“You’re so transparent,” Zach said. “You won’t find a gun in this place. He doesn’t keep them here.” He removed a black wife-beater from the dresser and pulled it over his defined pecs and abs. The sweats he wore swam on his toned frame, drawstring cinched tight. My brother was all hard muscle, and obviously, the owner of this place wasn’t. He grabbed a white tee and tossed it at me. “All you need to know is we won’t be interrupted for a few weeks.” Pointing a finger in my direction, he told me to get dressed.

I tugged the soft cotton over my head and eyed the door. The dresser and the closet were on either side, and Zach stood smack in the middle of the doorway, effectively blocking the exit. Watching me with the air of a predator, he rubbed the stubble on his chin.

I avoided the intensity in his probing stare and instead took in the room, the unfamiliar cabin walls, the smooth oak furniture. That damn window that taunted me, whispering to my desperation to slide it open and crawl through, except I knew he’d stop me before I could. The adjacent bathroom was a dead end for escape as well, with only a small vent-type window to allow air in.

“A few weeks, Zach?” Maybe logic would penetrate his thick skull. “What about your career? Won’t interrupting your training like this set you back?”

“My career is gone. It went down the drain the minute I thought I’d lost you.”

“Dad won’t be happy about that.”

“I don’t give a fuck what Dad’s happy about. I don’t about care about any of it, Lex. I’m done with MMA. You’re all that matters to me.”

I shook my head, feeling completely cornered. “I can’t live like this. Don’t make me.” Clenching my hands to keep from gouging flesh, I gnawed on my lip instead. “C’mon, Zach. If you don’t let me go, you’ll be on the run for the rest of your life. That isn’t a life.”

“As far as the world knows, you’re dead.” He shifted his feet and poked a finger at his chest. “I don’t have to run at all—I just have to make sure no one finds out you’re still alive. We’ll lay low here for a couple of weeks and go from there.”

His twitchy gestures made me nervous, and I wondered if alcohol was the only substance he was withdrawing from.

“How’d you do it?” he asked, his sudden question derailing my train of thought.

“Do what?”