“You clearly have a type and maybe I’m just not it, being a brunette and all.” I blink obnoxiously. “I might be wearing a dress you gave me, but I’m not yours.” I shake my head, the alcohol helping keep my expression blank. “I could never be yours.” I grin like a wicked bitch while my mind screams even if I want to be.

I want to be.

But this isn’t real, it’s a game. He plays games, I learned this day one.

“You should go.” I nod, pushing him away, but he doesn’t move an inch. “You don’t belong here.”

His jaw clenches and in the distance, it’s easy to hear the guys rushing back this way, there’s stomping all around, coming from both sides, from behind him.

I lift my chin, summoning every ounce of strength to keep it from trembling. “Get out of here, blackout. This isn’t your world.”

Something flashes in his eyes and I wait for him to be cold and callous, to go for the throat and drag that metaphorical, jagged blade straight across.

That is what I hope for, what I want, but I don’t get it.

I get something much, much worse.

He gets in my face and he stares me dead in the eye, somehow, though he wears his glow-in-the-dark contacts, it’s my favorite shade of blue I’m staring into.

“You’re right,” he rasps, his fingers discreetly, subconsciously, playing with pieces of my hair. “This isn’t my world, but if you think mine isn’t where you belong, you’re dead fucking wrong.”

I suck in a desperate breath, and then I gasp as Ransom shifts, grips the railing and hops over the side.

I scream, bending to look over the ledge.

He’s gripping the crossing bars beneath it, using them to break his fall. He drops to his feet with ease, and not a second before Scott, along with every other guy here, is surrounding me in an attempt to grab him.

But again. They’re fools.

As if they didn’t get them all to the bottom as they wanted, when they wanted, and got them all back to the top just the same.

Beretta appears, and while it’s dark, and all you can spot is the glow of their eyes, I know he grins at Ransom’s side.

He flips them off as they scream and shout at the ‘punks’ below, but they keep on walking toward the end of the property, where Arsen now stands, waiting.

Ransom turns, facing this way.

He tips his head and I know he’s looking at me, and only then do I realize Scott is behind me, his arms locked on the railing at my sides.

Ransom pulls something from beneath his hood, and everyone gasps when a blue flicker glows in the distance.