"Don't," Ashley says. Her eyes seem glued to Alexander, and there's a small, uplifting quirk to her lips that I know, from many nights out together at the campus bars, happens only when she's envisioning her next conquest.

  "Why not?"

  "Do I really need to elaborate? You're the one with the degree in money studies."

  "Quantitative Finance," I say. "And no, you don't need to elaborate." The math regarding my family's need for Alexander Covington's money is so basic that anyone familiar with negative numbers could figure it out. Also abundantly clear is my fiance's impatience; Alexander makes another 'hurry up' gesture and conspicuously raises his left hand and taps his watch. "It's pretty blatant."

  The dean finishes his speechifying, and the crowd breaks up, most everyone heading for one of the several side tables where the caterers have set up free glasses of wine. I glance at the tables in longing, wishing I had a drink, but Alexander has smartly positioned himself right next to those same tables. To seek salvation in wine is to damn myself to his company. At least here I can ignore him for a little longer.

  "We could sneak out," Elena says. There's a note of urgency in her voice; she knows I don't want to marry Alexander, and she dislikes him nearly as much as I do. "You know he won't do anything about it except bitch and moan. Yes, your parents need his money, but don't forget, he needs you, too. Maddy, you've got power in this relationship."

  I roll my eyes. "It doesn't feel like it."

  Elena snorts. "Your grandfather's name is on the Costa Oscura Public Library. And your parents' name is on one of those donor brick things at the hospital with a serious baller amount of money on it."

  I shrug. Those are all from times when my family had actual money, instead of a real estate business made up of a couple of rickety old over-leveraged properties that are all less than a year away from being repossessed by the banks.

  "So I have a name," I say. “So what?”

  "A name that people respect. A name that Alexander and his family desperately need, because everyone knows they're just a bunch of rich bitches," Elena says.

  "They are bitches..." I murmur.

  "You know you want to come out with us," Elena says.

  "I do. I really, really do," I say.

  "Shit, he's coming this way," Ashley hisses.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see the crowd parting before Alexander as he strides toward us, a crumpled, determined look on his face. It's an ugly look. And even Ashley's normally thirsty appearance softens a little as she catches sight of it.

  I have only seconds to decide whether to make my escape.

  Tonight could be my chance to make an actual connection, to make inroads on my career, instead of being dragged to whatever torturous event Alexander has in mind; probably some publicity event or business dinner meeting where my presence is required to humanize his demonic ass.

  "Let's go—drinks, shots, internship. All of it," I say, and I grab Elena and Ashley by the hand and drag them toward the nearest exit. “Run!”

  Sure, I'll not actually be able to escape Alexander for good. At the end of the night, I'll still be his languishing fiance, but I want one night of freedom. One chance to pretend I'm a free woman about to graduate with a great degree and an opportunity to make my own way in life, instead of simply being a bargaining chip in some business deal between his ultra-rich family and my desperate parents.

  "Go, go, go," Elena cheers me on as we race as a trio through the crowd, weaving through the maze of bodies to throw Alexander off our tracks.

  It's working.

  It's actually working.

  I'm going to escape my cold-hearted, handsome, filthy rich, awful fiance for a night. Laughter breaks my lips and I squeeze both Elena's and Ashley's hands tighter.

  I make it out of the hall. Laugh in glee.

  The fresh air hits me like a slap in the face, and I take a deep, grateful breath.

  "You're a genius," Ashley says. "A genius. You did it."

  I have my friends, the cool night air, a chance to be free and live my life for a night; no fear of Alexander's wrath, no fear of my parents' disappointment, nothing except freedom, friends, and maybe a career connection that’ll lead to me having some measure of respect for myself, all things I so desperately want.

  "But he's going to come after us," Elena says. “We should hurry.”

  "Duh," Ashley says. "But we'll be long gone by then. We can drink, dance, maybe even get ourselves some hot guys. We've got an entire night to be free, ladies."

  The three of us break out into a run again, racing toward the parking lot.

