Page 215 of The Rules
This was a side of their world she wasn't prepared to see.
Ben glared at his brother, but he said nothing to contradict him. His silence was somehow worse than any explanation he might have offered.
Then, wordless, he pulled his keys from his pocket and pressed them into Katherine's palm. His fingers were warm against her skin, the metal cold between them.
"Go to my place," he said, his voice low and commanding. "Lock the doors. Don't let anyone in but me."
She blinked, startled by the sudden dismissal. "Ben, I—"
"Just go," he snapped—sharper this time, urgent. There was something in his eyes she couldn't quite read—concern, certainly, but something else too. Something that looked almost like fear.
He turned away from her then, his attention locking back on Julian and the man lying broken at their feet. The conversation was over.
Katherine stared down at the keys in her hand, feeling their weight. Her gaze lifted—found Ben’s back, tense and unyielding, already turned toward whatever came next.
The moment stretched between them, filled with all the things neither of them would say.
Silently, she turned and walked away.
Chapter 47
Katherine
Katherine had been pacing for hours.
Back and forth. Over and over.
She couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t think straight. Her nerves were strung too tight, stretched to the breaking point. Fear and helplessness twisted in her gut, winding her tighter with every passing minute.
Every creak of the building sent a jolt down her spine.
Every car door slamming outside had her darting to the window, heart hammering, breath caught in her throat. Each false alarm made it worse, dragged her deeper into the spiral.
Where the hell was he?
She’d showered twice. Scrubbed her skin raw. But the memory of that alley—the darkness, the choking panic, the hands that didn’t belong—still clung like a bruise beneath her skin. Invisible, but burning.
She tried sitting. Then standing. Then curling into herself on the couch, legs tucked tight to her chest like she could physically keep herself from falling apart.
It didn’t help.
The silence pressed in from every direction. Thick. Suffocating. The minutes felt like hours. The waiting—endless.
Then—a knock.
Not loud. Not frantic.
Three slow, deliberate raps.
Katherine stopped breathing.
She hadn’t buzzed anyone in. The door was locked. Her pulse spiked instantly, chest tightening like a fist had closed around it.
She stepped closer, barefoot on cold wood, heart in her throat. Her voice was tight, barely above a whisper. "Who is it?"
A pause.
Then, muffled but unmistakable:
