Page 82 of What We Burn

“Two things.” I come around the bar to take both her hands. “The first one you’re going to like. The second one you’re not.”

She sets her jaw. “Good news first.”

“You’re in. Odin approved it. But there’s a catch.”

Her grip tightens on my hands. Her eyes go wide and then bright and then glassy, and for a second I think she’s going to cry. She doesn’t. She presses her lips together, breathes through her nose, and nods once.

“Go on.”

“No field work until after your stalker is caught. You okay with that?”

“Do I get to be part of those meetings?”

“Yes.”

She grins. “Then I’m good. What’s the second thing?”

I keep my eyes on hers. The words taste like acid, and I deliver them as gently as I can.

“Fenrir found something.” I squeeze her hands. “Brock might not have been working alone. It looks like someone was helping him plan his assaults.”

Her face doesn’t change. Not at first. Then, very slowly, the color drains out of it, starting at her lips and working outward.

“I . . . I guess that makes sense, given the attack and the threats.” She blinks. “Do we know who?” she asks.

“Not yet. But we’re going to find out.”

She’s quiet for a long time. Her hands are shaking in mine. Then she pulls one free, picks up her drink, and finishes it in a single swallow.

“Show me everything,” she says.

TWENTY-THREE

MILO

Here’s a fact nobody wants to acknowledge: the Balls of Fury is the worst bowls team in the history of organized recreation.

Zero wins. One loss. Six forfeits. And a little note next to our name that says inactive, which is the league’s polite way of calling us cowards.

“We’re not cowards,” I’d muttered to myself two nights ago, thinking I was alone at the kitchen island in the dark. “We’re a team in crisis.”

“You’re a team that’s forfeited six weeks running,” Sage said from behind me, scaring the living daylights out of me. “You haven’t been in weeks. Because you’re all too busy babysitting me.” She’d crossed her arms. “I hate it. I hate that you’re putting your lives on hold to sit around watching me not die.”

“Oh, kitten. We sit around watching you because we love you—and because we’re patiently waiting to have sex with you. It’s not a hardship.”

She rolled her eyes. “Says the man who was muttering in the dark because a bunch of retirees are beating you at lawn bowls.” Her hands moved to her hips. “So I think we should go. All of us. When’s the next game?”

“Ah . . . Saturday.”

She grinned at that. “Okay. You get me a set of those balls for it—preferably pink because sometimes a girl likes to be fancy—and I’ll join your team.”

“Okay.” I looked at her, knowing the guys were going to hate this idea but loving it for Sage and me. “Your wish is my command, kitten.”

“Excellent.” She pulled her shirt up over her head. “You can take me upstairs and fuck me now.”

I’ve never closed the lid on my laptop so fast.

And that’s how five of us ended up squished in my car on the way to Glenview Lawn Bowls on Saturday afternoon. The air is a little tense since no one wanted to do this besides Sage and me. But I’m singing “Celebration” by Kool & the Gang at the top of my lungs to boost morale.