Page 181 of Without a Trace

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I leaned against a palm tree across from her door, arms crossed, bottle dangling from my fingers. Her lights were low, shadows dancing against the blinds. No movement. Just the hush of waves and the faint sound of water running.

Bath, probably. Girl loved a bath. Honestly? Mood.

If I were her, I’d stay in there until the war was over.

Hell, I might get in a bath and never come out.

The bottle clinked against my ring as I sipped again—still warm. Still terrible. I made a face and swirled the last inch before dumping it in the sand.

“She’s gonna ruin us,” I said to no one.

Didn’t mean it in a bad way.

Scarlett Monroe was chaos in lipstick and bloodline. She made us look. Made us choose. Even when we didn’t want to. Even when we weren’t ready.

And the worst part?

We wanted to.

She had that kind of gravity. That pull.

And okay, maybe I wasn’t bonded to her. Maybe I didn’t carry some ancient curse or soul-tether or whatever the hell Trace and Alden had going on—but I still felt it.

She was the kind of girl you fought for, even if it got you killed. Even if she never knew.

I kicked at the sand with my heel, then glanced toward her door again.

Still quiet.

Still her.

And I couldn’t help it—I smiled.

“Rest easy, Scar. You’ve got a whole damn army watching your back.”

I paused. “An emotionally unstable, wildly inappropriate, probably cursed army, but still. We’re yours.”

Then I turned and headed back toward the guys.

Somebody had to make sure Zeke didn’t start a civil war over coffee filters again.

Scarlett

The sheets were too cold.

Or maybe I was just too warm. Skin flushed. Thoughts tangled.

I’d pulled on Alden’s shirt—soft, worn, too big in a way that felt like safety. My hair was still damp from the bath. My skin still smelled like salt and smoke.

I curled on my side and stared at the wall.

One breath. Then another.

I didn’t know what I wanted.

Sleep found me anyway.

And then—

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