  There are a handful of cars in the lot, mostly belonging to the catering crew and the dean's staff. Also, there’s a gleaming white BMW M5. No doubt Alexander's, though I don’t recognize it, so it must be one of his new toys.

  I hurry over to Elena's beat-up old Corolla, but she grabs my elbow before I can get in.

  "You know you can't hide from him forever," she says. "At some point, tell him what you really want. Don't keep letting him walk all over you. Stick up for yourself, Maddy."

  I shrug.

  "Let's not talk about that. I just want to have a fun night with my friends and whoever Ashley's mystery hookup is. Please?" I give her a puppy-dog face. "Can we save all the other talk for another time?"

  "You're not gonna get in trouble, are you?" Ashley asks, coming up beside us. “Cause we aren’t letting you go home sober.”

  "I will not get in trouble," I say. "He'll just get pissy, that's all."

  "It's actually okay if you get in trouble," Elena says. "At least it'll be a good trouble. You need to show him he doesn't completely control you."

  "I know he's not the best guy in the world, but you know, if you ever think about leaving him, know that we're here for you," Ashley says.

  It's half-hearted, but I don't blame her for that. I've half-heartedly dreamed about leaving Alexander for years, ever since my parents set up this arrangement—my hand in marriage for the Covington family saving them from financial ruin. I agreed to it because I love my family and can't bear the thought of seeing the despairing look on my mom and dad's faces if their business were to actually fail and they were to lose everything that my family built over generations. I'll take a crappy marriage to save my family.

  I slip into the front seat, Ashley into the back, and Elena gets into the driver's seat, her keys ready in her hand. She slips them into the ignition and her gutless car—a car that shakes so much I always think I'm having a seizure any time I ride in it—squeals to life.

  "I know. If I ever leave him—which I won’t—then I’m happy to know I’ll always have you two.” I pause. "But I'm still going out with you guys. I will not stay away from—oh shit!"

  Elena suddenly slams on the brakes and all three of us bounce in our seats. Her eyes are glued to the rear view mirror, wide, frozen.

  I follow her gaze.

  There's a shadowy figure blocking our car from leaving the parking spot.

  But, though his face may be obscured by the night, there's one thing that's clear as day: the gun that he is pointing right right at us.

  Chapter Two

  Bullet

  I wake up in a hospital bed, my body weak, riddled with pain, and adorned with a bullet hole. The memories of the brutal attack and the men who sought to end my life flash through my mind, grim faces, some familiar, some unknown, all ones that I'll never forget. Each one a wannabe reaper. The memories bring back the pain of the bullet wound in my abdomen, which even painkillers from my IV can't fully ease. It throbs in agony.

  But out of everything, what hurts the worst is knowing that one of those reaper’s faces will soon kiss her.

  I have to get out of here.

  Because I don't have the time, and though the doctors here at the hospital may have saved my life, if they keep me here, they'll be responsible for my death, too. The men who tried to kill me will soon learn they weren't successful and they'll coming looking for me.

  If I want to save her, I need to get out of here. Now.

  I turn to the nurse checking my vitals. She has brown hair, sparkling hazel eyes, and a kind smile that glimmers even brighter as I move. A friendly face. Someone I can trust. I hope.

  I mumble something to her; the words don't sound familiar to me, they're just noisy intentions that come out in a garbled cloud of consonants and vowels, and I realize I must be more drugged than I realized. That, or nearly dying and coming back to life has fucked me up on a deep level, even though my mind feels crystal clear.

  "What are you saying?" She says. “Talk slower. Take a deep breath. You can do it.”

  I pause momentarily, gather my thoughts, my strength, and enough coherent words to form a sentence. "Go. Need to go."

  "You need to go? Like, to the bathroom?”

  “No. Go. Leave.”

  “What? Why?" She says. “You can’t leave.”

  "They'll try again." I reach to remove my IV, but I she grabs my wrist and stops me. She's strong, and I'm weak. I relent.

  "Who? The person who shot you? I can call the police. You'll be safe here."

