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“What are you going to do with them?” he inquires.
“Make stew,” I retort, because the answer is obvious.
Once they’re on Estrada’s side, they become my enemies.
To hunt.
To trap.
To kill.
Ezra has half a grin on his face as he opens the front door, like my answer was unexpected. “Literally or…”
“You ask a lot of questions,” I say, following him inside. “Are you aware of that?”
“I’m trying to figure you out,” he quietly confesses.
I snort. “You’ll want some pain relievers for that headache.”
“My room is this way,” he mentions, briefly glancing at the muted TV. “You can use my shower. I’ll grab you some clothes to put on.”
“What are you doing home?” Riley asks when we pass through the dimly lit living room.
I flinch.
And I can’t say I’m not pissed about it. But it’s been a fucking night.
“Gem?” Riot sits up suddenly, dropping his phone on the coffee table. “What the fuck happened? Is that your blood?”
“Shhh,” Ezra hisses.
“No,” I murmur. “It’s not mine.”
Ezra slides the dimmer on the light switch so Riot can see us. “Someone attacked her.”
“Someone attacked us,” I correct, bouncing my finger between myself and Ezra. “Us. Probably Lory too. I doubt he got out unscathed.”
“Shit. Who—”
“Two guesses,” I interrupt. “Somehow, I’m sure they’ll both be right.”
Riley stands, coming closer to assess us. “What did they do?”
“Lit The Lofts on fire. Busted in her front door. Died.” Ezra shrugs like this is just another Sunday.
For me, it is... But not for him.
“What do you need me to do?” Riot inquires, tilting my chin to examine my busted lip.
“Nothing. I need a strong drink and ten minutes to think.”
“About what?” Ezra asks.
I scoff at them both, but for two different reasons. “My next move.”
Ezra whips around to fully face me. “You’re going after them?”
“Of course she is,” Riot tells him. “What do you need?”
