"Vitals don't lie," I say quietly.
A small smile tugs at his mouth. "Combat medic. Two tours. Long time ago."
"Shows," I say. He takes it the way I meant it. Looks satisfied as if I passed a test I didn't know I was taking.
Knox's hand finds my back again. When I glance at him, he holds on me for a beat too long. Maybe pride. Maybe relief that I sound more competent than drowning.
Maggie bumps her shoulder into James' chest. He slides his hand to the back of her neck, thumb tracing her hairline, the gesture so automatic neither of them seems to notice.
He lets go, retreats a step. "You need air, water, or a quiet corner, tell someone. None of us bite without consent. Well, not unless provoked."
"Only me," East adds cheerfully.
Knox squeezes my shoulder. "Come on," he murmurs. "Sit."
The moment we cross the threshold, everything hits louder. Warm light spills across the room. Bar to the left, pool table and couches to the right, noise layered with laughter and music. The place feels worn in. It smells like years of spilled beer, wood polish, and fryer grease.
"Table by the kitchen door," Maggie decides, already moving.
I follow because I have no idea how to do anything else right now. We pass close enough to the bar that I catch sight of another woman with short black hair in a razor-edged cut. Tattoos climb her arms, peeking above the collar of her shirt. Her eyes shift between blue and green in the overhead light. She has purple lipstick and a sharp smile. She leans against the far end of the bar, talking to East.
Her gaze flicks to us, lands on me and narrows. "Well," she says, drawing it out. "So she exists."
"Frankie." Knox draws me forward. "This is Sloane. Sloane, Frankie. She runs the tattoo shop two blocks over and has more dirt on this town than the internet."
Frankie's grin flashes. "Welcome to the circus. He usually only disappears for club business. This time he went dark for two days and turned up with you, so, you know." She tips her head, eyes dancing. "Respect." Heat crawls up my neck. Frankie looks me over once, sharp and thorough. "You hungry?" she asks.
"Kind of," I admit.
"Translation: she's starving," Maggie mutters.
Frankie nods once. "Maggie feeds your body," she says. "I do ink, smokes, and quiet when you need it. You need any of those, I'm your girl."
"Thank you," I say.
She taps two fingers against the bar. "Eat. Then freak out. Freaking out on an empty stomach sucks." East bumps her arm, exaggerated and playful. She hip-checks him back. He clutches his chest and pretends to swoon. They both laugh, bright and real. I almost laugh with them before I catch myself.
I sink into the chair Maggie points at, back to the wall, with a clear view of the room. My shoulders drop an inch when I can see the door.
Knox takes the seat beside me, close enough that his thigh brushes mine.
Maggie sets a glass of water in front of me. "Drink," she orders gently. "Then chili. Then we can yell at Knox for not feeding you well."
"You don't have to—" I start.
"Honey, you're shaking and trying to apologize for existing," she says, hand on her hip. "That earns you extra bread in this house."
My eyes burn. I blink fast and reach for the water instead.
"You sleep last night?" Maggie asks as James arrives with bowls. I choke on the water. Last night flashes behind my eyes, Knox's hands on my hips, his mouth on my neck.
"Yeah," Knox offers too casually. "We caught some."
Maggie squints. "Define some."
He lets his mouth tilt just a little, the smug bastard. "Enough to keep the car out of a ditch. We stayed in a motel the first night. I stayed up, and she crashed. Last night we were closer, so I called it and grabbed a real bed before we pushed in."
Heat spikes to my ears. Frankie, who absolutely hears that, chokes on her drink. East coughs out a laugh and pretends it's the TV.