What kind of shitty luck is that?

  Still, he's my only option.

  So I sit and enter a staring contest with Rook. Both of us sit utterly silent, while he stares into my eyes and I stare into the hollow orbs that allow me a view of the gaping black pit that is his soul.

  After what might be an hour, or two, or six minutes, he blinks.

  "You think it's that easy? You want to waltz onto campus, where anyone could recognize you? That's a death wish, Madison. I won't let you risk it."

  Just as my hopes plummet, a voice cuts through the tension.

  "Actually, I think she's right."

  It's Jackson, his steely blue eyes cold and steady.

  Rook's eyes narrow, his gruff voice drips with sarcasm.

  "Oh, great. The biker knight in shining armor has spoken. Enlighten us, Bullet, with your brilliant plan."

  "Listen, Rook, I understand the risks, but Madison needs her stuff. All of this—the kidnapping, the ransom—is for her. Only her. So if she needs her books, we'll get her damn books. Got it?" He pauses and Rook looks like he's about to say something when Jackson adds, "I'll go with her to make sure she stays safe."

  Rook's face twists into a scowl.

  "You're both idiots, a perfect match made in heaven. Fine, do whatever you want. Don't come crying to me when it blows up in your faces."

  With Rook's insults lingering in the air, Jackson and I huddle together, concocting a plan. We decide to wait until it’s nearly dark and we’ll disguise ourselves—we’ll buy hats and sunglasses to obscure ourselves and we’ll keep a low profile.

  When we get to campus, parking Jackson's motorcycle in one of the student parking lots and surveying the people walking from their dorms to the classrooms, to the library, or to one of the nearby streets where there are countless cheap restaurants that cater to the student body, I realize disguises aren't really necessary. Most people don't pay attention to others around them; if someone isn't trapped in their own thoughts, worried about their own future, tomorrow's test, or a term paper, they're looking at their phones.

  Under the cloak of nightfall, we arrive at my apartment building.

  The air crackles with tension as we slip through hallways and ascend staircases, our hearts pounding in unison. I swear I can hear every beat of Jackson's heart, each crashing thud deafening in the quiet hallways.

  We finally reach my door on the top floor, and a palpable feeling of relief passes over me.

  Jackson smiles, chuckling, and I see the face of that same boy who charmed me years ago.

  I’m here for a laptop, for my future—I can't afford to feel anything else, I remind myself. Though each word rings less and less true in my head. It's hard not to feel something for someone who so quickly and readily takes on risks just to make my life easier.

  Especially when no one else in my life seems to put me first. Definitely not Alexander.

  I wonder if he even cares that I'm missing, other than that my absence might cause people to ask him some uncomfortable questions.

  "You just need your laptop and what else?" Jackson says.

  "Just that. It's got my thesis paper on it. I even get to submit the paper online. So once we get that computer, we can get out of here."

  "Good. Because I don't like this. We're too exposed here. Too many people here know you, too. Once word gets out that you're missing, someone's going to start asking questions about why you were walking around your apartment building after you'd supposedly been kidnapped."

  "No one saw us. Relax.”

  "Maybe. But anyone who catches even half a glimpse of you is going to remember it," he says. "Now, come on, let's get inside and do this quickly."

  I take out my keys and fumble with the lock. This little clandestine mission has me nervous, and it seems like my keys just don't want to fit in the doorknob.

  Just as I unlock the door, it swings open abruptly.

  I cry out in surprise and take a step back.

  "Maddy!" Ashley exclaims, her eyes widening in surprise. "Oh my god, what are you doing here? I thought you were missing!"

  "Missing? What are you talking about?" I say, thankful the joyful shock at seeing my friend in my apartment is enough to cover the surge of fear that races through me.

