The Devil at the door

"Open the door, son. I know you're in there."

Gregory's voice slid through the cheap motel door like oil. I could smell the whiskey even from across the room—sour and sharp. Jace stood frozen beside the doorframe, his hand wrapped around the lamp base, knuckles white. His eyes were fixed on the doorknob like it was a live grenade.

"He's not leaving," Jace said quietly. "He'll stand out there all night."

"Then call the police."

"They won't get here fast enough." He looked at me, and his expression was unreadable. "Stay behind me. Don't say anything. No matter what he says."

"Jace—"

"Promise me."

I nodded. He opened the door.

Gregory Kingston stepped inside like he owned the place. He smiled when he saw me, and it was the kind of smile that made you check for exits. "The tutor. Still here. I'm impressed."

"Say what you came to say and get out." Jace positioned himself between us.

"I came to apologize." Gregory spread his arms wide. "The fire was a mistake. I was angry. You know how I get."

"You burned down my apartment."

"And I'm sorry. Truly." His voice was smooth. Practiced. "But you have to understand—everything I've done has been to protect you. She's a distraction. A broke little scholarship case who's only going to drag you down."

"Stop talking about her."

"Why? Because it's true? Look at her. She works three jobs. She's about to be evicted. You think she cares about you? She cares about your money. Your name. Your draft pick."

"I'm standing right here," I said, breaking my promise.

Gregory's eyes slid to me. "I know exactly where you are. I've been watching you for days. You're nothing."

"Enough." Jace stepped forward, and Gregory retreated half a step. "You're going to leave. And you're not going to contact me again. If you do, I go to the police. I tell them everything—the fire, the stalking, the threats."

Gregory's mask slipped. "You're bluffing."

"I called my coach. He's got a statement ready for the press. All I have to do is say the word."

The silence stretched. Then Gregory laughed—cold and ugly. "You've got more of me in you than you think. This little power play? This is pure Kingston."

"Leave. Now."

Gregory looked at me one last time. "She'll leave you. They always leave. And when she does, don't come crawling back to me."

"I won't."

He spat on the carpet and walked out. The door clicked shut behind him.

The silence he left behind was suffocating. Jace stood in the middle of the room, staring at the door, his whole body trembling with adrenaline.

"You did it," I said. "You stood up to him."

"It doesn't matter."

"Jace—"

"It doesn't matter." He turned to face me, and his expression was hard. Closed off. The King was back, armor fully in place. "He's not going to stop. He's going to keep coming, and as long as you're near me, you're in danger."

"We already talked about this—"

"No, you talked. I listened. But I was wrong." His voice was cold now. Deliberately cold. "You need to leave."

The words hit me like a slap. "What?"

"Go stay with Marcus. Go back to your apartment. I don't care. But you can't be here."

"Your father just threatened both of us, and your solution is to push me away?"

"My solution is to keep you alive." His jaw tightened. "I told you I couldn't be near you. I told you I'd destroy everything good in your life. And now my father is out there, and he's not going to stop, and the only way to protect you is to make sure he doesn't have a reason to come after you anymore."

"So you're giving him what he wants."

"I'm giving you a way out."

I stared at him. The boy who'd kissed me at the fire. The boy who'd held my hand in the dark. The boy who'd promised he'd stop running.

"I don't want a way out," I said.

"You should." He grabbed his jacket off the chair. "I'm going to find out where my father went. Stay here. Lock the door. Don't open it for anyone."

"And then what? You just disappear?"

He paused at the door. Didn't look back. "Maybe that's what I should have done from the beginning."

He left. The door clicked shut. I was alone.

I didn't cry. I wanted to—I could feel the tears burning behind my eyes—but I refused to let them fall. This was exactly what I'd expected. Exactly what my mother's voice had been warning me about since the beginning. Men like him don't stay. Men like him destroy everything they touch.

But it wasn't the same. Jace wasn't leaving because he wanted to. He was leaving because he was terrified. Because he thought sacrificing himself was the only way to save me.

I pulled out my phone to text Marcus. To ask for a ride. To do the smart thing for once in my life.

But before I could type a single word, headlights swept across the window. A car pulling into the parking lot. Too fast. Too close.

A black SUV. The driver's door opened. A woman stepped out—tall, dark coat, hair pulled back in a severe bun. Even in the dim parking lot lights, I could see the badge clipped to her belt.

Detective.

She walked toward the door.

The knock came. Three sharp raps.

"Jace Kingston? This is Detective Marlene Cross. I need to ask you a few questions about the fire at your apartment."

I opened the door. The detective's eyes swept over me—the rumpled clothes, the dark circles, the motel room behind me. "You're not Jace Kingston."

"He just left. What's this about?"

She didn't answer right away. Her gaze was sharp. Assessing. "Your name?"

"Sophie Hart."

"You're the tutor."

The fact that she knew that made my stomach drop. "Yes."

"Miss Hart, Gregory Kingston's car was found abandoned ten minutes ago. The driver's side door was open. There's blood on the seat." She paused. "We're treating this as a potential crime. And your friend Jace was the last person seen with him tonight."

"He didn't—Jace wouldn't—"

"Where is he now?"

I opened my mouth. But before I could answer, my phone buzzed in my pocket. A text. I glanced down, and the screen lit up with two words that made my blood run cold.

Jace: Don't tell them anything. Trust no one. I'll find you.

The detective saw my face. "Miss Hart? Who's messaging you?"

I looked up at her. At the badge. At the car. At the blood on Gregory's seat and the son who'd just disappeared into the night.

And I had no idea who to trust.