Page 288 of What We Burn

“I know. I know. And we didn’t find out until after you two broke up. But the guys made sure you were safe as soon as we realized. And I know it’s a lot. But I’m pretty sure it’s over now.”

Amy makes a face that says she wants to believe me and also wants to punch reality in the throat.

“Pretty sure,” she repeats. “That is such a comforting phrase. Really inspires confidence.”

“It’s the best I’ve got.”

She huffs out a breath and looks down into her mug again. When she speaks next, her voice is quieter. “So let me make sure I have this straight,” she says. “Because this is a lot.”

“I know.”

“Your boyfriends are—what? A murder cult with good skincare? Dexter, but horny?”

I snort despite myself. “That is an offensively reductive description.”

“But not inaccurate.”

I consider it. “No, not entirely inaccurate.”

Amy points at me with her coffee. “And what’s Dean’s role in all of this? He, what? Disposes of their victims. Is this where you brought Brock?”

“Dean is actually a newish part of the equation. The guys only brought him in recently.”

“But he knows—obviously—about what they do?”

I nod. “He has his reasons for joining. They all do.” So do I.

She sets her mug down again and looks at me hard. “Do you trust them?”

It shouldn’t be such an easy question after everything. Blood and lies and bodies and ropes and fire and all the things that should make trust impossible.

But it’s the easiest question in the universe.

“With my life,” I say.

Amy searches my face like she’s checking for cracks. “That’s insane.”

“I know.”

“Do you hear yourself?”

“All the time. It’s exhausting.”

She huffs a laugh, but it dies quickly. “Sage, I’m trying really hard not to have a full existential collapse in Dean’s kitchen right now.”

“You’re doing amazing.”

“Thank you.” She rubs at the space between her eyebrows. “Dean is one of them. Does he kill people too?”

“As far as I’m aware, he only disposes of the bodies.”

“As far as you’re aware,” she repeats before she lets out a sigh.

“Do you feel safe with him?” I ask, because I can see the war going on in her mind right now. The morals fighting with feelings.

“Yes,” Amy says. No hesitation. “That’s the fucked-up part. I feel safer here than I’ve felt anywhere in months. Maybe ever.” She looks toward the stairs where Dean disappeared. “He knows what I did. He knows everything—even the fucked-up stuff Tyler tried to do to me. But he also makes me French toast every morning and lets me paint his toenails. That’s insane too.”

I hide a smile. “In this group, maybe not.”