  "No one's seen you around forever. And you missed a class," she says, which has exactly the right amount of emphasis to show its import; I don't miss class except in cases of actual emergencies, and even then, I still try to make it. Like the time I came to class with a noticeably swollen ankle that was already turning black and blue; I’d been wearing heels and had tripped in the Quad, and the professor had to stop class to tell me to go to the campus emergency room. The trip to the emergency room took forty-five minutes, so I made it back in time to catch the end of the lecture. "Also, the prof said you hadn't even sent in a written note. So you can see why everyone’s worried. Anyway, who's this hot guy with you? What's going on? Are you okay?"

  I hear only concern in her voice, other than the surprise at finding me sneaking into my apartment with a man who is obviously not my fiance. Not that anyone who knows me would suspect me of ever cheating on Alexander, especially with someone like Jackson. Though, as I follow Ashley's surprised look and run my eyes over Jackson, I feel a stir of old feelings I thought were dead. Each rugged line on his face, each hint of muscle straining at his shirt, his leather jacket that fits him just right, the tempting, teasing light shining in his breathtaking blue eyes... Yes, I feel it. Feel it and force it away. Write it off as nothing more than Stockholm Syndrome, even though the brief love I once felt for him was deeper and more intense than I ever thought love could be.

  He broke my heart and ruined my life. I have to get the fuck over him.

  "He's a friend," I say. “That’s all?”

  "A friend? How come I've never met him? Are you hiding your hot guy friends from me, Maddy?" Ashley says, crossing her arms and widening her stance. She gives me a teasing look and Jackson a menacing once. “He looks dangerous. You sure you’re not in trouble?” From anyone else, it'd be almost laughable that she'd even think to square up on Jackson like she's ready for a fight. Except Ashley's not just anyone—she's on the Costa Oscura University Women's Rugby team and loves smashing into people so much it's nearly tied for first as her favorite form of physical contact.

  "He's an old friend. From before college. He went away for a while," I say, the words coming out slow as I scramble for some lie that my close friend, someone who knows me inside and out, will believe. "We used to date, but now, that is way, way over. He's here because he's helping me out."

  "Helping you with what?"

  What can an older, handsome, looks-like-he-is-a-criminal ex-boyfriend be helping me with that one of my best friends can't?

  Shit.

  I need an excuse.

  My heart races and my mind spins like a tire stuck in loose sand. This is bad. Terrible. My tongue feels like it's stuck to the roof of my mouth with Krazy glue.

  "Alexander and I are fighting, and I needed somewhere to hide out that he'd never think to look," I blurt out. "He was being really, really, controlling and just... you know how he gets. So I’ve been staying with my friend.” Ashley nods and rolls her eyes in understanding. She's seen and heard all about my fiance's temperamental side. "I know I should've told you, but I couldn't risk it. You know how he has guys everywhere. Remember that guy with the gun from graduation practice? I didn't want to bring any of that down on you. So, when Alexander and I had our fight, I ran out on him. I called my ex and told him I needed somewhere to crash for a short time while things cool down."

  Ashley nods and smiles at Jackson. There’s enough heat in her smile that it stirs a pang of jealousy in my heart. "So, since you and Maddy are just friends, do you happen to be single?"

  I swear I see her lick her lips as she eyes Jackson up and down. Ashley never was subtle.

  "Well..." Jackson starts, his voice dropping low, heated, in a way that I definitely dislike. “Now that you mention it…”

  I cut in. "It's complicated. He's not available, though, I can tell you that much for sure."

  "Maddy's got it right. My current situation's a little complicated," he says.

  Ashley shrugs. "That’s a shame. Well, if your situation frees up, maybe you look me up, okay? You know where to find me."

  I step in between them and feel my cheeks get warm from the extraordinary heat in Ashley's gaze. Sometimes I think her thirst is so great she could drink the damn ocean. "Ashley, I hate to interrupt, but I've got two questions for you. First: why are you in my apartment? And second: can you move out of the way? I need to get some of my things."

  "First answer: I was here because I came looking for you. I missed you, and I still have the key you gave me from that time you went on vacation with Alexander to the Maldives, and you needed me to water your plants and check your mail. Second, of course, I'll get out of your way."

