Killian breaks their eye contact with Xave and gives me a quick upnod, then he turns and follows his cousins, his steps casual and unhurried.
“Come on,” Xave says, giving my hand a little tug. “We’ve got a lot to talk about, and there’s only one safe place we can do that.”
21
XAVE
Damon fallsinto step beside me as I lead him back down the path and away from the scene. We walk in silence for a few moments, then he looks around, like he’s trying to orient himself. “Where are we going?”
“To a cabin,” I tell him. “It’s in the woods, in Rebel territory.”
“You guys have a cabin?”
“You don’t?”
“Not as far as I know.” He falls silent for a few beats. “How did you…”
I squeeze his hand when he trails off. “I’ll explain everything, but it’s probably best if we wait until we’re away from the cameras.”
He nods and gently bites his lip ring.
“Are you okay?” I ask when he looks around again, like he has no idea where we are.
“I think so. I mean, yeah. I’m fine.” He blows out a breath. “Just processing.”
We walk silently for a few minutes, and I can feel Damon’s agitation growing the closer we get to the main part of campus.
I don’t give a flying fuck if people see us together, and a part of me wants to march through the heart of campus right now so everyone knows he’s under my protection, and that fucking with him means fucking with me, but it’s not that simple.
Damon isn’t just another student; he’s a member of a rival frat. Even my position and level of influence in the Rebels isn’t enough to make people just accept things, and neither of us needs that kind of scrutiny right now.
Not until I kill whoever dared to put those hits out on him.
“This way,” I tell him and lead him off the path.
He relaxes as we cut across a small grassy area and walk between two buildings until we reach the edge of the trees.
“Do you have your phone on you?” I ask as I dig mine out of my pocket and turn on the flashlight.
“Yeah,” he says and does the same.
The twin beams of light don’t illuminate much as we step into the woods, but combined with the clear night and nearly full moon, they’re enough that we can navigate through the brush without the risk of hurting ourselves or getting lost.
“You know where you’re going, right?” he asks, his grip on my hand so tight my fingers go a bit numb.
“I know where I’m going,” I assure him.
“How did you find me?” he asks, his words rushing together as we sidestep a fallen log.
“I put a tracker on your phone.”
“You did?” He sounds surprised, but not angry. “When?”
“Ironically, earlier today.”
“Really? How?”
“Do you remember getting a text from an unknown number?” I slow down as the ground gets rocky and uneven beneath our feet.
