Page 186 of On a Fault Line

“Don’t worry about him,” he spits out.

“But I am worried. Where is he?”

Nic shrugs nonchalantly and glances at his watch. “Oh, he’s probably getting his face bashed in by Graham as we speak.”

“That’s messed up, even for you!” I snarl.

“He needs to be taught a lesson, Pen. It’s as simple as that.”

“With fists?”

“That is a way better punishment than he actually deserves.”

Crying, I shove him out the door.

Why is he being so cold?

If it wasn’t for the confidence in Collins’s ability to handle his own, then I’d be busting out of here to go stop my eldest brother from doing something he’ll ultimately regret.

But Collins doesn’t need me to fight his battles right now, and a part of me is relieved I no longer have to hide our once-secret relationship. Now that everything is getting out in the open, we can start to push forward on being together long-term.

My brothers just need to calm down from the initial shock.

Fishing my phone out of my pants pocket, I find Collins’s name in my list of contacts.

I hit the call button but get sent right to voicemail, so I leave one.

“Hey, where are you? Are you okay? Nic found me at your place. He’s livid. He just needs time to calm down. I hope you’re okay. Graham probably knows too. At least that’s what Nic implied. Be safe. I don’t want them to hurt you. This is on me. I seduced you. I’m sorry. I won’t let you carry all of the burden and all of the blame. I knew what I was doing. And I regret nothing.”

My words come out as one big ramble, and when I disconnect the call, I fall to the floor in an emotional heap.

I love you.

I stay here in a curled-up ball until the doorbell sounds.

Nic…

He said he’d be back in an hour to collect me.

I don’t want to go.

I just want to sleep away all of this pain pressing down on my heart.

The doorbell rings again, reminding me that I haven’t answered it.

Pulling myself up from my own self-pity party, I make my way out of the bedroom and into the hallway. Moving to the door, I open it and discover a little box resting on the doormat.

Weird.

I glance down the hallway but don’t see anyone around who could have delivered it.

Picking up the package, I pull off the lid to reveal a bracelet. Turning it over in my hand, I see that the underside is engraved.

“I’m an…” I read out loud.

Then all of the other mysterious gifts’ messages come flooding back to me, reminding me that Mark Tanner still has a hold on me—just as he promised he would.

One.

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