Chapter 11: Byron Moves First

Byron's POV

I sat in my truck outside her window at five in the morning with a green notebook on my knee.

I had not slept.

My mouth still tasted of her, and my hands would not stay still.

She had said my name in her own voice.

Not the slurred, drowsy one she used for the others.

Her real voice, clear, in the dark.

I had made a rule, and I had broken it for exactly as long as it took her to say it.

I had stopped, and I had walked out of the room, and I had not stopped shaking.

I started the truck.

Abel's marina office was twenty minutes down the lake road, a glass box on the water with his name on the sign.

He was there on a Sunday, because he was a man who lived at his desk, and he was drinking coffee when I walked in.

He looked up and smiled.

"Ron. Didn't expect you."

I put my hand around his throat and pushed him back against the wall.

It was the second time in two days, and I did not care who saw.

"The phone."

"Byron."

"The phone, Abel. And the cloud, and every drive, and every copy. You're going to delete it in front of me."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll break your arm, and then I'll find the video, and then I'll do something worse."

He stared at me.

I let him see that I meant it.

He laughed, a little shakily, and held up both hands.

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