Hunter’s hand goes subtly to his side—forgetting for a split second that we’re unarmed.
Sy lifts a calming hand, but doesn’t touch her. “Arianette… I’m right here. Damon is here. Hunter is here. You’re safe. You can breathe. Just tell me what happens next. Only if you can.”
She shakes her head, trembling–caught between the past and the present. “I can’t. There’s nothing,” she says.
Fuck that.I’m already moving.
I don’t think–I justreact.
I shove myself between her and Sy, hands closing around her arms before anyone can stop me. “Bullshit,” I snap. “You remember.”
Sy surges up behind me, voice trying to remain calm. “Damon. Back. Off.”
He could fold me in half if he wanted to—guy’s built like a damn mountain, but I don’t move. I can’t. Not when she looks like she’s slipping away again.
“No.” I glare at her, heart pounding loud in my ears. “Tell us about the cell. Who took you underground? Were you in a car? A van? Was it someone you know?”
Her face crumples. Tears spill fast, streaming down her cheeks, shoulders curling in like she’s trying to disappear.
I won’t allow it. I push harder. “Who did you hear talking? What did they say?”
“Damon, stop!” Hunter’s voice snaps like a whip.
A second later, his grip is on me, yanking me back. I release her instantly, breath sawing in and out of my chest like I just sprinted fifty flights of stairs. Arianette is sobbing now, full-body shaking, and the sight makes something ugly twist in my stomach.
Hunter shoves me toward the door. Hard. “Go chill the fuck out.”
The door clicks shut behind me, and suddenly I’m standing at the front of the tattoo parlor, chest heaving like I ran here instead of being tossed out. My palms won’t stop shaking. My jaw aches from how hard I’m clenching it. I start pacing–tight, clipped circles–boots scraping the tile in a rhythm that’s all nerves and no direction.
“Kemp?”
I spin.
Remy is standing next to one of the tattooing stations, organizing a drawer. He’s my former freshman year roommate. Once-friend turned stranger. We drifted, then crashed. He pledged DKS. I went to the Pen. Our lives split so sharply there’s still shrapnel. Now, his father is my King.
He’s the last person I want to see right now.
“Remy.”
He lifts his hand and makes a sweeping motion in my direction and says, “Lots of red going on right now.”
Whatever the fuck that means.
“They kicked me out.” I drag a hand down my face, trying to rub the adrenaline out of my skin. “It’s just–” The words snag in mythroat. I shouldn’t be talking to him about this,her,but it rushes out anyway, “It’s just so fucking frustrating. Her mind is a steel trap. But Iknowshe remembers something. She’s told us as much, but the minute anyone starts asking questions, she clams up.”
Remy studies me for a long second. Long enough that it makes my skin itch, like he’s peeling me apart layer by layer. If I had my gun on me, I’d probably already have it leveled at him.
Finally, he says, “You want some ink?”
I blink at him. “What? Now?”
“Why the fuck not?” He jerks his chin toward the hallway leading to the back rooms. “We can sit here and stare at each other or I can get in some time. I heard the yelling. Sy sure as hell isn’t letting you back in. You’re better off leaving with new ink instead of broken ribs.”
A dry, humorless laugh slips out of me. I sink into the chair, letting the vinyl creak under my weight. “Yeah. Okay.”
“Art always calms me down. Gets me focused when I’m feeling rattled.” Remy grabs his iPad, already opening an art program. All business–until he looks back up. “So. What are you thinking?”
I hesitate just long enough to make it worse. “I haven’t gotten my mark yet.”