  "No cops... They can't help. They're not safe..."

  Her eyes widen, and she takes a step back from my bedside.

  When she releases me, I try again to take out my IV; stopping the drugs will bring on the pain, eventually, but I need to be clear-headed, which means I can’t have my veins full of morphine.

  She stops me again. Her grip is so much stronger than mine. “You need to lie back. You need rest.”

  "I need to leave... No one can help me..." I whisper.

  “You’re really set on this? You really think the cops are involved?” She says.

  I mumble. “Can’t trust anyone…”

  "Not true," she says, shaking her head. "There is someone who can help you. But he will not like it. He will not like you, either. In fact, he doesn’t like most people. But if there's anyone who can keep you safe, it's him."

  "Who?"

  "My man. Rook."

  I stop struggling, both exhausted and confused; I'd expected her to mention the police again, not this. Instead, I lie back in bed, focus on taking deep breaths and steadying myself. "Rook? What kind of a name is Rook?"

  She smiles. It's a smile that warms me, despite the chill that lingers in my body from being on the edge of death. "It's his road name. He was in the Army Rangers, then when he got out of the military, he joined an MC. That's a motorcycle club, in case you didn’t know. Then, well, stuff happened. Even though he'll grumble about it, he'll help you if I ask him to. Would you like me to call him?"

  Already, my head feels like it’s clearing."Will he help me get out of here?"

  "Why are you so determined to leave? You really need medical attention. Even though you're out of immediate trouble, because our surgeons here are excellent, you need time to recover."

  "Because the men who shot me will come looking for me," I say, my words coming slowly, taking every bit of strength I have. "Soon." The urgent press of time sends a surge of energy through me and I reach again for my IV, and I even find the strength to push the nurse back half a step. Grunting, I get the IV out and slip my legs over the edge of the bed and stand. For half a second, I stay upright before everything—my knees and the world—wobbles and I fall to the floor with a heavy thud.

  Instantly, the nurse springs into action and helps me back into the bed. Working quickly, she re-inserts the IV and I'm right back where I started, only completely spent and with my vision swimming.

  "What's your name?" She says.

  "Jackson."

  "Jackson what?"

  "Jackson Reid. Why?"

  She grabs my chart and holds it close enough to my face where I can see it.

  "Well, Jackson Reid, I'm Eliza Stewart. It's nice to meet you, even if the circumstances aren't great—I always love meeting new people—and I have some good news for you: your chart just says 'John Doe' since there wasn't any identification on you when those people found you floating in the harbor. No one knows who you are, which means you have a little time. Now, you look like you nearly killed yourself just trying to get up, so I would really like it if you could cooperate, stay in bed for a moment, and let me get Rook here."

  I nod.

  Even that makes my head spin and the world go dark for what feels like a second. But it must be longer than that because the next thing I know, there's a man built like a brick shed and wearing a leather jacket standing next to my bed and glowering at me like I've just told him that my mom used to own the same motorcycle as he does, until she got rid of it for something with more power.

  "You're Jackson?" He says.

  "Yes."

  "I'm Rook. You’re not getting anything more than that, other than the bare minimum amount of my help that’s required to keep your dumb ass alive. Be grateful that the woman who is my sky, stars, and sublime sunrise wants to help you, because if I had my way, we’d dump your wounded ass down the garbage chute and let nature take its course. "

  "You mean you’d let whoever tried to kill me come and finish the job?"

  "If it happens, it happens."

  "Rook, be nice," Eliza says reprovingly. "Have you eaten? You're extra grumpy right now."

  "I ate. I'm fine. It's Jackson here who put himself in the position to get shot. You know, Jackson, part of being a man is accepting the consequences of your own fucking stupidity. Course, you may not be old enough to be a man yet."

  "Rook..." Eliza says.

  "Yes, dear," Rook says. He clears his throat and, with great pain in his voice, continues, "So, why is it you're here?"

