ENID

The way he kept saying "Get out" shouldn't have been terrifying.

I mean it was a basic command, a very simple directive if you ask me. But coming from Knox Steele, in that gravelly, no-nonsense baritone, it made my knees suddenly feel like they were made of jelly even if I was still sitting.

There was an edge to him I hadn’t seen in exactly twelve months ago—a sharp, rough coldness that promised absolutely no mercy. If I didn’t know him, if he wasn’t the man who had occupied every corner of my teenage daydreams, I’d probably be screaming my head off for a rescue.

I swallowed the lump...