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“Roman.”

“Callie.”

“If you're going to know where I am, I get to know where you are.”

“That's different.”

Her laugh has absolutely no humor in it. “Oh, fuck you.”

“This isn't about fairness.”

“Clearly.”

“It's about keeping you safe.”

“And apparently I don't get a say in how that happens?”

My teeth grind together. “You get a say.”

“Wonderful. I say no to approximately half of your rules.”

“They're not optional.”

“Then I don't get a say.”

Fuck.

Behind her, Violet is watching us like she's at a tennis match.

I look at Callie. She's pissed. But underneath it, I see something else—fear. Not of Mercer. Of me shutting her out.

I know that look. I saw it last night when she asked if I was leaving Hollow Creek.

Saw it this morning when I found a handcuff around my wrist.

Insurance.

My anger drains as quickly as it came.

I lower my voice. “I don't know what he knows.”

Callie's expression changes slightly.

“I don't know if he saw you look at me. I don't know if he knows who you are. I don't know if he's already figured out where you live.”

Violet goes very still. Callie's arms slowly fall.

“But I know what kind of man he is.”

“Tell me.”

My first instinct is automatic.

No. Keep her out. Keep her away from it. Handle it myself. The same instinct I've followed for eleven years.

But that isn't an option anymore.

Mercer saw her. Whether I like it or not, she's already in this.