“Girl.” She raises one perfectly arched eyebrow in the mirror. “That man watched his brother bend you over a table, then pinned you against a wall himself, and you think he doesn’t know?”
My cheeks burn at the memory. “True. But it feels like it’s the kind of thing I should state, explicitly. I don’t want to break them up or whatever.”
She rolls her eyes and fluffs her hair a little. “No offense, but you’re not that powerful.”
“Wow,” I scoff, my eyes widening as I stare at her reflection in the mirror.
She spins around and grabs my hands. “I’m sorry. I just mean you’re having fun, and he knows it. So don’t take it too seriously, okay?”
“Right,” I say. “Fun.”
“And if you somehow pull off the biggest heist and lock down all four Calloways,” she adds, wiping mascara from underneath her eyes, “I’m selling the story to Netflix."
A laugh escapes before I can stop it. “Good to know.”
She looks me up and down. “You know what? Come out with me tonight. You need a relaxing evening.”
I cross my arms. “Nothing saysrelaxing eveninglike watching strangers knock each other unconscious.”
“That’s the spirit.” She tosses me her car keys. “We leave in twenty.”
SIXTEEN
BELLAMY
The warehouse loomsat the edge of the industrial district, where streetlights flicker half-heartedly and graffiti crawls up concrete walls.
Concrete stretches wide and empty, cracked in places where weeds push through. Rows of parked cars gleam under the harsh lights—some new, some rusted at the edges. Bass throbs through the walls in uneven pulses, vibrating against my sternum when I breathe in. My nostrils fill with the tang of motor oil, hot asphalt cooling in the night air, and the metallic bite that lingers where sun has baked metal all day.
My palms sweat. My pulse quickens. It’s been a few years since I’ve been somewhere like this. Longer since I’ve been to The Pit.
Lola catches it immediately, her lips curving upward. “You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“That twitch at the corner of your mouth. You get it when you’re pretending you’re not excited.”
I huff out a quiet breath, dragging my gaze back to the entrance. “I’m not pretending.”
“Liar,” she whispers, eyes dancing. “I knew you’d have fun tonight.”
Movement at the entrance—two men detach from the crowd, their strides purposeful. The taller one locks eyes with Lola, his face transforming. Dark hair, shoulders stretching his black t-shirt, he crosses the distance and sweeps her up without hesitation, her feet dangling as he presses his face into her neck. “There you are.”
“Nate,” she laughs, fingers digging into his shoulders for balance.
He barely sets her down before the second one—sandy-haired, lean, hungry-looking—slides an arm around her waist, his lips grazing her ear, whispering something that makes her cheeks flush pink in the dim light.
Lola’s laugh bubbles up from somewhere I haven’t heard in years.
My eyebrow twitches upward. Two men. Both looking at my sister like she hung the moon. The dark-haired one’s fingers still linger at her waist, while the blond watches her with half-lidded eyes.
She disentangles herself from the blond’s arms, her fingers finding my wrist and tugging me forward. “Bells, Nate and East.” Her free hand gestures first to the dark-haired one, then the blond.
Nate’s eyes flick over me—shoulders to shoes, quick and clinical. “Hey.”
Easton holds my gaze three seconds longer than necessary, head tilted slightly. “Hey.”
“East, Nate, meet my big sister, Bellamy,” Lola says, her chin lifting the way it always does when she’s showing off something she’s proud of.
