“Better than her not knowing anything at all. She probably thinks you’re going to off her in her sleep.”

Sighing, I stood up quickly, the chair beneath me tipping back from the force of it. “Fine.”

The second I knocked, the bathroom door opened, and she was there—wearing a pair of my boxers and one of my long-sleeved gray shirts. Her hair was wet, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist. But she was clean. No more blood. The bruising on her cheek had darkened since I’d first seen it, and the cut on her chin and bottom lip had closed up.

She dipped her head, her brown hair forming a curtain around her face. I struggled to breathe, struggled to speak. Then I felt Tiny next to me, his shoulder bumping mine and I finally found my voice. “Bailey?”

Her eyes snapped up, and I could see the fear behind them. I took a step closer, and when she tried to step away, the back of her leg hit the edge of the tub.

“I won’t hurt you,” I said. “You’re safe. It’s over.”

Only it wasn’t over.

It hadn’t even begun.

8

Nate

The ringing of my phone startled me awake. I opened one eye first, then the other. Then I reached over to the nightstand and grabbed it; Tiny’s number flashed on the screen. “What?”

“I’m outside.”

“Use your key.”

A moment later, the door opened, and he stepped inside. “We have a problem, Boss.”

Bailey

After Tiny had left last night, Nate showed me to, what I assume was, a guest bedroom and told me he’d be in the next room if I needed anything. There was nothing but a bed pushed up against the corner and a single nightstand with a lamp, and a tiny dresser, but it was more than I’d expected. And even though it was more than I’d been used to, I still found it impossible to sleep. Every sound, every creak of the floorboards, had me jumping out of my skin, and so when I heard voices in the kitchen, most likely Tiny and Nate’s, I was almost relieved.

“We don’t have a fuckin’ choice,” Tiny’s deep voice rumbled.

Nate said something, but I couldn’t make out what. After pushing the sheets off me, I quietly opened the door and made my way toward the voices, hoping not to startle them. It didn’t work. Both their eyes snapped to me from their seats at the kitchen table. I felt exposed, uncomfortable in my own skin.

Nate cleared his throat and broke the silence. “You need to eat something,” he stated, his voice firm. “And we need to talk.”

“Talk?” I asked quietly.

He just nodded and motioned his head for me to sit down.

I did.

I folded my hands on my lap and waited for them to speak, choosing to ignore the food. Nate leaned forward, causing me to look at him. He asked, almost hesitantly, “We need to know who’ll be reporting you missing. I mean, I don’t think it matters who, but we need to try to be ahead—”

“No one,” I cut in, saving him from going any further.

Tiny and Nate shared a look, one that let me know they thought I was crazy. Tiny spoke first. “Parents? Siblings? Friends?”

“No one,” I repeated. Louder. Stronger. “I don’t have anyone.”

Nate released a shaky breath as he combed his fingers through his shaggy dark hair. “There has to be—” he broke off when I picked up a fork with my right hand, keeping my left close to my chest. Through the adrenaline of what had happened last night, I didn’t feel the damage of what a full-grown man’s weight on a hand could do. Nate—he must have noticed because he asked, “What’s wrong with your hand?”

“Nothing.”

“Is it hurt?”

I shook my head.

Tiny spoke up. “Bailey, if you’re hurt or need something, you need to tell us. There’s no point in lying, you’re only going to make things worse for yourself.”

My bottom lip trembled as I fought to keep it together. I felt like a child—a disobedient child, whose parents had just scolded her. I glanced up at Nate. “Yes. It’s hurt.”

He stood quickly.

My gut clenched, and my entire body filled with fear.

It felt like hours as I watched him approach. He squatted down next to me, gripped the legs of my chair and, without effort, spun my seat to face him. He reached forward, his palm up.

I gently placed my hand on his.

His dark eyes softened as he looked down at my hand. He flipped it over, eliciting a wince from me and a rushed apology from him. His hands were soft… warm. Completely opposite from what I’d expected. “What happened?” he asked, his eyes focused on his finger running over my knuckles.

I looked over at Tiny, who nodded in encouragement, then back to Nate. “The man—he stomped on it—”

“Who? Pauly?” Nate bit out, his eyes narrowed and his jaw tense.

“No… the other one.”

“PJ? Why?”

My voice came out in a whisper. “So I couldn’t fight Pauly when he was on top of me.”

Nate’s gaze flicked to Tiny for a second. Then he cursed under his breath and covered my left hand with both of his. In a tone meant to comfort me, he asked, “Will you tell me what happened?”

The words I’d been holding on to since the gun went off eased their way out of me. “I just wanted him to stop. He wouldn’t get off me. He wouldn’t stop touching me. Feeling me. I couldn’t let him take it.”

Nate’s eyes fixed on mine—an emotion behind them I couldn’t decipher. “Then what happened?”

I kept my voice even, void of any and all emotion. “I didn’t mean to kill him. I just felt for the gun, found the trigger, and I used it. I didn’t—”

“Didn’t what?” Nate cut in.

“I didn’t know the gun was pointed at him. I was aiming for me.”

9

Nate

Bailey excused herself to the guest bedroom shortly after her admission. Tiny waited until she was out of earshot before he turned to me. “You notice she hasn’t cried? Not once. Even when you held the gun to her head.”

I shrugged. It was all I could do. Of course I had noticed. It just made me more curious about her.

When Tiny had said that we had a problem—he wasn’t kidding. We did. And it was a huge one. Apparently PJ had taken pictures of him and Pauly’s act and sent them to everyone. Including Tiny. When he’d shown me the pictures, I’d wanted to puke. It must have been before they smacked her around because her face was clean. Not a trace of blood. Which made it worse because you could see her face clearly.

“He’s trying to send a message,” Tiny had said.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s showing people because he wants them to see the girl who killed Pauly. He’s put a bounty on her head. Two grand.”

I’d scoffed at the amount.

“Two grand’s not much to you, but to drug pushers and takers, it’s a lot of fuckin’ money.”

“Why would he do that? I made it clear I’d take care of it.”

Tiny had given me a look that told me he thought I was stupid. “Obviously, he doesn’t believe you.”