Page 73 of What We Burn

“I’m a detective. And I do.”

Milo leans forward from the back seat, his chin practically on the center console. “For the record, I think she makes a compelling case.”

“Nobody asked you, Milo.”

“Nobody has to ask me, Holden. I volunteer my opinions freely and without reservation. It’s one of my best qualities.” He pats my shoulder. “Continue, kitten. You’re doing great.”

I shift in my seat to face Holden, who is driving with the focused, stone-jawed expression of a man trying to end a conversation. Too bad for him, I’ve been practicing this speech.

“Here’s the thing, Holden. These people—whoever sent the text, whoever put the rope around my neck—they’re coming for me. Not you. Not the group. Me. And right now I’m sitting in a house with my thumb up my ass, doing absolutely nothing while five men make plans for my safety. Do you know what that feels like?”

“Safe,” Holden says. “You should feel safe.”

“It feels like being a child. And I’m not a child, Holden. I killed a man with my own hands and I’d do it again—I want to do it again.”

“She wants it, Holden,” Milo says from the back. “Maybe even needs it. It’s honestly the hottest thing about her, and that’s a high bar.”

Holden’s jaw clenches. “Milo. You’re not helping.”

“Not helping you. I’m on kitten’s side here. I’ve seen her practice with the knife. She’s been working on her skills. Footwork, grip, angles—she’s good. She deserves the chance to channel some of that righteous feminine rage into something productive.”

Holden’s gaze snaps to the mirror. “She’s been doing what?”

Milo freezes. “Practicing. I may have skipped a chapter in the briefing.”

Holden exhales through his nose—the long, controlled kind that means he’s counting to ten and only making it to about six. “Someone is stalking you and we don’t know who they are or when they’ll strike next. When that threat is neutralized—when you’re not being actively hunted—then we talk about you becoming the hunter.”

I frown. “You make it sound like a job promotion.”

“It’s more dangerous than a job promotion.”

“I’ve already done the dangerous part. I’ve already killed someone. You can’t un-ring that bell, Holden.”

“No. But I can make sure you’re alive long enough to ring it again. I swear to you, wildcat, when we work out who’s behind your attack, I will stand there and watch you rain blood and fuck you in the mess of it.”

My face goes hot, and Milo makes a noise behind us that can only be described as full-throated, unfiltered approval.

“I’m actually hard imagining that scenario,” Milo says, not even bothering to sound sheepish. “But if you want, Sage, I have several detailed bloodbath scenarios we could workshop for your first solo outing.”

“She’s not doing a solo outing,” Holden grinds out.

“Stop telling me what I can and can’t do,” I fire back before unclipping my seatbelt and climbing over the console into the back.

“The fuck are you doing?” Holden swerves as my ass gets in his face.

“Going where I’m wanted!”

“Kitten, I for one am delighted to field auditions for your murder-goddess era,” Milo says, catching me around the waist and hauling me across his lap as though I’m a rag doll and not a woman with a vendetta.

“You want in on the next job, I will personally design you a costume.”

“Costume?” I loop my arms around his neck as I stretch my thighs either side of his hips.

“Every vigilante needs a look, kitten. Oh, fuck—” His head lolls back when I grind against his hard length.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you were hard,” I gasp.

“Murder is hot, and I never lie about erections, kitten.”