BLAKELY
RYAT’S BEEN MIA for three days now. And every day that goes by without any word from him just pisses me off even more.
Is this what people mean when they say they were ghosted? I mean, no one just disappears. But it’s like poof, he’s gone. Almost like the motherfucker never existed. I’m not sleeping at night. I can’t concentrate in classes. It’s not because I miss him. It’s because I’m fucking pissed.
I spend every second of the day thinking about what I’ll say to him if I ever see him again. And none of them are good.
“Hey?” Sarah enters my bedroom.
I look up at her from my bed. I have a serial killer documentary on. It’s giving me ideas on what to do to him in his sleep if he ever returns. “Hey.” I haven’t spoken to her much. She and Gunner are staying here, but I don’t see them often. They’re too busy fucking most of the time in her room. I know this because I can hear them.
“We’re going out for dinner. Want to come with us?” she asks.
“No thanks.” I’m not in the mood to eat anything.
She sighs. “Gunner says this is just part of being a Lord.”
“Noted.” I dismiss her, looking up at my TV.
“Blakely—”
“I’m not trying to be rude, but I want to be left alone,” I interrupt her.
Nodding, she turns and closes my door doing as I ask. Sinking farther into the bed, I pick up my cell next to me. I pull up his contact and hover over the number. The inner battle of wanting to say, “go fuck yourself” and “please talk to me” are equally on my mind right now.
And of course, like the dumb bitch I am, I press call. “You’ve reached Ryat …” I hang up and toss it across the room the moment his voicemail picks up, letting out a scream. Obviously, he has no intention of having any contact with the outside world, including me.
Rolling over onto my stomach, I shove my head into my pillow and scream again, this time as loud as I can. I hate being ignored. It’s my biggest pet peeve and what Matt would do the moment I asked a question he didn’t want to answer.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
RYAT
I’VE NEVER REALLY cared for people, so the fact that I’ve been in solitary confinement, AKA administrative segregation, for a five days now doesn’t really bother me. But what does, is that I’m away from Blake.
I can’t even lie to myself. I’ve gotten used to being around her all the time. And the sex, fuck, I’m craving her scent, her touch, and her sweet fucking body.
I’m in a six-by-nine concrete block with no window for twenty-three hours a day. I don’t even have bars for a door. It’s steel with a slot that they give me my meals through. This is the one time in my life I wished I was the type of guy who required a lot of sleep—so I could at least sleep through the night. But nope, I’m up for most of it.
I was told once that when men find themselves in situations like me, they write novels in their heads. Or work out mathematical problems or sing songs to keep themselves occupied to help pass the time. Those that are held here for long periods of time can start to hallucinate.
Me? I’m spending every second of every day remembering my weekend at the cabin with Blake.
“Smith!”
I sit up and watch the door open. The guard that I know by the name of Henry enters. Shackles hang from his fists. “Shower time.” He smirks at me.
BLAKELY
I’M LYING IN bed, something I seem to do nonstop. If I’m not in a class, this is where I am, watching TV by myself. Gunner and Sarah are at a party tonight at the house of Lords. She invited me, but I told her no thanks. I’d much rather get drunk alone in my bed, wearing nothing but a T-shirt. Instead of having to get all made up and pretend I like people right now.
Ryat has me hating the world. It’s now been six days since he left. And still no fucking contact whatsoever.
But whatever, I tell myself I’m over it. Eventually, I’ll start to believe it.
I hear a sound coming from the other side of my bedroom door and mute my TV. “Sarah?” I call out.
A quick look at my cell shows me it’s not even midnight yet. There’s no way they are back. Shrugging, I turn the sound back on when my door opens.
I stare at a set of emerald eyes that I haven’t seen in almost a week. Ryat stands there, dressed in the same clothes he was wearing when I saw him last. He’s got a cut above his eye, covered in dried blood. A busted bottom lip and cracked knuckles.
My eyes narrow on him when my heart starts to race. I hate that I care how he looks. The fact that he’s been in a fight has me wanting to ask a million questions, but I know he won’t answer a single one of them.