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She looked good. Too fucking good.

Her biceps strained the cuffed sleeves of her tee, the mix of tattoos and intricate scars on her arms on full display.

Instead of running for the hills when she saw me, Cyrus just slipped into the driver’s seat after tossing the bag of garbage into a can across the path.

She’s coming with. Shit.

Straightening my shoulders, I lifted my chin and hopped in the backseat.

I wasn’t a coward. And I wasn’t going to let Cyrus drive me away again.

All that mattered was that I knew the truth, I knew what I’d done and — more importantly — what I hadn’t.

If she wanted to make this weird, it was on her.

Blade slipped in next to me, taking the center seat to sit as close to me as possible. Winking at me, she buckled in her seatbelt as the car rolled out of Feverpoint.

From the gates, we turned toward the mountains. The Cadillac took the slope easily as we climbed up Valemont’s peaks. The car was quiet, more so than usual.

Even Blade, who placed her hand on my thigh, was taking deep, slow breaths. In the front seat, Nash watched out the window as golden leaves zipped past.

Something is happening.

My brows furrowed as I tried to piece it together.

Nash rolled down the windows, letting fresh, brisk air flowing through the car. As we ascended the mountain, the leaves grew more colorful from the cold chill. Yellows turned golds, deep oranges, and crimson reds.

But it was only a few minutes before Cyrus slowed the car to pull into a gravel driveway. Surrounded by trees, the only tell that it wasn’t somehow’s house was the wooden brown sign with etched letters.

Bear Hill Nature Preserve.

The tires crunched loose stone as we rolled into the empty parking lot. I’d completely lost track of the days. But seeing how dead the place was, I remembered that most people were probably at work. Clocking in to their day jobs, they would be completely unaware that three masked clowns and their stripper captive would be going for a hike in the broad daylight.

With the Cadillac parked, all of us climbed out of the car.

Straightening my shirt, I looked around the lot for a directory.

Cyrus went straight for the wood shack at the entrance. There was a guest book and some college-aged kid sitting in the booth.

From the directory, I couldn’t make out much — just mumbled words and an exchange of cash.

The map showed a winding path that looped back to the parking lot. Otherwise, it was relatively devoid of details. It would be a few miles, with what appeared to be a lookout point about three-quarters of the way through.

Nash popped open the trunk, grabbing a backpack while tossing Blade a smaller crossbody bag. “Heads up.”

Whipping around on her heels, Blade caught the flying bag with one hand and slipped it over her head. “Thanks, chief.”

“Whatcha got in there?” I nodded toward the bag.

“Some water, a couple protein bars. For both of us.” Blade smirked. Whatever calm she’d been able to maintain over the drive was deteriorating. It was replaced with energy and excitement that translated into her bouncing up and down like she was warming up for a marathon.

“Come on.” Cyrus crumbles from the trailhead.

Nash and Blade started walking, but it was Nash who stopped and held out her hand for me.

Nerves rushed over me as I grabbed her hand. It was warm and soft, except for the rough callouses near her knuckles on her palms. Looking down at our intertwined fingers, the lightning bolts on her hand looked like they were striking mine.

But that’s how it felt to be with Nash — like lightning flowing through you. It wasn’t scary, not like your guts would be cooked. No, it was calm, a storm you would ride out together.