Page 44 of Hide From Me

He looks at me—reallylooks—and something unreadable flickers in his expression. Guilt, maybe. Or regret.

I roll my eyes and start peeling off the tux, swapping it for jeans and my usual hoodie. “Jesus, Cas, it’s not like I’ve never taken a bullet before.”

“It’s not the bullets that worry me,” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck. He sounds like he wants to say more, but he holds back. So, I crack a joke—because that’s my go-to when the atmosphere feels too heavy.

“If you’re feeling that stressed, take it out on me. You know Sam gets sensitive when your little bromance starts to fall apart.”

His laugh is reluctant, but it’s genuine. “I don’t mean to take it out on you.”

“I know.” I glance at him, giving his shoulder a light, brotherly tap with my fist. “Better me than the hothead or your girl, right?”

He gives me a look, and for a brief moment, it feels like it used to. But the guilt is always close to the surface—the kind you can’t scrub away, no matter how many missions you complete or lies you tell to sleep at night.

I almost pulled the trigger on him once. Almost didn’t flinch. That kind of experience changes everything, even when you pretend it never happened.

I step back, moving toward the door, needing air and something different. Raylen hasn’t heard I’m back yet, and I like the idea of surprising her. Maybe I’ll bring snacks or suggest a movie night. Definitely not a film we'llactuallywatch.

“Where are you going, anyway?” he asks behind me.

I pause at the frame and shrug. “Surprise visit.”

“To someone I know?” he calls.

“Maybe one day,” I toss back with a grin. “But for now? Go apologize to Sam. You two are giving me a migraine.”

Three knocks. Two calls of her name. No answer.

Great.

So much for the surprise.

After cleaning up, I decided to go through with my little plan—show up unannounced and act like some lovesick idiot with a hero complex. But now I’m standing here like a complete loser. The door is locked, the lights are off, and there’s no sign of her.

I let out a low growl and jiggle the handle, even though I already know it’s locked. What was I expecting? That the door would be wide open so I could just stroll in, sit on her bed like a creep, and maybe dig around in her underwear drawer?

I scoff at myself, shaking my head, and start pulling out my phone, caught between texting her and just stewing in silence. Instead, I swipe over to the tracker synced with her car.

Maybe she broke down somewhere. She doesn’t even know I’m back home, so of course she wouldn’t tell me if she did. Still, it would be nice if she thought to.

“Baby steps, Moe. Your girl needs you to take baby steps,” I repeat like some insane mantra.

Her location pops up, and I’m already on my way.

Daniel’s Bar and Grillis a bit rowdy and flashy, but it's popular for casual nights out—great for drinks and even better for dates. It must be fate that she's there. I'm sure I can convince her to stay for dinner and maybe get her to open up, as I often come close to doing.

And maybe—just maybe—if all goes well, I’ll end the night fucking her senseless like I promised.

My feet move automatically as I shove my phone into my pocket and head toward my car. I could give her a heads-up, but where's the fun in that? I guess I’m a hopeless romantic. Or something worse.

The drive is smooth and easy. My fingers tap against the steering wheel in time with Layto's "Lifeline," while she entirely consumes my thoughts. Not my mistakes. Not my mission. Just Raylen—the girl who turns every part of me inside out.

I pull into the parking lot and spot her old junker car immediately. Christ, I wish she’d let me buy her something safer. Maybe I’ll bribe her.Sugar Daddy Moe—that has a nice ring to it. It’s kind of funny, considering I’m probably a few years younger than she is.

People surge in and out of the bar's cramped doorway, a chaotic flow of laughter and shouts, but I don’t have time to linger in line like everyone else. I stride straight to the bouncer, flashing Jimmy one of my trademark boyish grins,the kind that usually works wonders, and just like that, the velvet rope parts for me.

Any previous thought I had about this being a good place for a date is quickly squashed as I'm reminded that I hate bars like this—overwhelmingly sweaty, deafeningly loud, and the air thick with the pungent mix of stale beer, cheap body spray, and a sense of lingering desperation. Yet none of that matters the instant my eyes land on her.

She stands out effortlessly—my own personal sunbeam, radiating warmth and light in a sea of flickering neon colors and shifting bodies. I feel an irresistible pull toward her, as if some cosmic force is guiding me forward—until my gaze lands on the man seated at her table, casting a shadow over the brightness she brings.

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