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“Fuck,” she whispered, hair falling in front of her face.

He didn’t tuck it back. “Something like that.”

That wariness that he thought he’d gotten rid of flashed across Riley’s face, tightening his chest.

She dropped her gaze. “Fine.”

He dipped his mouth to hers, sliding his hands back into her hair. She was pliant in his arms.

Part of her still trusted him.

That didn’t make the guilt sting less.



After one of the longer days in his life, Saint got into his truck and just sat. The overhead light slowly faded, and he rested his head against the seat in the dark. His knees stung from earlier, but not as bad as the careful wariness that Riley had watched him with all evening. They’d all napped in the afternoon, Aaron, Wheeler, and Saint trading off watch.

Unnecessary, but easier to indulge in the old habits than fight their instincts. Two hours was enough, for now. Tension thrummed in his chest, and he started again at the top of his list.

Riley was safe, in his bed with Kristi. They’d discuss that later.

Aaron was less… irritated.

Wheeler was fine.

Cookie probably needed a walk, but nothing that couldn’t wait another hour.

Dante? Dante.

Saint wasn’t sure when that obstinate fuck had worked his way back onto his list or back to a first-name basis, but it had happened sometime between finding out that Gio was dead and now. He flipped the key and the engine rolled over.

Saint didn’t feel an ounce of remorse for making the call.

He turned the truck away from town, and found the run-down old house that Dante used sometimes. It stood in the dead centre of the small lot of weeds, surrounded by forest on three sides.

It looked like a tear-down. He glanced around as he parked his truck two blocks away and backtracked. The shadows offered little cover as he skirted the yard, descending several stairs to get to the basement door. He knocked once and waited.

The woods were quiet. Crickets and a small squirrel chittered in warning. He kept his back to the house for five minutes, then ten and he refrained from glaring up at the camera. If Dante needed to feel like a big man by making him wait, he’d wait.

The darkness was almost absolute when the door opened, and Saint slid inside the threshold. The creatures of the night froze and everything went silent. They know.

He closed the door behind him and stopped, foot still hovering above his next step. A cold circle of metal pressed against the bottom of his skull.

This is happening too much today.

Cold seeped over his skin, and he tried to metabolize it before it made him fast and reactive. In this one situation, adrenaline would not help him. Dante needed calm.

Saint couldn’t hear breathing behind him, but he’d taught him that trick, so he exhaled the tension and put his foot down.

If Dante’d meant it, he would already be red mist hanging in the air, the smell of iron in the silence.

“That make you feel big and strong, King?” Saint drawled.

A chuckle came out of the dark. “You’re getting slow, old man.” Saint recognized the voice as well as he knew his own.

“That’s retirement for you.”

Dante laughed. Saint blinked as the lights flicked on. The concrete walls of the reinforced basement were bare, unfinished. Weapons lined one wall, and a laptop blinked from a folding table in the middle of the room. It was stark and utilitarian. Just like its resident.