Page 270 of What We Bury

It cracks me up—a spasm of giggles, which feels so unfamiliar after the week we’ve had. Out of nowhere, I’m light and giddy and so full of love for these idiots I could break in half. Micah leans over and pets my hair, gentle and steady.

“You’d be a good dog mom,” he says. “You already keep the rest of us from chewing the furniture.”

“That’s not what it sounded like over the weekend,” Milo says, waggling his eyebrows. “Seemed like you were the biter in that?—”

Knox leans across the mahogany bar and clamps over Milo’s mouth, effortless. “Shouldn’t you be leaving for work, Milo?”

Milo licks him and Knox smiles, slow and predatory. He doesn’t move his hand. Neither of them looks away for a beat, and then the backroom door opens.

Odin steps out.

Knox immediately pulls his hand back and Milo sits up straight. The easy warmth in the room snaps to full attention.

His eyes find me.

“Miss Adams,” he says. “A word?”

The formal address lands like a cold hand at the base of my spine.Miss Adams.It’s the name a stranger uses, or a lawyer, a doctor who’s delivering bad news.

I glance at Milo. His grin has vanished. He looks at Odin, then at me, then at the backroom door.

“It’s okay,” I say, squeezing his knee as I slide off the stool.

“Want me to come with?” Micah asks, already half-standing.

“Gentlemen, you’re dismissed,” Odin says, and there’s nothing in his tone that invites discussion. “Knox, lock up the bar. Milo, Micah—I believe you both have places to be.”

It’s not a suggestion. Milo’s mouth opens, but Micah grabs his arm and shakes his head once. Knox is already clearing away the coffee mess, even though you can tell he doesn’t like this.

I follow Odin through the stage door and down the corridor. My heart beats with a heaviness that I feel in my temples. When we step into the backroom, Eli is still there.

He’s standing by the far wall, arms crossed, jaw tight. He doesn’t look at me when I walk in.

“What’s going on?” I ask, looking between the two men. “If this is about my request to join the Hangmen, I want the chance to plead my case before you make your decision. I’ve been working on my?—”

“This is not about that, Miss Adams.” Odin gestures toward the couch. “Please. Sit.”

I sit. Odin takes the couch across from me, settling into it with composed ease. Eli stays standing, which puts him at the periphery of my vision, a presence I can feel but can’t see enough to read.

“Sage,” Odin begins. “I’m going to be direct with you, because I respect you enough not to waste your time with preamble.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Good.” He leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. “I have resources. Considerable ones. The kind that can make a person disappear—not in the way my men make people disappear, but in a way that gives them a new start. New name, new city, new history. A life with no connection to this town, to Brock Davis, or to the men in the other room.”

The words land one by one, and each one takes something from me.

“I can have you relocated by morning,” he continues. “Somewhere warm, if you like. Cold if you prefer. I’ll set you up with enough money to get established—six months of living expenses, minimum. A job reference that will hold up under scrutiny. A clean break. No one from this world follows you. No one from this world finds you.”

I stare at him.

“You want me to run?”

“I want you to survive.”

I stiffen. “You’re asking me to leave? To disappear? To walk away from everything—fromthem—because some coward snuck into my home and hung a rope from my ceiling?”

“I’m asking you to consider that staying might cost you more than leaving.”