I shove him away, the loss of his heat suddenly unbearable.
“This is why she’s still here,” I whisper, throat tight.“Not Crowley.Not answers.Her.”
“Soph…”
“No.”
I step back like he burned me.Maybe he did.Maybe I burned myself.
“We can’t fix this tonight,” I say.“Not like this.Not while she’s breathing the same air.”
He reaches for me.I dodge him.For the first time, Legend looks like he doesn’t know how to win.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, his taste, my anger, our mess smeared together.
“We’re not done,” I tell him.“But this?This ain’t saving us.I’m leaving.”
I turn and walk away before it all overwhelms me.
Behind me, I hear him punch the wall.
It doesn’t make me feel any better.
Chapter 5
Becki
Sleep won’t come.
It slinks around the edges of my mind, prowling but never landing, like everything else in this godforsaken clubhouse.
The bed beneath me digs into my spine, the thin mattress doing nothing to soften the ache in my hips.The chain at my wrist rattles every time I move.A small sound.Barely anything.But in the thick quiet, it screams.
The air feels too hot.Too heavy.Like it’s trying to smother me into obedience.
Royal hasn’t come back since earlier in the day.I have no idea what time it is anymore.
You’d think that would be a relief.
It ain’t.
His absence presses harder than his presence ever did.When he's here, I know where the danger is.I can see it.Breathe it.Fight it.When he’s gone, I have nothing but my own heartbeat and every terrible truth echoing in the dark.
The chain is long enough so I can pace the room and reach the stainless steel toilet in the corner.The small sink.There’s no mirror so I’m not even sure what I look like.I roll onto my back and stare at the water stain above me.It’s shaped like a rabbit, or a skull, or maybe an angel on fire.It depends how much madness I’m willing to let drip into my bloodstream.
Outside the door, voices murmur.Low.Grim.
I sit up fast, bare feet hitting the cold cement.Slinking to the floor, I crawl over and press my ear to the door, breath held.
“She ain’t talking,” a biker says.Oaks.I’d recognize that almost-laugh anywhere.
“She doesn’t know,” Royal answers, calm as a blade laid flat.“Or she’s good at pretending.”
Another voice joins in.Rougher.Derby.“Either way, another girl’s gone.That makes six.All once members of Pearly Gates.”
My blood turns to ice.
Boots shift.Someone exhales sharply.Then Oaks again.“They say she went willingly.Like she knew the driver.Cross hanging from the mirror.”
