in a nightmare and hasn’t figured out how to wake up.

“You need ice,” I say, stepping into the room, arms crossed. “And bandages.”

“I’m fine,” he mutters.

“You’re bleeding into a hand towel.”

“I said I’m fine, Allie.”

“Like hell you are.” I grab a plastic bag, fill it with ice, and drop it into his lap.

“Hold it or I’m sitting on you.”

That earns the faintest twitch of a smirk. Barely, but it’s something.

I exchange a look with Connor before crouching beside Daltyn, keeping my voice low and even.

“Where have you been staying?”

He doesn’t answer.

Connor’s posture stiffens across the room. “Daltyn.”

A long sigh escapes him. It sounds like the truth is heavier than air.

“On a boat.”

I blink. “A boat?”

“Docked five miles from here. Rented it after Vegas. Figured I could keep an eye on things without drawing attention to myself.”

“A boat,” I repeat, trying to wrap my head around it. “You’ve been living on a boat for over a week?”

He shrugs, then winces. “Didn’t want to risk being seen near the resort. Felt safer than a hotel.”

He’s been watching and waiting. Sleeping God-knows-how-little.

All for Peyton.

“You really care about her,”I say softly.

He stiffens. “She’s in danger.”

I exchange a look with Connor.

His tone is defensive, as is his posture. “She doesn’t have anyone else.”

I almost say it, but I don’t.

He’ll only deny it.

He has feelings for Peyton. Strong, can’t-stay-away, protect-her-at-all-costs ones.

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