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Or maybe that’s just how he normally looks when he’s suffering from blood loss and multiple contusions.

But New June is going to choose the more graceful of the interpretations.

“I don’t have much money on me. How much do you have?” I say.

“Not a lot. And we can’t use cards. The Sons will be on the lookout for that.”

“So we need to get ahold of enough cash for a motel room for a few nights.”

“And nothing to do with the Devils. They can’t know I’m here,” Wraith says.

“Obviously,” I say, using the same tone he used earlier. It earns me a look, but I don’t care; I’m not happy about leaving my brother out of this. Even though things are even more desperate right now and it would make things a lot easier.

But then, responsible people don’t need things to always be made easier for them. Responsible people handle their own problems.

“Which means we need to get a lot of cash, and quick,” I say.

“You could try to return that bondage gear. I mean, why did you bring it with us anyway?”

“Because I bought it, I like it, and I’m not returning it. I need to have my hobbies.”

“Are you serious?”

We take a turn, then another turn, and I’m so caught up in the fact that it feels like Wraith is trying to assert some kind of judgmental authority over a legitimate hobby — which for me is just a hobby, not a lifestyle; it’s not like I’m going to really change my name to Mistress June, wear leather, go ultra pale, and get really into peeing on guys — that I don’t notice we’ve reached the bad part of Ironwood Falls until I come to a stop at an intersection and a seedy looking guy knocks on my window.

He’s not offering to wipe my windshield. He’s not asking for a handout. He’s selling.

“I’m serious. It’s a hobby. Don’t try to control my choices, Wraith,” I say.

The guy knocks again. It’s a quiet knock, followed by a nod, and I think he’s misinterpreted my hesitation at this intersection as genuine interest in his product.

“Keep going, June. This guy might try to rob you.”

At first, I obey because it makes sense, and there’s a part of me, still, that just listens to whatever Wraith says, and so I turn the corner.

But then I really listen.

Listen, and hear a solution to our problems.

“Drug dealers carry a lot of cash on them, right?”

“Sometimes. Why?”

I put the truck into park half a block away and rummage around in the back seat of Wraith’s truck, grabbing a few things I need — my purse, one gun we took from the Sons, handcuffs, a whip, and I hop out onto the street.

Wraith calls after me as I shut the door. “June, get back in here. What the hell are you thinking?”

“I’m being responsible. Just sit here. Don’t worry. I got this.”

With my whip held loosely at my side, and my other hand in my purse, gripping the gun and the shackles I keep in there, I walk toward the dealer. He looks at me with one brow raised and both eyes on the whip in my hand.

“What do you want?” He says, his voice clipped, suspicious.

“You’ve got something I need,” I say, mustering every bit of confidence and bravado I can. New June knows this is the right decision, New June knows she has a gun in her purse, a whip in her other hand, and an urgent need for money to get herself safety from the killers chasing after her, but all that still doesn’t offer a lot of courage.

Still, there must be something in my tone that softens the situation, because the dealer’s lips curl into a smile.

“What are you looking to buy?”