  "I got shot," I answer, plainly. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  "Don't get smart with me, kid, or I'll put another bullet in you to match the one in your abdomen. Only, I'll make sure the job gets done right," he snaps.

  "Why the fuck are you so angry?"

  "Because I had my feet in the sand and an ice-cold sixer at my side when I got called to take care of your dumb ass. Wouldn't you be pissed at having to put down your beer and babysit some braindead child?" Rook rants. Eliza lets out an audible huff and Rook clears his throat again. "Who shot you, and why did they shoot you?"

  "Some men who work for Alexander Covington. They shot me because I was trying to help Madison. She’s his fiance. He's abusing her."

  "Abusing her?" Rook lets out a string of profanity that makes my heart rate monitor skip a beat. "God damn it. Why the fuck did you have to say that?"

  "We have to help him, Rook," Eliza says. “And her.”

  "I know that, my love. Why do you think I'm so upset?" He crosses his arms and looks at Eliza. "How long ago was he brought in?"

  "Hours ago. Four, maybe six, I'm not sure."

  "How busy has the hospital been today, sweetheart?"

  "ICU's been quiet, dear, but emergency surgery and the ER's been busy."

  "Good. That means we have a little time. We have to hope they were busy enough to delay calling the cops about the little dipshit here being out of surgery and available for questioning."

  "Language, Rook," Eliza cautions.

  "Sorry, love," Rook breathes a slow sigh and then kisses Eliza on the cheek. "I'll tone it down. I'm just upset about losing a day on the beach with some beers. You know how it is."

  "I know. I know you like your 'me' time, but we have to help Jackson out."

  "You're right as always, my heart. Is he stable enough that we can move him?"

  "Yes, but I wouldn't recommend it," Eliza says.

  "I'll be fine. I just need to rest. Just for a minute. Then I have to get to Madison," I say, moving again, trying to stand, and drawing a disapproving look from Eliza. "I have to save her. With or without your help, I'm going."

  Rook rolls his eyes at me. "You think you're some brave hero, going to shrug off having a bullet in your gut so you can run off to save the lady you love? A young lady who also is engaged to someone else? You're dumber than you look, kid, which is saying something."

  "I'm well aware of the fact that there's a fucking bullet in my gut, but Madison's life is at stake. Can't you see that? If I don't act now, if we don't act now, she'll be trapped in a suffocating marriage with a man who beats her. Is that what you want?"

  "No one wants that," Eliza says. “Do we, Rook?”

  Rook snorts and glares at me. "You think you know what's best for her? You're just an idiotic boy who's playing out some childish fantasy. It's reckless and foolish."

  I shake my head. Then I try to stand again, even though my legs scream at me and my head swims due to pain and blood loss. One way or another, I'm getting out of here and I'm getting to Madison. Every second I stay in this bed is a second that she gets closer to being trapped with that abusive nightmare, Alexander. "I don't care. I don't care if I die, I can't let her suffer because of some arranged marriage. Help me get out of here, Rook."

  "If you keep yapping, I'm more likely to see if there’s an empty surgical suite around here that I can borrow and cut your fucking tongue out."

  "Rook..." Eliza says, then she turns to me. "You stay here. He'll help you once he gets all his grumpiness out. Just ignore him until then. I'm going to go get you a wheelchair, so we can move you without doing any damage. Then you'll have to sign some papers that you're signing yourself out against medical advice."

  "Fine. Thank you, Eliza," I say, grateful that she's here to serve as a buffer against Rook's excessive grumpiness. If she wasn't, I bet there's a fair chance Rook would just hold a pillow over my face until I stopped thrashing and then head back to the beach to finish his beer.

  But she only gets halfway to the door when something in the hallway catches my eye and forces me to call urgently out to her.

  "Stop. It’s already too late."

  Chapter Three

  Jackson

  "That man is here to kill you," Rook says. It’s not a question. He just knows from a glance out the window of my room.

  I nod, my fists clenched around the bars of the bed railing and the heart rate monitor strapped to my chest sounding so fast it’s nearly one continuous beep.