“If you’re doing this, I’m coming with you.” Neve says, without missing a beat. Our eyes meet—and there’s no hesitation.
“We need weapons,” I mutter, already yanking open drawers in Bridger’s tiny kitchen. If I focus on getting there, I can control my breathing. Just get there. Everything will be fine.
Neve’s at my heels, digging through a hall closet, coming up empty. We search faster, louder, more frantically. The panic is turning kinetic now—buzzing through my blood, making my hands tremble. “Nothing,” Neve says, breathless, swinging the closet door shut with a frustrated bang.
“In here,” I say, grabbing the wooden knife block from the counter and dragging it closer. I yank them out one after the other—steak knives. Every single one.
Neve raises an eyebrow. “What the hell are you going to do with that? Cut himmedium rare?”
“In case he gets close to me,” I say, testing the edge against my thumb. “I’m really good with a knife.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Yeah,cutting onions. Cuttingpeopleis different.”
“Just take one and let’s go.” I slide the knife into my back pocket just as Neve pulls the curtain back and peers out the window.
“Shit,” she mutters.
I’m already moving toward her, handing her a knife. “What?”
She steps back so I can look. “Damian’s SUV,” she says. “And Bridger’s Jeep are both gone.”
“Fuck,” I breathe. My heart hammers harder. “How are we going to get there? My car is still parked near the bakery,” I say, panic starting to swirl. “And I don’t have the keys. They’re somewhere in my apartment.”
She chews her bottom lip and shakes her head, like she’s gearing up for something stupid.
“We need to find a way there. Fast,” I say.
“Uber?” She checks her phone. “Seven-minute wait.”
“We can’t take an Uber to a gunfight, can we?” I ask, pacing.
And then she looks at me. That look. The one right before things go absolutely sideways.
“What?” I ask.
“I can steal a car.”
Neve doesn’t wait for me to agree.
We fly out of the apartment, slamming the door behind us, our new sneakers thudding against the worn stairwell as we bolt down the steps. Outside, the air is sharp and humid, the first spring heat that sticks to your skin and makes every breath feel thick.
We cut behind the building, dodging trash bins and ducking low between back alleyways lined with cracked pavement and chain-link fences. I’m sweating and shaky and can barely think past the words repeating in my head—he’s going to die, he’s going to die, he’s going to die.
“There,” Neve says suddenly, grabbing my arm and yanking me toward a nondescript silver sedan tucked between two dumpsters. She crouches low and circles the car with a quiet, calculated calm I can’t even fake.
“Be my lookout,” she mutters, already pulling something sharp from her pocket—a hairpin, maybe—and going to work. I look closer. It’s not a hairpin it’s the steak knife.
I spin in place like an idiot, trying to figure out where the hell I’m supposed to look. Down the alley? The street? Up at thegoddamn sky? I’ve stolen wallets. Watches. Purses. Whatever Vick taught me to when I was a kid. But never a car. It’s not the kind of thing you can get quick money for.
I hear something a few feet away—shuffling, low to the ground. My panic spikes so fast it almost chokes me. I spin toward the sound, heart slamming, breath caught in my throat like it’s trying to suffocate me. A skinny, orange cat darts out from behind a trash bin, startled by my movement. It hisses, fur bristling, and bolts down the alley. My panic doesn’t ease. It mounts—curling in tight, nauseating knots under my ribs. I can’t take a full breath. My hands are shaking.
“Neve,” I whisper, desperate, “please tell me you’re almost done.”
And then—click. The engine hums to life. Relief crashes through me so hard I nearly buckle. I scramble to the passenger door and wrench it open.
Neve eases the car out of the alley with the kind of smooth, practiced quiet that makes me wonder how many times she’s had to do this. Her eyes flick to the rearview, her jaw tight.
We don’t say a word until we’ve turned the corner and put a full block between us and the alley.
