By the time I roll into Scottsdale, blue skies have descended into darkness. My muscles feel a little stiff and achy after two and a half hours on the road. I want to shower, crawl into bed, and pass out, but, then, I remember that I'm homeless and, therefore, shower-less and bed-less as well.

Fucking hell.

I'm supposed to return the Kia to my dad. I decide against it. I need to hold onto this car a little longer. Some people might call my decision—theft. Like my dad's wife, Dana. But whatever. Borrow, steal. To-may-toe, to-mah-toe. Screw Dana. If Cruz and I aren't welcome in their house, they can duke it out over the car in their nice, warm beds while we sleep in the fucking Kia. It's the least my dad can do. I'll only need it for a few days, anyway, to hunt for a job and an apartment.

I'm thinking about reaching out to Alison—or even Jake, my weed supplier—for a temporary place to crash. I'm not picky. I'm okay with two sleeping bags on the floor and access to the bathroom. If they refuse us, though, at least, Cruz and I will have the Kia until we find an apartment for Nascha to sign off on. None of this is ideal, I know, but it's better than being completely homeless or letting Cruz suffer under his dad's roof.

My fingers grow tense around the steering wheel when I pull into Ron's neighborhood. I punch in the access code at the private entrance and watch the gates swing open. Anxiety cinches my nerves. I don't even know if Cruz is home because the idiot won't answer my calls or texts. That's why I came here first to check on him. In one of my texts, I told him I was going straight to his dad's house if he didn't reply.

Trying to be a stealthy bitch, I park one street down from the house so Ron won't notice my presence. Then, I trek on foot the rest of the way. I hear a rumble overhead. Fuck me but it starts to rain. It never rains in Arizona. Just my luck. It's also fifty degrees outside—practically arctic by my desert-dwelling standards—and I start to shiver as rainwater soaks through my clothes, chilling me to the bone.

Wrapping my arms around my body, I curse myself for not packing an umbrella. By the time I reach Ron's house, I'm a drenched mess. Strands of wet hair stick uncomfortably to my neck and cheeks. I duck under a tree to hide from the relentless downpour. The branches and leaves provide a little shelter. I'm still getting wet, though. Feeling cold and miserable, I eye the house with apprehension. It looks bigger and more intimidating in the rain.

Did Cruz make it home yet?

Phone in hand, I don't give up and send out yet another text: r u going to keep ignoring me?

Then another: i'm outside your house for fuck's sake

And another: please come out

At this point, I don't know what I'm hoping for.

Is Cruz not answering because he's hurt or in trouble?

Or is he simply ghosting me on purpose?

As long as he's safe, I guess it doesn't matter. Still, my chest feels heavy and tight with uncertainty. I refuse to leave until I'm sure that he's going to be okay. For the longest time, I stare at a blackened screen on my phone, and I'm scared that he's going to go MIA on me forever. Cruz hasn't read any of my messages all day.

Asshole.

I want to scream. I want to cry. I just want Cruz to tell me what the fuck is going on.

Did something happen to him on the way back from Flagstaff?

How did he get home without a car, anyway?

Uber?

Worry fuels my anger. It's a potent combination. I wish he'd stop trying to do everything on his own.

Why does Cruz keep pushing me away?

I'm beginning to lose faith, but I summon up the last of my strength to give him benefit of the doubt. Cruz loves me, I remind myself again, he wouldn't abandon me for no reason. The two of us will be together soon. I just have to power through the next few months. Easier said than done, though.

My eighteenth birthday has never felt so far away.

Glancing back the house, I obsess over my options. Technically, I still have Ron's house key. I ran off to Flagstaff before the bastard could take it from me. I glare at the front door, back at my phone, then back at the door again.

Fuck it.

I'm going in.

As quietly as possible, I disarm the security system with the code, unlock the front door, and make my way inside. I check the entire first floor, making my way from the kitchen to the bathrooms to the study and to the living room. No one's down here. Good. I even peer inside the garage. Cruz's BMW is there, but Ron's Benz is missing. Weird. Maybe Ron isn't home right now.

Is he working a late shift at the hospital?

Frowning, I tip-toe through the living room, up the stairs, and look around the second floor. No one's in the bathrooms or spare rooms, either. Turning my head, I take a quick look at the master bedroom. Door is shut. Lights are out. If Ron's at home, I pray that he won't wake up. I need to be quick. I'm sure he wouldn't hesitate to call the cops on me for trespassing. I have to get in and get out.

