Chapter Thirty-Four

My leg aches as I walk toward the entrance, and I'm delayed by several people who Mark introduced me to at dinner who try to make conversation. I duck out of all the calls politely as I can, and I rest for a moment outside the dance hall in the walkway leading to the back entrance. It's organised chaos inside, dozens of workers moving through the crowds with practised ease, and stepping outside is like stepping into another world. I'm having a good time—Mark is making sure of it—but now that I'm out of the hall, tiredness begins to nag.

Eddie's large form suddenly appears at the door. His gaze darts to my hand on the wall, to the leg I have lifted from the ground.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"All good," I say, trying not to get antsy with him looking at the prosthetic. "I think sitting down for dinner stiffened me up a bit."

"Can I get you anything?"

"Nah," I say. "It's not bad. Nothing's sore."

Eddie stands there and I swallow at the awkwardness that fills the silence.

"I'm just meeting my brother. He's at the back entrance," I say.

"I'll walk with you."

I straighten up and ease the weight back onto my leg with a sigh. We walk together, and I hype myself up inside. Things between us are mostly straightened out; and I think it's my turn to try to put in effort to get along with Eddie. "Bethany looks great," I say.

I see the way Eddie's expression brightens out of the corner of my eye. "She looks fantastic," he agrees.

"She's getting along well with Sebastian, too. How come those two never met in the apartment?" I ask. As I recall, the first time Bethany met him was at the volleyball match where Mark and Tommy were duking it out, but from what Bethany said, she'd been a regular at their apartment well before that.

Eddie snorts. "He's introverted as hell. He'd hide in his room whenever she was around. He's gotten over that now that he's met her."

Sebastian was introverted? "Really? He seems to like going out with Tommy. And they go out clubbing."

"He's comfortable once he's got a person."

"Tommy's a good person to have."

"Sure. Once he's not trying to elbow you in the eye."

"Mark got him back," I point out. "And Tommy's ribs were way more bruised than Mark's face. Plus…they both seemed to weirdly enjoy it."

Eddie snorts. "Mark is a total ass about being in charge. He loves the power struggle."

We turn the corner to find Chris standing at the valet stand up ahead, but rather than call out, I stay focused on my conversation with Eddie. "Speaking of…does he always torture Damien?"

"From the phone calls I've heard," Eddie says, "he never gives the guy a break."

"But why? As far as I've seen, Damien really cares and goes out of his way to help him and check in on him."

"He probably bossed Mark around when they were kids, and now Mark's paying him back. I know with my older brother—" Eddie cuts off.

"It's okay," I say. "You can talk about him. I promise not to freak out."

Eddie grabs my arm, yanking me to an unbalanced stop.

I glance at him in surprise. "What?"

Eddie glares straight ahead. "I know your brothers are twins, so they're going to look similar no matter what, but I am damn sure that's the guy who was at college." Eddie's voice comes out loud, threatening, and aggressive.

My head snaps forward. The valet stand is mere feet in front of us and. It's Ronan leaning there with a cigarette between his fingers. He flicks the ashes onto the open valet book, mean eyes travelling from Eddie to me.

I tense.

"Are you stupid?" I demand. For once, my voice doesn't vanish in Ronan's presence; it lifts up. Travels.

"Nice party, Kyle." Ronan ignores my question.

"You must be."

"You're really living it up, aren't you?"

"There's security." I step away, leaning against the doorframe to look down the hall. There are tons of workers, and the security seemed to be more for making sure there was no fighting between guests than anything really serious, but I'm sure with an estate like this they've hired people well able to take care of one skinny asshole. But right this second, I don't see anyone in the hall.

"Ugh." Eddie falls back with a grunt.

I jerk around, reaching out to catch him. I'm too late to make it, and he falls heavily to the ground. He cups his face with a groan and rolls onto his side.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I whirl around to Ronan. Instead of the fist I expect to see, it's a wrench in Ronan's grip. A lot, is the answer. A whole fucking lot is wrong with him. Eddie groans on the ground behind me.

Ronan looks from him to me. "Come on," he says.

"Come on what?"

He nods to the car behind him. A black Jeep.

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

Ronan lunges forward. I scramble back, but not far enough, not fast enough, and the blunt metal connects with my left knee. Sparks explode across my vision. I hit the ground gasping in panicked breaths, the pain rocketing through my limb, immobilising me. Ronan grabs my arm, half hauling and half dragging me toward his car.

