Page 141 of Resist

That has to be the reason.

It has to be.

Ryker wouldn’t hurt me like this.

“Ryker?” His name is a plea. A silent appeal to tell me that I’ve got this all wrong.

Show me the sign.

“You did, didn’t you?” he asks, his voice condescending as he looks anywhere but my eyes.

But when I slide my gaze over to his hands, I don’t see a “hang loose” sign. I don’t see anything other than his subtle nudge to Carter and the arrogant smirk on his lips, which kissed me senseless less than an hour ago.

It’s the nudge that does me in. Callous and as if he has ownership over me.

Fight.

That breaks my heart, which finally felt after being dead for so long.

That shreds the trust I’d allowed myself to give someone else.

Dammit, Vaughn, fight.

“Vaughn?” Ryker’s voice cuts into the anger silencing my thoughts. Fury I now suddenly feel at both him and at myself.

At him? For obvious reasons.

At myself? For almost wanting there to be an excuse for all of this so I could justify the hurt away. But that wouldn’t be okay either. How would Ryker showing a “hang loose” sign validate and nullify the fact that he used me—exposed everything that makes me vulnerable—for his own means?

It wouldn’t.

It would just show the kind of man he is: one who exploits others for his own benefit.

Stunned and desperate to understand, I let my eyes flicker from man to man until Carter steps toward me with a crooked smile on his lips and his eyes shining with lust.

Fight.

“No!” It’s the only word I can muster. The only thought I can express through the devastation imploding my heart. The only defiance I can give.

And then I run out of there.

Flight.

I don’t remember how I get across the backyard and into the house.

Ryker doesn’t chase after me.

I don’t know how I manage to find my stuff and shove it into the first bag I come to.

Ryker doesn’t come to tell me this was all a joke.

I don’t know how I can still breathe when it feels like every single thing inside me has been hit with a hammer and then a wrecking ball. He betrayed me in every sense of the word: in outing my identity, in throwing away the trust he worked so hard to get, in manipulating me—and all for his own pleasure. All to gain some kind of favor with an abusive prick like Carter Preston. All to let me know exactly what he thought of me.

Ryker doesn’t love me.

I don’t recall how I managed to get an Uber and steal out of the house without anyone noticing.

But I noticed.

How he made me trust.

How he made me feel.

How he made me love.

All of those things he made me do when I thought I was broken.

And then broke them when I finally felt whole again.

The Uber driver and I reach the highway.

The tears come. One after another as I stare out the window.

He made me believe.

He made me hope.

And then he crushed me.