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I find Dutch pinned between fake two-story buildings. He crouches behind a mailbox spattered in red paint. The shooter on the roof across the street machine-gun fires, even though Dutch is already dripping fake blood.
Racing for the stairs, I snarl at Reese. “Find Hunter.”
We’re going to need an adult.
“On it.” Reese disappears.
The buildings are bare concrete with no furnishings and nothing to muffle the slap of my sneakers.
I want him to hear me coming.
Heaving as I hit the roof, I flex my scent and wait for the gunfire to die.
When it’s silent, I stalk to Finn.
My perfume freezes him on his stomach, finger on the trigger of a mounted gun. The reservoir that holds thousands of paintball pellets is running empty.
What a team.
I kick him onto his back. Finn doesn’t cough or choke, even though I’m pumping enough toxin to make another alpha cry.
Meeting his gaze tips me into an icy, black tunnel. Like falling down an abandoned well.
Finn isn’t living his nightmare.
He is the nightmare.
“Solly!” Dutch’s bellow echoes from the ground. I’ve got a few seconds before he scales the stairs.
Without my alphas, I have no reason to smile.
Alone with Finn, I have no reason to pretend.
I meet him dead-eyed stare for dead-eyed stare. “I told you to stop screwing with Dutch.”
Finn doesn’t answer.
He can’t.
Crouching, I reel back my scent and drop my wrist, ready to knock him out if he twitches.
“Dutch Baby—”
I pulse perfume. “You don’t get to call him that.”
“It’s my name.”
“Not anymore.”
“Then give me something better to play with,” Finn says, all sing-song grim reaper. A pulse of recognition scritches my spine.
Lilah is surrounded by freaks.
At least I know how to pretend I’m normal.
Since Finn is impossible to threaten, and I can’t kill him without hurting my friend, I can only point his chaos somewhere productive. “I’ll give you names. Everyone who hurt Lilah.”
“My Star told me their names.”
