Page 213 of What We Bury

I stare at him, feeling the wild, scratchy thrum start in my ribcage, the itch that won’t be scratched. “You’re right,” I start. “But Holden, he’s not coming back to the surface unless someone goes down to get him. And he’s not going to listen to any of you. I have to at least try. Look at it from an operational standpoint—everyone works better with a clearer head, right?”

His jaw tightens, but he nods.

“So let me help.”

“I said no.”

“Okay.” I throw the covers back and swing my legs out of bed. “Then I’ll just follow you after you leave. I’ll show up on my own, walk in through the front door, and ask whoever’s at the bar to point me toward the scary men having a secret meeting in the back room.”

Holden stares at me. “You wouldn’t.”

“You know I would.”

He exhales through his nose—a long, controlled breath that I’ve learned is Holden forI know you’re right and I hate it.He picks up his keys from the dresser. Weighs them in his palm.

“You stay in the main bar area. You don’t go near the back room. You don’t talk to Odin. And when the meeting’s over, you’ll have five minutes with Eli. Five.”

“Ten.”

“Seven.”

“Done.”

He shakes his head, but when he looks at me there’s something in his expression that isn’t quite annoyance. It might be respect. Or resignation. With Holden, they look the same.

He pulls his phone from his pocket and thumbs out a text. “I’ll tell Dean to stand down.”

“Who’s Dean?”

He doesn’t look up from the screen. “A friend. He fills in for us sometimes.”

I go still. “So there’s some guy watching me I haven’t even met?”

“Yes.” He pockets the phone and looks at me, and there’s not a trace of apology anywhere in it. “And don’t ask any of us to say sorry for it, because we won’t. We will always do the thing that keeps you safe, whether you agree with it or not. That’s just how life is now, wildcat.”

I should be furious. Part of me is. But a bigger, more inconvenient part hearswe will always keep you safeand unlocks something low in my chest, warm and stupid.

He sees it. Of course he does. Holden doesn’t miss much.

He crosses the room in two steps, takes my jaw in one hand, and kisses me—slow, then not slow at all, his other hand splaying at the small of my back and pulling me flush until I’ve forgotten the meeting, the club, my five minutes, even Eli. When he finally pulls back, I’m breathing like I ran here.

“That’s not fair,” I manage. “You don’t get to distract me with your mouth every time I’m about to win an argument.”

“I do, actually.” He presses one more kiss to the corner of my mouth and steps back, barely winded, the bastard. “It’s extremely effective.”

He picks his keys up off the dresser and chuckles at whatever’s on my face. “Get dressed, wildcat. We need to go.”

Unholy Desires hides behind a nondescript door marked only by a gold UD worked into the knockers. Inside, the room opens into high ceilings, polished wood, a long bar, and empty booths that somehow feel more expensive than furniture should.

No seedy warehouse. No sticky floor. It’s a palace built for secrets.

Holden walks me to the bar, pulls out a stool, and gives me a look that says stay. “Don’t move.”

He has the audacity to tap me on the nose.

“I’m not a lap dog.”

“Debatable.” He leans down and kisses me, quick, firm, a stamp of ownership before he disappears through a door behind the stage.