“Was that really necessary?” Darius asked.
“Obviously,” Holden said, as the helpless, happy grin spread across Kit’s face.
“God, Holden.” Kit floated forward on giddiness. “You’re such a romantic.”
Kit didn’t get far before Holden swept him into a kiss. Careful hands cradled Kit’s throat, dust scraping between skin. The scent of bodywash and blood and airbag dust blended together, acrid and addictive.
“You know, James,” Bishop commented. “When you said you were taking another route into the house, this is not what I expected.”
James looped a possessive arm around Kit’s waist. “What’s the point of super cool prototype attack cars if you can’t drive them into buildings?”
“Exactly,” Holden murmured against Kit’s lips.
“Attack cars?” Darius sighed. “The world was safer when you two hated each other.”
Kit reluctantly retreated from the kiss. He couldn’t get far, thanks to James’s grasp. “Don’t do it again. You could have gotten hurt. But I’m glad you…” Suspicion sparked. “How did you guys find me so fast, anyway?”
James coughed.
Holden shamelessly took up the explanation. “James and I implanted a tracker in the back of your neck.”
Kit rubbed his shoulder, where it had been itching for days. “Oh. That explains a lot.”
Bishop stopped, halfway across the room. “Wait, you didn’t know about that?”
“We’re going to discuss that later,” Darius said, glaring at James and Holden.
“I didn’t know he’d done it, but James and I talked about it before,” Kit said helpfully. He didn’t want James and Holden to get in trouble.
Bishop just stared him down. “Really?”
Kit relented. “Okay, we joked about it. But it was a good idea.”
Approaching sirens interrupted the debate over bodily autonomy. Kit jolted, taking in the incriminating mess. Seeing Laird shot to death, then crushed with a car, felt really good. But the world hadn’t stopped moving around them, and consequences were about to arrive.
“Next question,” Kit said slowly. “How the fuck are we covering this up?”
“Money,” James said immediately.
“Blackmail,” Bishop added.
Darius shrugged. “Death threats.”
“Forget the threat part,” Holden said cheerfully. “We can just kill whoever shows up.”
“No, Holden,” said Bishop, James, and Darius in unison.
Kit laughed. First sharp, then deep, whole-body glee. Nothing hurt. All the ice-cold emptiness heated away with adoration. “You fucking psychos,” Kit said, wiping his eyes. “I love you all.”
Bishop’s serious expression softened into a grin. “Love you, too. Darius, take Kit home. Holden and James, stick with me—and follow this story exactly.”
47
three percent fine
Light streamed into the attic bedroom. Kit eased awake beneath Darius’s hand, so groggy and safe that for a few blissful moments, he thought it was a normal morning. Then he rolled onto his back, and reality announced itself with every scrape and bruise.
His worst memory was dead.
