I reach for my phone. A new text from Knox.
Knox: You asleep?
I glance at Candace's breathing, slow and even. Ruby's soft snores. Frankie's steady rise and fall.
Me: Not yet.
Less than a minute.
Knox: You okay?
I look around the room. At Candace's hand still curled loosely near mine. At Ruby's foot dangling off the edge of the bed, resting on Frankie's hip like they've been doing that for years. At the fairy lights Ruby insisted on taping above the headboard, casting soft halos across Malachi's blown-up mug shot on the wall. East had it printed as a joke. Malachi never took it down.
The word sisters fits in a strange way. A good kind of strange.
Me: Yeah. They're good for me.
Knox: I know. I like when you laugh with them. Even if it means I don't get to steal you.
Heat prickles behind my eyes. Idiot.
Me: I'll come home tomorrow.
Knox: You're good where you are. Just text if you need me, okay?
I stare at the words, then lock the phone and slide it under my pillow as though I can physically tuck them somewhere safe.
Candace shifts in her sleep, brow furrowing. I reach over and smooth a hand down her hair. "It's okay. You're safe."
The words echo, fragile and dangerous.
Frankie cracks one eye open. In the flickering light, she looks like a witch out of some old story. All ink and knowing and quiet power.
"This exists, you know," she says softly, voice rough with impending sleep. "The laughing. The stupid games. Staying."
"Does it come with an expiration date?"
She shrugs one shoulder against the pillow. "Everything does. But that doesn't make it less real while you've got it."
I don't answer. I don't trust my voice.
She lets her eye drift shut. "Go to sleep, nurse. We'll still be here in the morning."
I lie back carefully, one arm tucked under my head, the other close enough that my fingertips brush the edge of Candace's blanket. Ruby kicks in her sleep and mumbles something about Nash's ass. Frankie huffs a sleepy laugh.
The ceiling is a patchwork of shadows and fairy light glow.
Girls snoring in a stolen room. Candles burning low. My phone under my pillow, silent and solid. Knox somewhere across town, probably glaring at his ceiling and wanting me close.
I close my eyes. For tonight, I let myself have this.
Chapter 20
Knox
Thewarehousedoorshutsbehind Malachi with a heavy, final clang, and the lock snicks into place. Chuck's in there with him, cuffed to a chair under one shitty buzzing bulb. We're in the hallway outside. I'm bracing against the cinderblock, Nash is pacing tight and lethal, East leans on the opposite wall like the only thing keeping him still is the concrete at his back.
Through the door I hear it, not clearly, just the rhythm of it. A low voice answers, then a thud. Silence. Another thud. Metal chair scraping a fraction. Someone choking on air. Malachi's not a man you want locked in a room with your sins. My fingers twitch toward the handle on instinct. Old habit. In the life I had before the club, they never shut the door on me when things got ugly.