I look up at him.At the dark circles under his eyes.At the way his hands twitch like they’re wanting to strangle someone.Maybe me.
“You think she knows something?”I ask.
He doesn’t answer.
“I think she does.”
His jaw jumps.
“She ain’t talking,” he mutters.
“Then maybe you’re not asking the right questions.”
He huffs, almost a laugh.“You offering to play good cop?”
“I’m the only one she hasn’t cut to the bone yet.”
“That’s exactly why I don’t trust it.”
“Royal.”I meet his eyes.“She ain’t scared of you anymore.But she still hates me.If she’s fixin’ to slip, it’ll be with me.”
He looks past me, toward the cold line of the woods.
“Don’t trust her,” he says.Not a question at all.
“I don’t.”
I set my mug aside.
“But I’m done pretending she ain’t part of this now.”
That night, sleep won’t come.
I’m home, at the farm.In my cold dark bedroom.I stare at the light of my phone, a half-typed message to Legend glowing back at me.I want to tell him everything.Delilah’s file, the coded ledger, the word “Handled.”
I want him to hold me and swear he’ll burn Pearly Gates to the ground.
But I don’t hit send.
Instead, I pull on my boots and head to the clubhouse.Barge in, down the hallway.Past bunnies whispering rumors.Past brothers sharpening knives.Past the dead quiet of a clubhouse waiting for the next girl to disappear.
Royal stands outside Becki’s door like a guard dog wound too tight.
“I need to talk to her,” I say.
He doesn’t move at first.
Then he takes out the key.
When he opens the door, Becki looks up, wild hair, narrow eyes, chain clinking as she shifts.
“Well, if it ain’t the Horse Princess herself,” she says.“You here to gloat, or preach?”
“No,” I say, stepping inside.“I’m here to make a deal.”
Becki’s eyes sharpen, fear, fury, maybe hope.
“What kind of deal?”she whispers.