  "Thank you," I say brusquely and I lightly bump her shoulder as I step by. I'm still a little ticked off by the way she is so blatantly drooling over Jackson. Not like I should be—I know that he and I are and done, have been done for years, and I shouldn't be feeling anything for a man who broke my heart the way he did... Except he only seems to have gotten more handsome since the last time I saw him; the extra years have added maturity and ruggedness to his face, though his eyes still have that brilliant sparkle like he’s ready to do something utterly audacious. Somehow, in a primal way, it’s hot as hell to think there’s a bullet scar on his chiseled abs that he earned out of a visceral desire to protect me.

  I shouldn’t want him. I can’t want him. Yet, I do.

  Focus on the business, I remind myself. I have too much riding on this scheme—like my diploma and the rest of my life—to get caught up on a man. Even if that man is as handsome and lawlessly sexy as Jackson Reid.

  I head right to my desk, where my laptop sits next to one of my favorite textbooks: Advanced Principles of Quantitative Financial Analysis, vol. IV; Volumes one, two, and three are in my bedroom, on my nightstand, but they're not required reading for the class; they were an impulse buy to satisfy the completist in me. Once I pick up my laptop and put it in its case and a messenger bag, I turn to Ashley, who's still got her eyes on Jackson.

  "Ashley, this is serious. Can I trust you to keep this visit of mine a secret? You can't tell anyone that I was here. Not Elena, not professor Braithewaite, and especially not Alexander."

  "Don't worry. I won't say anything to anyone."

  I exhale deeply, relieved. "Thanks. I owe you one."

  “Of course, Maddy. Anything for you.” She gives me a knowing nod before turning and flouncing out of the room. As strong as she is, she's still graceful.

  Once she's gone, I turn back to Jackson, who has been watching me silently with his arms folded across his broad chest. He looks calm and confident; completely unaffected by the fact that we've just been caught hiding out together. For a moment, I envy him: he doesn't seem to have any doubts about what we're doing here—and why should he? He is used to risking his life without thinking twice about it.

  Like how he’s risking his life for me.

  There's only one emotion that could make someone do something so drastic. An emotion that I refuse, utterly refuse, to admit still simmers between us.

  "Let's go," I say abruptly, heading towards the door with purposeful strides.

  What we have is a business arrangement and nothing more.

  He's helping me for money. Money, and because he's a decent person, the type to stop and protect a woman when her car breaks down in a bad part of town, or when her vicious fiance cannot keep a hold on his overpowering, controlling nature.

  That's what it has to be... Right?

  "Where to now?" Jackson says, his voice so deep and heated it's like he's echoing the flurry of fiery thoughts fluttering around inside my head. Thoughts that an engaged woman like me should not be thinking about a man who isn't her fiance.

  I release a long breath and feel like a pressure cooker venting steam; very hot, very steamy steam.

  I need to get control of myself.

  I need to stay focused.

  "I need a drink."

  Chapter Fifteen

  Bullet

  "This is one of my favorite places. I'm not a regular here, and it's not a usual student bar, so no one here is going to recognize me. But I just love the atmosphere of this place," she says as we park my bike just outside a darkly elegant place with a small clapboard sign out front declaring it to be the Tempo Tavern. Chill, acoustic music emanates through the open door.

  "You sure no one here will remember you?"

  I find it hard to believe. One look at Madison is all it took to change the course of my life, how could it be different for anyone else with a beauty like her?

  "I'm positive. You can relax. I like to come here with my finance homework sometimes, have a negroni, sit alone in the corner and just get some good work done in some elegant ambiance, you know?"

  "Do I look like a man who would understand any of those things? Finance homework, ambiance, and negronis? Give me beer, a garage, and the sound of a powerful engine."

  "Neanderthal," she says and she rolls her eyes at me. It's adorable. If this is what being a Neanderthal gets me, I'll gladly be a Neanderthal. Whatever the fuck that is.