I want to tell him he's being stupid. He's acting like a total crazy person and he's going to land himself in far worse trouble than he has already. But I can't catch my breath, pain tightening my lungs like a vice; I can't expand my chest for even a shallow breath.

Ronan manoeuvres me into the back seat of the Jeep, grunting, and I end up on my back, clutching my trousers into fists, above my knee, trying to breathe. One breath. Just one. Panic blankets my mind.

"Fuck off," Ronan snarls. I glimpse Eddie and him fighting, then black engulfs the edges of my vision. When I blink and can see again, Ronan closes the driver's door and starts the engine.

I catch a breath. Then another. I'm not tied down, nor restrained in any way, but I can't move an inch.

"Give me your phone," Ronan says.

I don't answer. Can't even reach for it. Ronan pulls over with a curse and twists around to dig it out of my pocket. I focus on breathing. In and out. In and out. I'm not sure how much time passes before Ronan twists around to look at me. "You need painkillers?" he asks.

I nod.

We pull over again. Humiliatingly, I cry as Ronan gets me upright to swallow pills, and I hiccup as he sets me back down again. He mutters, "such a fucking baby," under his breath, and slams the door shut. The painkillers don't do anything. Sweat dampens the back of my shirt, and every inch of skin may as well be against an open flame before an icy chill washes over me.

At least a year passes before the pain recedes. My cheek is against the leather seat of the Jeep and it stings when I peel away. We're still driving, but it's bumpy, rather than the smooth road. I think I see the shadows of trees through the window, but it's so dark I'm not sure if I imagined it or not. I swallow. And very, very slowly, I stretch out my limb. The whimper of pain is unstoppable.

"Would you shut up?" Ronan barks out. "I didn't hit you hard. Not half as hard as I hit that big oaf."

"I'll get you some money," I croak. "So let's go back. Or drop me off here. Anywhere. A hospital?" I trail off, my eyelids heavy with each blink. A wave of drowsiness envelops me and I shut my eyes, finding the allure of sleep too overwhelming to resist.

"It's not about money," Ronan says.

His voice is muffled, as though he's speaking from far away. "It's not?" I mumble.

"I just want to talk. And you had to be such a shit about it, and get me into all sorts of trouble!" his voice rises in anger. "But whatever, always been your M.O, hasn't it? You manipulative little—argh, whatever. Fuck you, Kyle. I don't give a shit about you. This isn't about you."

I have to think really hard past the dizziness. "Chris?" I guess, after a painfully long time.

Ronan doesn't say anything.

"You want Chris's money—"

"I don't want his money," Ronan growls. "I haven't seen him in years. Years . He's refused to talk to me ever since you manipulated him into cutting me out. He's never let me explain my side of the story."

I understand. "You're going to tell Chris where we are?"

"He'll just call the police if I do that."

"You'll call him from my phone to talk to him?"

"Am I stupid? Is that what you think? I tossed your phone, you fucking dumbass."

Right. Of course. I'm a dumbass. I blink, starting to feel more awake. Less like I'm about to pass out any second.

"What's the plan? You'll have to tell me since I'm too stupid to guess."

Ronan rubs a hand through his hair in a jerky, rushed gesture.

"Chris has a knack for being AWOL just when I try to meet him," Ronan mutters.

"Was the plan to meet him at the party?"

Ronan's hands tighten on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening.

"I wouldn't have gone near you," Ronan curses. "You came to find me, and then you start calling security. You gave me no choice. If I end up in jail, Chris won't visit. I know he won't."

The Jeep jolts, knocking my head against the door. "Ow. Where even are we?" I ask.

"Five minutes and I can explain my side of what happened."

I don't want to point out that Chris is never going to give Ronan the time of day for that. Or point out that even he explains his side of what happened years ago, he's going to have a hell of a time talking about tonight…

Biting down a groan of pain, I sit up.

Outside the windows are trees, and we're driving up a steep hill. I glance behind us but see only a winding road that disappears behind overgrowth. We're really off the beaten track, and given that the road is mud, I don't fancy my chances that there's going to be a house anywhere nearby or someone I can go to for help.

A square of white at my feet stands out against the black leather seats. A white card with gold writing. My missing invitation. There's a phone lying on top of it.

The dirt road widens and Ronan pulls in. I tear my gaze away from the card. The headlights illuminate a decrepit sign covered in vines and crowded by branches. The image of a man with hiking gear stands out on the sign, black against the white background.

"A trail?" I ask.