And now I'm supposed to just... what? Walk in there and act like everything's normal? Like my hands aren't shaking with the desperate need to touch her, to claim her, to make sure she's really fucking real?
"Job's done," I say, already turning the car toward home. "Target's confirmed out of state. Cy's monitoring his credit cards. If he so much assniffsat a plane ticket back here, we'll know."
Tank doesn't respond. Just keeps staring out the window, his disapproval thick enough to choke on.
The drive back feels endless and too short all at once. Every mile brings me closer to her. Closer to the confrontation I've been both craving and dreading since the moment she waltzed into our throne room three days ago.
She'll be back,I'd said with such certainty. And I was right. I'm always right about her.
Even when I wish I wasn't.
Tank shifts in his seat as we pull up to the house, his massive frame somehow managing to look both threatening and vulnerable. He signs one last message before we go inside, his dark eyes soft.
Don't break her.
Then he's out of the car, leaving me alone without a word.
I sit in the car for a moment, watching Tank go around the back of the house to disappear through the way she's the least likely to notice.
He won't go to meet her, of course, because being a hypocrite runs in the family even if we don't share a single drop of blood.
Through the window, I can see Jinx's head above the living room's main bay windowsill, probably absorbed in his phone as usual. I'm sure he's tracking every movement in the building, and so is Cyrus.
And somewhere in there, in that pink room we built for her like some kind of shrine to our collective insanity, is Ellie.
Mine at last.
Well…ours.
At least for the next year.
The house looks different knowing she's inside. Less like a fortress and more like... I don't know. I don't know if I want toknow. Home's definitely not the right word, nothing’s been that in a long damn time, but…something.
The front door's unlocked—we never lock it because who the fuck is stupid enough to rob the Kings?—and I step inside to find the place eerily quiet.
No music. No voices. Just the soft hum of Cyrus's server system upstairs and the distant sound of Tank's weights already clanking in the gym. Working out has always been his go-to coping mechanism, especially when he's avoiding something.
Or someone.
Like Ellie.
Guess it's healthier than burning shit down, but who's counting?
"She's in her room," Jinx says without looking up from his phone. He's sprawled on the couch like a lazy-ass god in a Renaissance painting. "Been up there for an hour. Hasn't come out."
"You talk to her?"
"A little." His jaw tightens and I see a flash of rawness in his eyes.
I want to ask what happened, but the pull upstairs is too strong. My feet are already moving, carrying me toward the stairs, towardher, toward whatever the fuck this is about to become.
The second floor hallway feels longer than it should. Especially because at the end of the hall, pink light spills from the slightly open door of her room. She didn't close the door. Interesting.
I pause outside, my hand on the doorframe. I can hear her moving around inside, the soft rustle of fabric, the creak offloorboards. My heart hammers against my ribs like it's trying to bust free, and I realize with horror that I'm nervous.
Kade fucking Stark, who's stared down armed dealers and walked out of burning buildings without giving a rat's ass, isnervousabout talking to a girl who used to ride on the back of his bike.
Pathetic.
