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“I don’t want to know, but those aren’t coming in the car.”

I huff as I snap them off. “Booker wants me to help him. He said that’s the only way he’ll go to Dale so we can get a mechanic.”

Wilde doesn’t give much away, except for the slight twitch in his jaw. “Interesting.”

“If you say so. Take me home.”

There has to be another way though. I wish I could say that my interaction with Booker has completely freaked me out, but that’s not what this adrenaline is. I’m self-aware enough to know that my fucked-up morbidity is going to get me in trouble, and I’m getting that same interested pull toward Booker that I have around Lynx. I need to stay away from them both.

Wilde finally pulls up at home, and I climb out of his truck without a word. Too much has happened today, and I’m craving a very long bath … that I can drown myself in.

Wilde’s truck pulls away, and I take my first step up the stairs when a familiar voice reaches me.

“Yoo-hoo! Sweet Sasha.”

I turn to see Queenie leaning on her front railing. “Oh, hey. I’m not in the mood for tea tonight.”

“I just thought you might like to know that your friends were here looking for you.”

I freeze, halfway to the house. “My friends?”

“Yes. Beast of a man, terrifying-looking, and his skinny little sidekick.”

This time, my adrenaline is from fear. “What did you tell them?”

“Nothing, of course. I don’t care for a lot of questions.”

That doesn’t stop me from looking around anyway. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about this place, it’s that I can’t believe anything I’m told.

And if they’ve found me here, I need to get out even sooner than I thought.

CHAPTER

NINE

LYNX

“You’re tired,” are the first words out of my mouth when Sasha stumbles along the side of my house.

“And?” he snaps, throwing a look back over his shoulder.

“And that’s a fast way to make yourself vulnerable.” I jump over the railing to land in front of him and send a soft jab to the side of his head.

He’s slow to react. “Ow. What the fuck?”

I hit him again. “You’re too tired to defend yourself. Anyone could take advantage of that.”

“You mean like some asshole who keeps hitting me?”

“Exactly.”

He looks a second away from rolling his pretty, bloodshot eyes. “Leave me alone, and I won’t have a problem.”

I eye him, gaze narrowed as I try to pick what’s different today. Normally, when Sasha is pissed off, there’s a fight to him. It might be as fragile as a kitten hissing, but it’s there. Today, he’s … blank. “What happened?”

“I was hit in the head.”

“What stopped you sleeping?”