Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run novel Chapter 836

Clara had noticed that restless shadow pacing outside for a while now. She couldn’t help herself—she got up and walked out. “Hey, what’s with all the lurking? I saved your life, remember? Not even a thank you? And how exactly do you know me, anyway?”

Grayson went white as a sheet and stumbled back a good ten feet. “Clara, please, don’t talk to me.”

He remembered that one reckless moment—hugging her out of excitement—and how it almost got him killed.

Now, just seeing that man inside, even if he didn’t say a word, Grayson was convinced the guy had already thought up a hundred ways to end him. The guy was terrifying. Back at the fight club, he’d taken on ten top fighters at once. No one thought he’d win. People bet so much, some nearly lost the shirts off their backs.

Clara was even more curious now. She picked up her gun and pointed it at him. “Get in here. Or I swear, I’ll shoot.”

Grayson’s scalp tingled in fear. When had Clara become just as scary as that guy?

He dropped into a crouch, refusing to move any closer. “No way. You’d have to shoot me to get me in there. How can you stand being around him? Don’t you know how many people he’s killed? Just looking at him freaks me out.”

Right then, footsteps echoed from inside. Dylan stepped out.

Grayson nearly screamed. He scrambled backwards, almost tripping over himself.

Clara glanced at Dylan, curiosity burning in her eyes.

Dylan had grown up under the strict rules of the Ferguson family, learning business since he was a kid. Sure, he could fight, but that was just because his family paid for it. Everything he knew was learned in boardrooms, not on the streets. So why was Grayson acting like Dylan was some sort of monster?

Dylan fixed Grayson with a calm, cold look. “Inside. Now.”

Grayson yelped and scrambled in, looking like a terrified dog, desperate not to make Dylan mad by being slow.

Clara could barely believe what she’d just seen. It was like something had zipped right past her feet.

Grayson hovered near the fire. From outside, Clara called, “You sure you don’t know him? He seems to remember you really well.”

Grayson shrank down, trying to make himself invisible.

“No,” Dylan said, just as flat as before. He took Clara’s hand and led her back to the fire.

He held her hand, eyes fixed on the fire. “Didn’t you say your memory’s coming back? Maybe you’ll figure it out soon enough.”

Something in his voice sounded tired, almost giving up.

Clara’s patience snapped. She’d brought him out here to cheer him up, and now he was back to being moody the second they ran into someone he barely knew.

Smack!

She slapped him hard.

Dylan’s head snapped to the side, lips pressed into a thin line.

Grayson flinched at the sound, thinking Clara was the one who got hit. But when he turned and saw the red mark blooming on Dylan’s cheek, he dropped to his knees, shaking with fear.

That was it. Clara was definitely doomed now—he was sure there’d be blood before the night was over.