Page 112 of What We Bury

Kitten.

I never call in sick from work. But I was damn well planning to tonight.

“Fuck.”

I flex my hand. Open. Close. The ghost of her grip doesn’t leave.

“How’s my wildcat?”

Holden’s leaning against his car across the street. Black Audi, tinted windows, parked in a loading zone because Holden hasnever respected a rule if it inconvenienced him. Arms crossed. Ankles crossed. The picture of casual disinterest. But his eyes tracked me the second I stepped outside.

“Your wildcat?”

His mouth kicks up on one side. “Mine. Ours. Yours. Whatever label makes you feel good, big guy.”

“Milo’s got her.”

He goes still for half a second. “That little fucker.”

I quirk a brow. He isn’t the one who just got cockblocked. In fact, Holden is still the only one of us who’s maintained silent protector status.

“He knew I was on watch tonight. I’m going to bury him in a shallow grave by the beach. Let the crabs get him.” Holden pushes off the car and rounds to the driver’s side. “Get in. I’ll drive you to work.”

I glance over to where my truck’s parked and figure I can hitch a ride back with Micah later. I slide in shotgun, slam the door, and Holden peels out before I’ve even got the belt buckled.

He always drives at marginally homicidal speeds, like every red light is a personal insult. We don’t talk for two blocks, just the hum of tires over asphalt and the grid of wayward streetlights flicking past.

“Milo fix the lock?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“Keys?”

“Made a set for each of us.”

Holden snorts. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” He takes a corner too fast, and a cyclist flips us off. He doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “I want to scope out the Hudson mark. Get a feel for his routine before we build the full plan.”

“I thought Eli was handling the plan.”

Holden glances at me.

He doesn’t say it out loud. Doesn’t need to. We’ve all seen it. The extra surveillance. The tension between him and Micah in the meeting. Thejacket.Eli’s not himself.

I let out a breath. “He’ll come around.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Holden watches the road, jaw set. “He’s off. Has been ever since—I want to say it’s about her, but it’s not just that.”

“It’s always about Sage.”

A beat. He signals left. “You like her.”

“Yeah. You?”

“Fuck yeah.”

“You think it’s a problem?”

“No. Not unless we let it be.” He huffs a laugh and shifts up a gear. “We’re not the first crew to get entangled. Most of the old syndicates had a rule: no socializing outside the business. Never worked. People always fuck each other, literally or otherwise.”