But she simply states, “It’s better if I go.”
“Not a chance,” I fire back. “I’m not putting you in danger.”
She breaks into a laugh, and I’m not sure why.
“This isn’t funny,” Kade growls at her behind me.
She stops laughing, looking at him like he’s pathetic. “I think you’re funny.”
The group falls silent, and she turns to me again. “Your presence puts her in danger.” She gestures to Quinn. “She lives here now, right? I’m welcome in there.”
Well, my hope is that after tonight, Green Street won’t be a problem for anyone living in Weston.
But…if I get seen before I want to, the plan won’t be able to unfold. And then, who knows what will happen tomorrow?
I jerk my chin at the firehouse. “Is there a black metal cabinet still in the upstairs dorm?”
She hesitates a moment. “Yeah.”
“There might still be an ammo case on the top shelf.”
Without another word, she jets off and crosses the street.
“Wait...” I whisper-yell, and then glance around for anyone noticing. “Shit.”
I watch her climb the steel stairs on the left side of the building, to the door on the second floor.
“Meet me where they are inside!” I shout in another whisper to her.
Dammit.
“I don’t think we can trust her,” Hunter mumbles.
“I could’ve told you that.” Kade spit into the weeds sprouting up on the sidewalk at his side. “What’s in the ammo case?” he asks me.
I hand my wallet and phone to Quinn, in case they try to confiscate anything. “Not ammo.”
I don’t want to get their hopes up in case the box isn’t still there. First, I need to see if this works.
Leaning down, I kiss Quinn, feeling the others look away. “Don’t come in,” I say.
“Lucas...”
“Please just listen to me for once.” I cup her face. “It’s better not to involve you, and everyone who loves you will agree on this one.”
Even Dylan.
“Stay out here,” I tell her gently.
It’s not that I’m just trying to protect her. I need to be the one to make it right.
Leaving them all shielded under the cover of trees, I cross the street, my heart pounding in my ears. It’s been years since I’ve walked into this place.
Grabbing the same handle I installed a decade ago, now rusty from weather, I pull open the door.
Music fills the large vehicle bay where the firetrucks used to be stored, and I quickly take stock of my area. Couches sit against the walls to my left and right, tables in front of them, and chairs scattered about. The Skee-Ball alley and the basketball net are gone. Only one pool table remains.
A corner bar sits in the far right of the building, men planted on stools. A young woman—a very young woman—tends the bar.
