Cyrus ends his call with a curt "keep me updated" and turns to face me. His jaw is tight, anxiety coming off him like a fucking furnace. "There was a situation at the docks."
"What docks? What kind of situation?" My voice is steady even though my heart's trying to punch through my ribs.
"The kind that involves guns," Jinx says, standing up from the couch. He moves toward me like he's approaching a spooked horse, hands up in a placating gesture. "But it's handled now. Kade's fine."
"Definefine." I cross my arms, refusing to be soothed. "If he's fine, why do you both look like someone died?"
They exchange a glance, one of those silent conversations I used to be part of and now I'm shut out of. The exclusion stings more than it should, and I have to remind myself I'm not a part of their world anymore. Not this one.
"Several someones died," Cyrus admits, running a hand through his hair. "But none of them were ours. Kade's on his way back now."
"Is he hurt?" The question slips out before I can stop it.
Jinx's expression softens slightly. "Just grazed. Nothing serious."
"Grazed by what?"
"A bullet," Cyrus says, like he's discussing a paper cut instead of a gunshot wound. "But Tank's with him. They'll be here soon."
A bullet. Kade got shot. The man took a bullet in the same day as he killed someone in cold blood, and they're talking about it like it's a stubbed toe.
What the fuck is my life?
At least I have the terrifying realization Tank is coming back to focus on. I've been looking up hopefully every time I hear heavy footsteps like everything might somehow be better if Tank would stop avoiding me like the fucking plague. And now that Iknowhe's coming, I'm scared.
Scared because I'm going to have to face the irrevocable truth thatmyTank—the boy I would have chosen if my life hadn't been ripped away from me—is dead and gone like Kade.
At least I can catch glimpses of my boys in Jinx and Cyrus.
I sink onto the couch, my legs finally giving out. The collar feels heavier suddenly, the weight of it pressing down on my throat like it's trying to remind me this isexactlywhat I signed up for.
Violence and heartbreak.
"You okay?" Jinx asks, sitting beside me. His hand lands on my knee, warm and solid.
"No." The honesty surprises me. "I'm not okay. None of this is okay."
Before anyone can respond, the front door crashes open.
My head snaps toward the sound, heart in my throat. Tank appears first, his massive frame filling the doorway and blood on his hands. Then Kade, leaning heavily on Tank's shoulder, his face pale beneath the grime and his left arm wrapped in what looks like a torn shirt soaked through with red.
I'm moving before I can think.
My feet carry me across the room, the distance evaporating to nothing as I reach them. My hands hover over Kade, wanting to touch, to check, to make sure he's really okay, but not knowing where it's safe to put them.
"You're bleeding," I say, and it's possibly the most obvious observation in the history of observations, but my brain's short-circuited somewhere between seeing him hurt and remembering I'm supposed to hate him.
Kade's smirk is immediate, even though his face is too pale and his breathing's too shallow. "Aww, is Princess worried about me?" he asks sluggishly.
"Fuck off." The response is automatic, defensive, but my hands are still hovering near him like they're magnetically drawn. "You can't kill my stepfather if you're fucking dead, dumbass."
His laugh turns into a wince, and Tank makes a low sound that might be disapproval at his antics. Or maybe just concern. Hard to tell with the bandana and the way his dark eyes are locked on Kade's wound like he can will it closed through sheer force of wanting.
It occurs to me this is the closest I've been to him since all this started, even if it's clearly against his will.
"I'm not dying, Princess." Kade lets Tank guide him to the couch, and I trail behind them. "Takes more than a graze to put me down."
"That's more than a graze," I argue, watching red seep through the makeshift bandage. "That's a shit ton of blood. You need a hospital. Stitches. Actual medical attention."
