if I had to be a damn stripper, it would be better than waiting around for Blake to lose his shit at me and, maybe, take it too far when he did.
The heavy bracelet shook against my wrist as I tucked my hands back inside my sleeping bag, and it was just another annoying reminder that I was a possession, caged and chained. I had the brief hope that this survival camp might actually teach me something useful, and then I could utilize those skills to best my brother.
Since I was warm enough now, thanks to some good Samaritan—my money was on Matthew, but I had a secret hope it was Dylan—I might even get a few hours of sleep. Shuffling as far as I could under the shelter, I was amazed at how much warmer I was with this extra blanket. Maybe come morning I’d figure out who had saved me, but for now, sleep.
The moment dawn arrived, a loud horn blasted through the clearing, and I groaned as my rough night caught up to me. My head pounded as I lifted it and peered around blearily to figure out what was happening. Immediately I noticed that the second sleeping bag was gone from me, but I still felt cozily warm since the temperature had leveled out. Not to mention there was now a roaring fire, three times the size of the one last night when we'd arrived.
Disappointment hit me; I had really hoped that I’d find out who’d given me the sleeping bag when they came to collect it this morning. I wanted it to have been Dylan.
I didn't want him to hate me.
Like I'd called him with that thought, he strode into sight, the soft light of the fire showcasing his flawless features. The glare he narrowed on all of us, and especially me, was not a good start to the day, and the odds of him not hating me were slowly dwindling with each second he stared me down.
"On your feet," he commanded, not shouting, because a man like Dylan didn't need to shout to capture attention. Whatever he wished happened, and the rest of us fell in line or got run the fuck over.
As the others dragged themselves up, groaning and bouncing around in the icy morning air, I wiggled out of my sleeping bag, thankful that the snow had stopped. At least for now. The dark clouds hanging in the distance were ominous, but as long as they held out until we got to wherever we were going, I wouldn't complain.
“Last night while you slept, the fire dwindled down to almost nothing,” Dylan said when everyone was on their feet. “Not one of you woke to check on it, top up the logs, or even worry about the chance of attack.”
He strode closer, towering over everyone in the clearing. “I could have killed every single one of you in your sleep.”
A shiver traced along my spine, unease settling in my stomach. Even I had missed someone dropping a blanket on me, and that pissed me off since I was fairly proud of my ability to sleep with one eye open. Blake hadn’t gotten the drop on me in at least three years, but that streak had now been broken by some stranger.
I had to be better tonight.
"Not one of you thought to plan ahead," Dylan continued, starting to pace like a drill sergeant while his staff stood in a uniform line behind him. "Not one of you even considered the need to rotate shifts to keep watch. If this had been a hostile situation, you'd all be nothing but blood smears on the dirt right now."
His sharp green gaze locked on every single camper, one by one, staring them down, and then finally came to rest on me. My stomach flipped, but for the first time around Dylan Grant... it was in fear. This wasn't the man I'd first gotten drunk with eight months ago. The man who'd kissed me senseless in the back of his limo, then worshiped my body until dawn.
The man staring at me from across the campsite was goddamn terrifying.
"Pathetic," he spat. It was for the whole group, but I couldn't help flinching like it was aimed specifically at me. I wasn't stupid enough to think Matthew hadn't filled him in on my profile. Name. Age. Not that it really mattered. I was eighteen and totally legal. Now, anyway. Then? Yeah, I can see how he might object to having