“Abby wants more than this life,” I say, and I’m not sure why. “Maybe she’ll talk to the police and cut some sort of deal.”

Isaiah pulls on his earring and he sucks in a breath like he’s trying to keep his ass from plowing into me. “Abby doesn’t know normal. Drug dealing—that’s her life.”

“You don’t know that.” My posture straightens, acting as if he’s the one attacking her. “None of us, not even you, know what’s going on behind the closed curtain.”

Isaiah reads my body language and pushes off the wall, his muscles tightening like we’re about to go to war. “Her father’s a drug dealer serving a life sentence in a prison downstate. Does that sound real enough for you? Want to know how I know? I’ve driven her there for family visitation weekend...twice. Abby doesn’t have a mother. Abby doesn’t have a father. Abby has Abby. We became friends because we understood each other. She fed me when she had extra food when I was in a bad foster home and I had her back when she wasn’t strong enough to handle herself on the streets.

“We used each other to survive, and in order to survive, Abby became what she understood. She’s a dealer. Abby won’t walk away from this life—it’s in her blood. What you see when she’s flirting with you, when she’s laughing with Rachel, it’s a part in a play. Abby’s pretending, she’s lying, and I’ve let the game go on too long with all of you. The real Abby would scare the shit out of you.”

“So that’s it? Abby’s a dealer?” Her voice circles in my brain. What? Am I not worthy of her friendship? Of yours? “She’s dirt and you’ve washed your hands of her? I thought you were a better man than that. A better friend.”

Isaiah closes the distance between us and I brace myself for impact. “You better shut the fuck up, Logan. You’re my friend, but I love her like she’s my sister. I’m protecting Abby the only way I know how. You say the wrong thing, she goes to jail. If the police act on what you say and her employer thinks she’s the one that snitched, her throat will be slit by sunrise. This ain’t your world. It’s her world and there’s a different set of rules.”

I whip away from Isaiah, searching for something to hit, someone to blame, circling the tiny room and it grows smaller with each pass. “So I keep my mouth shut? I refuse to talk to the police?”

“You can talk,” says Isaiah, “but you only offer what will help them find the bastard that shot Abby, but if they start asking about drugs...you gotta make a choice and that choice is between obeying the law and living in Abby’s world. I’m telling you to be careful. It’s a slippery slope and once you start down Abby’s path, it’s easy as fuck to trip and fall.”

I kick at the trash can. “I want to protect her.”

“So do I.” Isaiah jams his hands into his pockets. “But you can’t protect someone who decides to play with live explosives. If you want me to be honest, I’d be impressed if the cops find who did it. If this is a war between Abby’s employer and Eric, odds are it’ll be taken care of internally.”

“Eric.” I spit out his name. Isaiah and Rachel had problems with him last winter. I helped the two of them out as much as I could, but an accident laid me up for a few weeks.

“You don’t want to hear this,” says Isaiah. “But Abby’s not going to leave this life.”

“Bullets change things.”

Isaiah shakes his head like I’m a kid not understanding simple addition. “Not for Abby. What reason does Abby have to sell drugs? Her dad’s gone and he’s not coming back. She never had a mom. She had a grandmother who died a few years back. Abby’s got no ties to drugs, yet she chooses this life.”

I run a hand through my hair and I stop pacing as I realize how exhausted I am. “Maybe she does it for money.”

Isaiah shrugs. “Could. I already told you everything I know on Abby. Beyond that, she’s a blank page.”

Could. “Who does she live with? Where does she live?”

“I don’t know. Abby doesn’t like sharing, not even with me.” His mouth firms up like he’s weighing his words, then starts again. “We all have choices. I hated foster care. Ended up in some homes and group homes that would make a serial killer shudder. At any time, I could have left. Ran away. Made the choices Abby’s making, but I didn’t. I stuck it out because there are devils even I don’t want to meet.”

Abby and I play. We play and I asked her to leave with me earlier, and she didn’t. We could have been in Bullitt County by now. We could be miles from here and from pain.

But she didn’t leave with me when I first asked and tonight I could have gotten killed over a girl who chose selling drugs over me. “What are you saying that I’m not hearing?”

Isaiah’s head falls back and hits the wall. He stares at the ceiling like it has the answer. “I’m saying you’ve seen too much. You know too much. You’re a good guy that doesn’t mind coloring outside the lines, but you’ve stumbled into areas that are off your page. You need to decide if not being fully honest to the police—lying—is that your thing?”

Drugs aren’t my thing. Yeah, I know people who’ve smoked pot a few times. They aren’t evil—just guys searching for a good time, just like my need for an adrenaline rush. I can’t smoke—can’t drink—it would mess with my blood sugar and I’ve got enough problems there without adding more. But selling? Getting shot at? There’s a difference between crazy and wrong.