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If either of them hears me ask for money, their minds will go straight to the only explanation I’ve ever given them—drug use. The disappointment and exhaustion in his voice, the fights with Micky, I almost destroyed their relationship with my chaos. If Rhys knew about the scars and what I actually used to do when I was using drugs, I don’t know what would happen. He thinks I was just getting high; it would devastate him to learn about the men.

He’s protective—he’d go after them. Best case he’d lose his career after trying to kill one of them, worst case, they’d kill him first. Finding out would ruin his life, his relationship, he’d end up in jail. I’ve taken so much from him already. It’s time for me to handle this alone, clean up my own mess for once.

I finish my call with HR, grateful that she’s expediting the process. There, that’s something.

Just ten weeks and I’m free. Except that’s a lie. People like Steve don’t stop until they’ve bled every last cent out of you. Once he gets his money, he’ll be back for more, which means this isn’t a solution, it’s merely a delay.

I can’t go to the police—I have a record—so I’d be starting with a bias. Not only that, but I have the faint memory of one of the men wearing a uniform, I can’t be sure, but beneath the drug haze and panic, I remember a badge. I’m not safe there either. I swallow hard.

Most of all, I can’t tell Casper, my chest aches at the thought of him discovering just how low I’d once sunk. He looks at me like I’m special, not like I’m broken. If he only knew how broken I really am. He’d see the baggage and complications and realize I’m not worth the headache. I like him more than I planned to, and he’s the last person I want to uncover my past.

Ten weeks. I just need to get through ten weeks. And somewhere in that time—determine a way to end this. For good.

Debra is waiting for me in a patch of weeds off to the side when I pull into the driveway.

“I’ll meet you in the backyard,” I say, waving her off.

She turns and marches out of view, toward the back, giving me time to unload the project Thor built for her.

I walk around the side, carrying the cumbersome house. Good God, he must have built this thing to withstand a hurricane—it’s gotta weigh at least seventy pounds. Debra eyes me carefully as I turn the corner and set it down on the back porch, like I’m a contractor she might sue after she’s had a couple glasses of wine.

“All right,” I announce, dusting off my hands. “Welcome to the open house.” I sweep my arm toward the residence like a real estate agent unveiling a new property. “Great curb appeal. Really invites the neighbors to say ‘Wow, that possum is doing well for herself.’”

She blinks.

“Brand-new construction,” I begin. “Minimal HOA involvement. Desirable neighborhood, close to garbage cans—trust me, you’re not going to find that anywhere else.”

She stares at me.

“Prolific nightlife, and totally walkable.”

She’s giving me nothing.

“Okay, let’s talk amenities . . . Hand-built. All of the wood is locally sourced from . . . lumberyards. You’ll notice the craftmanship here,” I say, pointing to the windows. “These shutters are operational, by the way. Deb, I’m telling you, they just don’t make them like this anymore. Perfect for throwing open to scream at the local wildlife—your favorite.”

Debra waddles a little closer. Here we go.

I push the hinged door open with my finger. “Easy-access entryway, perfect for those late-night snack runs you love so much.”

Her pointy nose twitches as she sniffs the porch.

“Look, I know what you’re thinking, and no, it’s not the full wraparound you were hoping for. But it is three-quarters, and that’s incredibly rare for your price range.” I gesture to the inside and she cautiously sticks her head in the door, taking a peek. “Open floor plan . . . excellent ventilation . . . Huge kitchen. Plenty of space for you to . . . eat trash.”

Debra disappears inside the mini marsupial mansion.

“Yup. Take your time. Really picture yourself living here.” I stuff my hands in my pockets.

Her little face emerges when she opens the shutters with her pointy snout. She stares at me. I stare back. After a beat she retreats into the house. I consider that a successful sale.

I stand and nod. “Terrific. I’ll draft up the offer letter and get it over to you to sign. Congratulations on your new home.”

Leaving Debra to her solo inspection, I kick off my boots inside and bring in the package I spotted on the front step. I toss it on the countertop and use my pocketknife to slice the tape on the cardboard box, revealing the wolf masquerade mask and a few other miscellaneous wolf accessories, like a tail and mittens that look like paws and would never in a million years fit my giant hands. I slip it over my face on the way to my bedroom, stepping in front of the floor-length mirror and preparing for disappointment. But . . .

“Huh.” I cock my head to the side. Okay. This is actually . . . Wait, is this hot? The teeth are the perfect amount of aggressive.

“I don’t think this is too much?” I say to myself. I take a lap around wearing a wolf mask like a completely stable adult, then return to the mirror, tilting my head and scoping the angles.

“Masks are cool. Masks say I have an air of mystery, but I’m also fun at parties. I mean, werewolves are edgy and understated. Vampires? Overdone. Frankenstein? Too bulky. But werewolves? Fucking timeless. Plus, that whole primal thing is in.”