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I pour another glass.
Another.
I lose count, gripping my backpack to my stomach.
When the room spins too hard to stop, I stumble into one of the bedrooms.
There’s boxes everywhere. Bright orange lingerie.
Finn’s room.
I fall on the bed, tipping a stack of packages to the floor.
Collars.
Big, thick, spiked collars.
I snort.
Finn’s been teaching me. Telling me how Lilah’s the only reason he’s alive. How he inked his chest to mark himself.
So I stole one of his ideas for a gift.
But mine isn’t so tacky.
Hope she accepts it. Hope she accepts me.
I drink straight from the bottle I’m still clutching.
Tomorrow, I’ll be brave enough to tell her everything.
Tonight?
Bourbon.
THIRTY-FIVE
LILAH
Atlas carries me back to the apartment like a princess. Then he and Orion pin me to the couch while they bandage my knuckles.
“I’m fine,” I insist, pretending they’re not making me tremble with their attention.
Orion presses a bag of frozen broccoli to my cheek. “She hit you.”
“I hit her harder.”
“Our girl’s a badass.” He rubs my nose with his thumb.
“Hold still,” Atlas grumbles.
He dabs ointment on my fingers, and bandages them with that crazy, single-minded focus that makes me feel like the center of the galaxy.
It’s becoming a problem.
“Where are the others?” I ask, keeping it light so they don’t know how deeply I’m shaken.
It’s not just the bandages on my fingers.
