“Try it,” he says.
I roll my shoulder. The deep throb remains, but the socket no longer feels like it’s floating untethered.
My good arm hooks around Rafe’s neck, pulling him those final inches until his stubble grazes my cheek. “Thank you,” I breathe against his ear. My body forms a bridge between them—back pressed to Gage’s chest, front nearly flush with Rafe. Heat radiates from both sides.
“Baby,” Rafe murmurs, his lips brushing the hollow beneath my ear. He says it like it’d be an insult to not expect him to fix it. Like of course he’s going to help me. How can four little letters say so much?
When I release him, Gage’s hands slide to my waist, steadying me as we untangle and rise. The air feels suddenly cooler without them bracketing me.
Around us, the junkyard hums with activity. Bishop hefts a metal bin into the back of a black SUV, muscles straining beneath his shirt. Cruz follows with another, dust kicking up around his boots. Through the grimy windshield of the car crusher, Lola’s face is split with a manic grin as she grips the controls, the hydraulic press descending with a mechanical groan.
“I got it done,” Beck says, sweat beading at his temples. “The reserialization.” His knuckles whiten around the bin’s edge. “But we won’t know how bad it is until we count.”
Bishop’s eyes never stop scanning the perimeter, head swiveling at each distant sound. “Not here, kid.”
I step toward Beck, my shoulder throbbing with each heartbeat. My hand hovers near a bin before dropping uselessly to my side. “I knew you would.”
Cruz grunts as he loads another bin in the trunk of our SUV. Sweat trickles down his temple, leaving a clean line through the dust on his skin. He swipes the back of his hand across his forehead, dark hair sticking to his fingers. “What the fuck happened out there?”
Bishop’s jaw locks. “Not here.”
Gage’s laugh comes out dry as the desert air around them. He drops the last bin with a metallic thud that echoes across the junkyard. “Right, because someone’s got microphones hidden in the cacti.”
Fifty yards away, metal screams as the hydraulic press flattens what used to be a sedan. Lola’s silhouette shifts behind the controls, already positioning the next vehicle.
Bishop’s eyes dart to the perimeter fence, then the road, then the hills beyond. A muscle in his neck twitches. “Someone knew exactly when and where to hit us,” he says, voice dropping to granite. “So no, I don’t know who’s listening.”
“We just got fucking railed, man.” Gage steps into Bishop’s space, close enough that their boots nearly touch. “And we don’t have the first clue who did it. We’re lucky we’re even standing here whole.”
Cruz leans against the SUV’s frame, shadows deepening the hollows under his eyes. “We’re not fuckin’ whole. We just don’t know how much they carved out of us yet.”
Bishop exhales hard. “Exactly why we wait until we’re home.”
Cruz ignores him, his gaze sliding to Rafe. “What do you think? Pros?”
Rafe’s jaw tightens beneath stubbled skin. His body heat radiates against my side, close enough that his sleeve brushes mine with each breath, but his eyes never stop moving—fence to road to hills to sky.
“Could be,” he says finally, voice low. “Could be someone trying to make a name. Or it could be coincidence.”
“It wasn’t a fucking coincidence,” Gage says, a muscle fluttering in his jaw.
Metal groans as the crusher finishes with the second car. Lola jumps down from the control platform, dust kicking up around her boots. Her grin stretches wide, eyes bright with adrenaline. “I think I missed my calling.”
Beck’s eyebrow arches. “Running a junkyard?”
She plants her palm against his chest and shoves. He doesn’t move an inch. “No, crushing things.” Her fingers spread wide before her face, trembling slightly as she stares at them like they’ve transformed. “The power, baby brother, was incredible. So don’t piss me off, otherwise I’ll toss you in one of these and pancake you.”
My lips curve upward before I can stop them.
Beck’s eyes widen, mouth falling open. “Lola. What the fuck.”
She blinks rapidly, head tilting as her eyes go round and innocent. “What?”
Cruz’s laugh rumbles deep in his chest. He glances over his shoulder, chin dipping toward Lola as his eyes meet mine. “You’re a little fucked, you know that right?”
My good shoulder lifts, then drops. “I prefer to think of her asquirky.”
“Let’s go.” Bishop’s voice cuts through the air like a blade. He strides toward one of the SUVs, not bothering to look back.“Unless you want to stay here talking shit and increase our odds of another situation.”
