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Punk gives me a cheeky grin. “Are you asking me to sleep with your Pixie?”
Smug prick.He knows exactly how to get under my skin. “Wipe that smirk off your face. Call her by my pet name, and I’ll end you. You get the couch and wear fucking clothes. You don’t crawl in our bed unless you have to. I want someone there for her if she needs it.”
“Why does Jo need someone with her at night?”
Punk and I look over our shoulders and notice Simone, her face pulled together, scrutinizing.
“Night terrors. Violent ones. She can get physical and lash out. At times she needs to be retrained to avoid hurting herself or others,” I answer. “It started after Jacob kidnapped her.”
Simone looks over at her sister and straightens her shoulders. “I can sleep with her. If you haven’t noticed, I’m more than capable of restraining her.”
I shake my head. “She gets freakishly strong—even I’ve struggled at times.”
Simone shrugs. “Maybe if someone is in bed with her, she will subconsciously know that she’s not alone and won’t have an episode.” She pauses and looks at Punk. “But if she does, I guess this moron can assist if I need it.”
Punk flashes a megawatt smile. “Awesome. I get to sleep with two sisters.”
“The fuck you do,” Chase says angrily, coming up behind me.
Punk’s shoulders rise and fall with silent chuckles. “You guys make it too fucking easy.” He raises his hands in surrender. “Alright, since I don’t want two brothers pissed at me, I promise to only join the bed if need be. I swear I won’t molest your women.”
Simone scowls at Punk. “What do you mean by ‘your women?’”
Punk looks quizzically between Simone and Chase. When the realization hits, a mischievous smile spreads from ear to ear. “Have you not filled her in, bro? Oh, this is fucking gold!”
Chase glares at his best friend but says nothing.
“What’s the moron talking about?” Simone demands, her voice raising an octave.
Punk swings his smiling face back to Simone. “Oh, Priss, didn’t you know? You’re officially off the market with a big warning sign reading, ‘property of Chase,’ tattooed across your forehead.”
Simone scoffs. “That’s absurd. I don’tbelongto Chase. I don’t belong to anyone but myself.” She laughs some more, but her laughter slowly dies as she takes in our stoic faces. Her gray eyes go wide when she looks at Chase, staring back at her with lust-filled eyes.
Punk giggles like a little kid. “Oh, this is going to be fun. Where’s the popcorn when you need it?”
* * *
Gauge and I have been gone a week, chasing Esteban all over the west like a game of hopscotch. We’ve cut him off a hand full of times from entering Colorado, but we’ve yet to be in a position to take him out. We’ve gambled on our latest destination in Fish Lake, Utah, but our sources in the FBI have been spot on thus far.
Fishlake National Forest puts us in a perfect offensive position from up high on the summit, excellent for taking out Esteban’s car from afar. It’s rather desolate here with aspen trees encircling open mountain meadows. It’s normally lush, but with fall on the horizon, everything is dried out.
I miss Josephine. I contemplate calling her again, but I know she won’t answer. The morning after I left, Josephine woke to find me gone. She called me up, demanding I bring my ass back to headquarters. I tried to explain I couldn’t, that I needed to kill him, and she lost it. She hung up on me and has refused to answer my calls or text messages since. I still try, knowing she won’t respond, but she will know she’s at the center of all my thoughts.
I finally found a free moment to reach out to Punk.
“How’s everything going?”
“About as wonderful as you can imagine,” Punk grouches. “That was a real pussy-move you played, bailing on Jo to avoid her backlash.”
Annoyed, I roll my eyes. I don’t need his attitude at the moment. “Yeah, well, I am what I eat.”
“Gah!Dammit, Atlas!” I can imagine Punk is doing a full-body shiver.
I laugh. “Sorry, bro. Is it really bad?”
Punk snorts. “Why is it you always piss her off the most when you’re gone, and I’m always on the receiving end of it?”
I kick the dirt at my feet, grimacing—he’s not far off the mark. “Yeah, I owe you one.”
