And then I’d disappear. I’d rather live on the run, in the woods, for fucksake, then deal with whatever torture the slimeball next to me has in store.

A hand slides under the table and grabs my knee.

Fucking gross.

He starts to move it up my thigh, a smug smile on his putrid face.

I jerk away and grab my fork off the table. “I hope you’re ambidextrous, because if you don’t get your hand off of me, you’ll never use this hand again,” I snap.

He laughs, pulling his hand away from my leg and waving my mother off when she squeals, ready to reprimand me for threatening to stab precious little Matthew with silverware.

“Wiry little thing,” Matthew coos like I’m a horse to be broken. A poorly behaved dog to be trained.

My mother hisses, “Lakynn, behave. He’s just being sweet.”

I want to scream. I want to stand up and flip the table and tell them all to go to hell.

Instead, I scoot my chair away from him. It’s not far, but my point has been made.

He reaches again, but this time around my waist, and tries to pull me closer.

That’s when the glass clinks loudly and obnoxiously.

Everything stills.

Silverware freezes mid-air. Conversations halt.

Caiden Grey stands and walks toward us like a reaper in denim and a pearl snap.

He slams his beer bottle down on the table narrowly missing my father’s hand. The sound is sharp and jarring, and my father’s eyes flash with something akin to surprise for a second before he masks it. “I didn’t know this establishment serves anything in a bottle.”

Caiden doesn’t smile. “They’ll serve me whatever I ask for. Just like everyone else on this fucking mountain.”

His tone is meant to incite my father, but his eyes are locked on Matthew.

He’s silent, but his message is loud and clear. It’s a warning. A promise.

Matthew stands. “Run along, cowboy,” he says. “She belongs to me, not your little friend.” I suck in a breath because people have called Riven Kozlov a lot of things over the years, but at six-foot-five, little has never been one of them.

Caiden grins, slow and cruel. “I think we all know who Miss Lakynnn belongs to. And it’s not anyone at this table.”

My father sets his wine down with a hard clink. “You’re not one to overstep, Grey. You need to remember the rules you impart on everyone else on this mountain, don’t you think?”

Caiden turns his head, deliberate, unbothered. “Am I?” He shrugs. “You should be honest with her. Tell her where Riven really is.”

My breath catches. The room shrinks.

My father’s expression darkens. “That’s not your concern.”