“You’re making little growling noises in the back of your throat, and it’s distracting me. Not in a good way.”
Fear began to claw at me, because I knew what those growls meant. I had to do a better job of focusing—or else. I squared my shoulders. “I’ve already let one slayer down today. I’m not letting another. I’m staying.”
He glanced at me, and I could see a new gleam of respect in his eyes. But all he said was “Whatever. Do what you want.”
That respect...
It meant more to me than money.
And I knew how to get more. The list. However proves necessary, kill Z.A. ASAP.
You’re going down, fiend.
When dark went against light, light always won. I was light—as long as I didn’t let my fire get snuffed out.
I would win. Right?
Bronx bumped my shoulder. “You panicking over something, Bell?”
“No, I’m calm,” I said. “From now on, I’m going to be a walking sedative.”
Chapter 11
Rot in Peace
The next morning, I climbed into Reeve’s Porsche and bucked my seat belt. Our ten-minute drive to school couldn’t end fast enough. I was ready to hide in the back of my first class and fall asleep.
She clearly concurred, gunning the engine as she shot from the garage. I wanted to rapid-fire questions at her, now that we were alone, but I was too tired. I leaned against the door instead, the sunlight streaming through the window warming me, lulling me.
Singing along to the radio, she merged into traffic. There were shadows under her eyes, and for once, she wore wrinkled clothing, as if she’d just rolled from bed and called it good.
I happened to know that she had.
As promised, I hadn’t left Bronx alone. I’d waited for Reeve to exit Ethan’s house. And she had, at 3:00 a.m. Ethan had driven her home, dropped her off in the same spot he’d picked her up and kissed her on the mouth before driving away. Bronx hadn’t said another word. His body language had said plenty, though.
Ethan was lucky to be alive.
The first moment I’d been alone, I’d called Dr. Bendari to reschedule, but the number had been unavailable. I had screeched with frustration, knowing I’d blown my best chance to talk with the only person with concrete answers.
Then I’d chastised myself for letting an emotion get the better of me.
Walking. Sedative.
“Wishing you hadn’t gotten the tattoos?” Reeve asked.
“Of course not,” I said. “Why?”
“Well, look at yourself.”
I gazed down. I was absentmindedly rubbing my thumb over the daggers. Oh. Well. “They comfort me.”
Reeve gasped and stomped on the brake. The car jerked to a stop, throwing me forward as much as the belt would allow.
“What the—”
“Bronx,” she screeched, tearing off her belt and stepping into the daylight.
Just in front of her car, right in the middle of the road, was Bronx’s old, rusted truck. He leaned against the hood, arms crossed.
I should have expected this.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he spat. “Sneaking out in the middle of the night, meeting some strange guy and going to his place. Do you know how dangerous that is?”
“How did you—argh! It doesn’t matter.” She grabbed a rock and threw it at him.
Reflexes honed, he ducked.
She shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just done. More calmly, she said, “He’s not some strange guy, he’s my boyfriend, and what I do with him isn’t your business.”
“Everything about you is my business.”
Her back went ramrod straight. “Screw you. I’m not doing this with you, Bronx. Not anymore.” She turned.
He grabbed her arm, spun her around. “Did you sleep with him?”
Very calmly, she said, “I told you. What I do with him is none of your business.”