"Your friends are here," Jagger says from the window. "Four of them, just like you said."
"They're not my friends. They're my people."
"There's a difference?"
"Yeah. Friends are optional. People are the ones who bleed with you."
I head outside to meet them.
Marlee is first out of the van, all six feet of her barreling out the door. She sees me and her face does something complicated, relief and wariness and affection all tangled together.
"You look like shit," she says.
"Missed you too."
"I'm serious. You've got bags under your eyes, you're moving stiff, and—" She stops. Stares at my neck. "Are those bite marks?"
"No."
"Those are absolutely bite marks. And scratches." Her eyes narrow. "Asher. What the fuck did you do?"
"Nothing worth discussing."
"Bullshit. You've been here a few days, and you've already let someone chew on you? Who—" She stops again. Looks toward the farmhouse. Looks back at me. "No. Tell me you didn't."
"I didn't."
"You're lying."
"Yes."
"The one who almost killed you." She runs a hand over her cropped hair, disbelief written across her face. "You let the man who almost beat you to death put his mouth on your neck."
"To be fair, I put my mouth on him first. He also put it on my ass."
"Asher!"
"Can we discuss this later? Preferably never?"
Thiago has climbed out of the van, followed by Kira and Dom. They're all watching the exchange with varying degrees of amusement. Thiago's shoulders are shaking with silent laughter.
"Shut up," I tell him.
He raises his hands in surrender, still laughing.
"Inside," I say. "Briefing in ten. And nobody mentions the bite marks."
"Oh, I'm definitely mentioning the bite marks," Marlee mutters, but she follows me toward the house.
The kitchen gets crowded fast.
Too many people in a space built for four. My people take up positions along the walls, eyeing the Harrison brothers with the wariness of animals meeting a new pack. Jagger stands at the head of the table, tablet in hand, looking exactly like the cold strategist he is. Jace flanks him, knives put away but hands never far from his belt. Elliot hovers near the stove, offering coffee to anyone who'll take it.
And Jinx is in the corner.
He came down ten minutes ago, hair wet from a shower, jaw tight. He hasn't looked at me once. Won't meet my eyes even when I stare directly at him.
Fine. Let him pretend. I've got six years of patience stored up.
