Page 45 of Hide From Me

My stomach drops, and my steps come to a halt. A group of girls crashes into me, shrieking with laughter as they dance, pulling me away from the sinking feeling in my stomach and forcing me to veer into the shadows. I find a spot in the corner of the bar and lean against the wall, my jaw tight as I watch.

I could go to the security room, pull up the camera feed, and track every moment of this night. But I don’t. I want to be here. I want tofeelthis.

I don’t know what this emotion is—jealousy? Resentment? A weird, twisted understanding? I’m not exactly around much. I disappear without explanation. I lie for a living. And still, I can't imagine looking at another woman the way I look at Raylen—yet here she is with another man.

I slip a five-dollar bill on the counter, and the bartender slides over a drink that glows under the flashing lights. I take a sip and nearly gag.

It’s strong and bitter—fitting.

Even over the loud bass and bustling crowd, I can hear Raylen’s laughter echoing. It sounds wrong—tight and forced. It’s nothing like her genuine laughter, the kind she offers when her walls start to crack, when I say something that pulls her from the storm in her mind. I grind my teeth in frustration. I should have just broken in and gone through her drawers; it would have saved me a hell of a lot of trouble. As I shift for a better angle, the man comes into view—Dale Mauve.

Out of everyone, of course, it had to be him. How bloody ironic.

Small-town rule: everyone knows everyone. And Dale? He’s the worst kind. A local cop with just enough charm to mask a history of bullshit. Everyone looked the other way when he first joined the force. Then the reports started—missing evidence, felons slipping through the cracks, drugs disappearing. We couldn’t pin it all on him, not yet. But Caspian, Sam, and I all know. We’ve just been waiting for the right moment.

She gavemehell to earn a date—yet here she is, letting this piece of shit breathe her air after all the things she said about not trusting law enforcement.

I sip my drink, fighting the burn as I watch him lean in. Raylen leans back, her brow furrowing like she’s already regretting this.

Good.

I already know how this ends.

He’s not going home with her. He won’t even get close. Call it possessiveness or call it sick, but I can see the way she looks at me, hear it in her voice when she says my name. He doesn’t make her smile like I do. He doesn’t understand her like I do.

If I needed any proof, I get it when I pull out my phone and type a quick message:

I'm home, sunshine.

She shifts in her seat, her hand instinctively reaching for her lap.

My heart thuds once.

Then again.

Finally, she checks her phone. Her lips twitch—barely—but enough to let me know I'm not completely insane.

There’s my girl.

Dale says something else, and she nods absently while typing her response under the table. She doesn’t even look up as her fingers fly across the screen, trying to hide the fact that she’s replying.

Where are you?

Oh, I like that. She seems eager, or perhaps worried—maybe it's both. Forme.

Haha. Fuck you Dale.

I can’t help but grin as I reply, keeping my focus fixed on their table.

Where do you want me to be?

Her response is immediate.

My house.

I don’t hesitate.

On my way.

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