  I follow Madison into the Tempo Tavern, and it's like entering a different world; the bar is dimly lit, but luxurious leather chairs and elegant draperies give the interior an air of sophistication. Soft music plays in the background—a few string instruments accompanied by a smoky vocalist singing romantic songs. They sit on a small stage, a mote of light in the passionate darkness of the bar.

  The crowd looks to be mostly upper-class business people, all dressed to impress. I feel totally out of place here in my long-sleeved shirt, leather jacket, and jeans. Yet Madison seems right at home, though, so I take my cue from her. It's not like anyone here gives us more than a passing glance, and of those that look at us, their eyes go to Madison. Which isn't a surprise. She's stunning as hell.

  We find two seats at the bar and order drinks. She orders a negroni and I get a beer and a reproachful look from both her and the bartender as soon as my order leaves my mouth, so I switch my order from a beer to a negroni, too. Better to blend in.

  We sit back and Madison enjoys her drink, while I wonder how upper class one has to be to enjoy something that tastes like bitter, orange-scented licorice.

  "That's some face," she says to me, smiling over the rim of her glass.

  "I can't believe you drink this. I once had an old radiator line break on me while I was doing some work in my dad's shop. The line sprayed my face with coolant, and that foul liquid tasted better than whatever this is."

  "It’s a negroni. And you need to drink it. Look around—no one drinks beer here. It’s wine or fancy cocktails. In fact, I don't even know if they have beer."

  "How can you not have beer? I'll never understand you upper-class people. This drink tastes like some fat Italian man cried in my cup."

  "It's sophisticated."

  "It's gross. You know what? I'm getting a beer.” I take my glass up to the bar and return—after a shocked glare from the bartender—with a frosty cold bottle that has a bunch of French words on it. I'm wary of my first sip, but it tastes like beer and not like European existential angst, so I keep drinking. "That's better."

  The musicians on stage start a new song. Though I don't speak the language they're singing, which might be French or Italian, the words wrap my heart in an intense embrace, filling me with a heat I can't describe; Maddy's eyes meet mine and they take on a wistful look, one filled with sadness and regret.

  "He's going to call you soon," she says. "He'll pay, because he has the money and neither he, nor his family, will want to deal with the embarrassment of word getting out that someone has kidnapped me."

  "Embarrassment?"

  "It's all a popularity and numbers game to him. To them. They're such heartless, power-grubbers. Anything that could negatively affect the family's reputation, they keep a tight lid on it. Did you know they ran anonymous surveys and focus groups to pick our wedding venue? Or that a committee designed my wedding dress? I didn't even get to pick anything involved in it. All I did was just show up to a tailor’s, where they took my measurements about a million times. Everything they do is done to make them look good. Respectable. Powerful." She drains her negroni—how, I have no clue, because nothing could make me so angry that I'd be able to drink that cup of bitterness—and sighs. "But I'm getting distracted. I can't let their awfulness pull me off the subject, especially since they'll pay up soon, our business will be done, and I'll never have to see them again."

  "Do you need another drink?"

  "I already ordered another one. The staff here is great. That's one reason I love coming here, especially when I'm studying. They just seem to know exactly when you need another."

  Sure enough, a server comes by with another negroni for Maddy. And another beer for me. I give the server a curious look. “I’m not done with my beer yet.”

  "The bartender thought you might like this one better. It's an English-style oatmeal stout. He said it fits your vibe more appropriately. Enjoy."

  I take a sip. "Oh, damn." Then another sip. Just as the server turns to leave, I reach out and put a bill into his hand. "Bring me another of these as soon as you can. Thank you." When he leaves, I turn my attention back to Madison. "So, when this is over...?"

  "I disappear. You disappear. We go our separate ways. Now, Jackson, I don't want to be left with questions—at least, as much as I can help it—which means I need to ask some, now, before you walk out of my life again and leave me having to start over alone... Just like the last time you broke my heart. Can you be honest with me?"

  My heart clenches. It isn't easy knowing that the person you care about most in the world is the person you've hurt the most.

  "Look, Maddy..."

  She holds up a finger, silencing me.