Page 249

Razor owns his.

And I own myself.

That might be the first thing tonight that feels solid.

A knock comes at the door.

My whole body goes tight.

Scarecrow’s voice follows.

“It’s me.”

I breathe again.

Then he says, “Bitter’s outside.”

My heart reacts before my dignity can stop it.

Stupid heart.

Mercy sits in the chair beside the window, shoes kicked off, eyes half-closed.

She opens one. “Want me to tell him to get acquainted with traffic?”

A wet laugh slips out of me.

“No.”

“You want him in here?”

“No.”

That answer hurts.

But it is mine.

Mercy nods. “Then no.”

She crosses to the door and opens it only a few inches.

I cannot see Bitter.

I can feel him anyway.

I hate that too.

“She said no,” Mercy tells him.

Silence.

Then Bitter’s voice comes low from the hall.

“Okay.”

Just that.

No argument. No command. No door shoved open by a man convinced wanting something gives him the right to take it.