With quickening strides, I make a beeline for Cruz's room. Stopping in front of the door, my heart picks up speed when I turn the knob and step inside. Anxiously, I scan the room. Everything here looks completely untouched. It's exactly the way we left it. Cruz's bed is made. It looks immaculate. No one's been sleeping here tonight. Desk is spotless. Chair is also empty. That's when it hits me.

Cruz never came home.

Did he lie to me about moving back with his dad?

Where did he go, then?

Right as I start freaking out about my missing boyfriend, a vibration hits my pocket. Someone's calling me.

Fucking finally!

I yank out my phone to check if it's Cruz. My face falls when I realize that the caller isn't Cruz.

It's Ron.

Did he sense that I broke into his house?

Shit.

I feel like puking when I pick up, "H-Hello?"

Ron's voice growls at me, "Listen here, you little bitch. I know my son ran away because of you. Hell, I had to get stitches because of you. He would've never hit me if you weren't there. Cruz was a good kid before you started fucking around with him—"

The room begins to spin. Panic slams into me full force. My heart stutters as my stomach churns. Something terrible has happened to Cruz. I can feel it in my gut. Trying to stay calm, though, I press my ear to the wall as his dad continues to rant and rave.

"It's your fault that my son turned against me. I've been texting and calling him nonstop ever since you two disappeared, telling him to come home, but he wouldn't listen."

I don't hear Ron's voice echoing from the master bedroom, which tells me that he's not home at all. I can't decide if this is good or bad news as I slowly wrap my brain around what's really going on here.

"Can you believe that little shit dismissed me the whole time? He snubbed all fifty-seven of my texts and twenty-seven of my calls. Cruz simply refused to acknowledge me. Until I threatened to go after you."

Interesting.

Ron's wrath doesn't faze me. All I can hear is Cruz's cryptic remarks echoing through my head. Right then, the deeper, hidden meaning behind his words come to light. 

I never want to be in a position where I have to answer to some shithead like my dad just to protect what's mine!

Suddenly, I'm fucking terrified that Ron might be the reason why Cruz hasn't been answering his phone all day. I feel guilty for ever doubting him.

I just need a little more time.

Everything clicks into place.

I gotta sort some shit out first.

God.

Why didn't Cruz tell me that his dad had been harassing him the whole time we were in Flagstaff?

This must be the reason why he ran back to Scottsdale. Cruz didn't want to get me involved with his dad's revenge. As much as I love him for it, I hate that he tried to be the hero again.

Desperately, I demand, "Where the hell is Cruz? What have you done to him?"

Ron sounds so fucking evil and smug when he replies, "He's been detained. Serves him right, don't you think?"

"Detained?" I gasp.

"In juvenile hall."

"What the fuck!"

"I had him arrested this morning for assault and battery."

I shriek in outrage, "You're pressing charges against your own son?"

"Not just me," Ron preens. "I convinced that Carlisle kid to submit a report as well." 

Motherfucker.

Brody's in on this, too?

"You reached out to that asshole?"

"Watch your language, young lady. Brody had quite a few nasty things to say about you. The poor boy told me how you tried to seduce him, but he rejected you. He could tell that you were a stupid, lying whore. Just like your aunt."

"You and Brody are complete and utter garbage. You two should be in jail! Not Cruz!"

"Then he should've never hit us. Cruz has clearly developed a bit of violent streak, and you're clearly a bad influence on my son. As his father, I'm only showing him a bit of tough love so he can correct his behavior."

"He should've hit you both harder."

Ron snickers like a legit villain, and I see red. 

"Tell you what, Athena. I'm in a generous mood tonight. Maybe Brody and I can be convinced to not press charges against my son," he taunts, "if you promise to keep your mouth shut and stay the fuck away from him."

Fuck Ron!

Fuck Brody, too!

Anguish seethes within me. I'm so pissed that I'm literally shaking, and it has nothing to do with the cold. Cruz wasn't lying when he said that Ron would play dirty. He did it to his mom. Now he's doing it to us.

"Fine, you have my word. I won't say shit. Get him out, and I won't even look in Cruz's direction from now on. You win."

I'm lying through my teeth, of course, telling Ron whatever he wants to hear. Once Cruz is free again, however, all bets are off. That boy is mine, and I'll do whatever it takes to keep him safe.

Love makes me fearless.

Something unleashes in me. It's feral and savage and utterly freeing. I may not have the money to take on Ron and Brody in court. But I have screenshots saved of Brody's threatening DMs to me. I also have a recording of Ron going after my aunt that crazy night in his study. My rape kit results are on file. Once I go back to school, I can steal Chrissa's phone to get the photos and video of Brody assaulting me while I was unconscious. I also have Suzie on my side. 

Ron and Brody may have started this war, but I intend to finish it.