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She stood there a moment, her eyes darting around the people in the room and probably wondering something dumb like how she was going to save her pride or some shit.
But then…
She turned and walked away, still dressed in Aydin’s T-shirt and boxers as s
he slid open the door and slipped into the next compartment.
As soon as she was gone, silence sat like a ten-ton weight in the room, no one speaking.
But then, after a few moments, someone spun me around and threw her arms around me, all of my friends crowding around me as Winter hugged me.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “What happened in there? Why was she there?”
I couldn’t talk right now. I could barely draw in a breath.
Misha pulled me away and yanked me in next, squeezing me so tightly. “What can we do?” he asked. “What do you need?”
And then Damon. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
I held up my hands, sweat seeping out of my pores, and my stomach rolling with them so close. “I can’t.” I backed away, trying to get space. “Just…I can’t right now, okay?”
But Michael grabbed me anyway. “Are you okay?”
I growled, yanking away. “Don’t touch me.” I shook my head, the room spinning. “Don’t.”
“All right,” he breathed out, hands off. “I’m sorry.”
They all stopped and stepped away, falling silent. I could feel their eyes on me and their looks between each other, because they didn’t understand, and I couldn’t get into it right now.
I rubbed my eyes, smelling the familiar scent of the cellar on my hands from the rope I’d tied Aydin up with.
Aydin.
I held my nose between my hands, breathing in the house.
I wasn’t ready. I should still be there. I shouldn’t have left.
“I gotta make some phone calls,” I said, turning and heading for the door and leaving them. We were at least five cars from the engine. Hopefully Emmy was hiding her ass somewhere I wouldn’t have to look at her, because I was so mad I could strangle her right now.
“Your name is on your cabin door,” Ryen said, finally speaking up. “There’s clothes in there.”
I slid open the door, wind and the sounds of the wheels on the tracks rushing through, but then Winter spoke up before I could step through.
“Why would he do that?” she asked.
I stopped.
“Who?” Banks asked her.
“Martin Scott.”
I let the door fall closed, quieting the room and remaining a moment.
Winter continued, “If what Emory said was true, why would he work so hard to make sure you all went to jail? Money does the walking in Thunder Bay. Your presence, or lack thereof, wouldn’t make his career.”
I listened, everyone silent as the words hung in the air.
Banks spoke up, figuring it out first. “Unless he’s working with people who have power. People who wanted you in jail.”
