/1/120751/coverbig.jpg?v=3cc764602e8182a8acfbecfc3cc6102a)
hed the
and the sharp scent of cologne. She wrinkled her nose i
e bed, its screen glowing softly. Unlocked. Of course it was. Ryan Hancock's brain had only en
embled, a tiny vibration of excitement and nerves. She took a
e phone. It felt
as a contact named "My Queen." The profile picture was a professional
monument to one-sided devotion. Ryan's messages were desperate bids for atten
om Ryan, sent an hour
you see? I won
le. This was the fuel she needed. This p
versation. A menu popped up. Her eyes
te C
appeared, stark and
sense of ceremony, a priestess performing a sacred rite
if Ashleigh Meadows had never existed in his
nightstand, carefully adjusting the charging cable to the exa
of sports heroes and photos of Ryan with his football team. In every
ing. No guilt
sun would bu
the silence. The roar of a car eng
as b
mmered against her ribs. She moved instantly, slipping into the adjoining walk-in c
his varsity uniform, the fabric stained with grass and dirt
ements casual, practiced. He swiped it
mming
e, then melted away, repla
thumb moved frantically, refreshing the app, pul
e conversat
is blue eyes, usually so bright and carefree, narrowed
like a predator searching for its prey. His eye
k. He saw the s
s met his. His were burning with a r
was
e closet door open and stepped out into the ligh
with fury. His voice was a low, guttural
ou do
te, defiant gesture. A slow, moc
oice clear and steady.
lief. Then, a tidal wave of incandescent rage. It was like
les were white. He was a statue of coiled tension, ev
p toward her.
e light, casting her in his shadow.
e small distance between them. She looked up into his fu
o violence. She tilted her head toward the large w
from her face, the air from the movement making her hair
hought he would do it. Hope, sharp
tion, he spun around and slammed
t of impact. His knuckles were instantly red, then purple. But
heaving, sucking in air like a drowning man.
t o

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