Page 279 of What We Bury

Knox grunts approval, then lifts her off. We collapse into a naked, sweaty heap on the floor, limbs tangled, breaths heavy. Sage is in the center, boneless and sated, small smiles passing between us as we catch our breath.

Nobody speaks for a solid minute.

Then the front door opens.

Holden steps inside. Takes in the scene—four naked people on his living room floor, clothes scattered all over, a bag of groceries containing melting ice cream dumped at his feet.

“For fuck’s sake. I leave you alone for twenty fucking minutes.”

One second of silence. Then Sage starts laughing. It’s the best sound I’ve heard all day. Milo wheezes. I lose it. Even Knox makes a sound that’s unmistakably a laugh, deep and rare.

Holden stands in the doorway of his own house, looking at the people who’ve colonized his life, and shakes his head. But his mouth twitches.

“Someone’s cleaning that rug,” he says, jabbing a finger at the mess. “And it’s not gonna be me.”

SEVENTY-SIX

KNOX

Idon’t knock.

Eli’s lock only takes me four seconds to pick. I’m disappointed in him even more now.

The door swings in on a dark house and I step through—no sound, no shift in the air, nothing for the body to catch.

I ease the door shut behind me and let my eyes adjust.

I spent six hours on the floor at Unholy Desires keeping watch over the members and smiling when I needed to. All while my head was full of Sage’s face—wrecked, swollen-eyed. Because of him. Her voice when she said,He said I was easy.

Micah told me to calm down. Holden said I was too hot-headed to talk.

He’d gone to him instead, said what needed saying, and left him looking like someone had gutted him.

Fuck that.

Not enough.

He hurt Fury, and my generosity is all used up.

I agreed I wouldn’t punch him in the face.

No one said anything about the soft parts of his body.

I headfor the light glowing from the kitchen.

Eli’s house is small. Two bedrooms. One bath. Always clean—books squared on a shelf, mail stacked, a ceramic bowl by the sink with apples going soft in it. Every inch of it pisses me off. This normal little life he wears like a skin. This soft place he goes home to after gutting the girl he loves.

I find him at the counter.

He’s standing in the kitchen in the half-light, one hand braced on the laminate, the other wrapped around a glass. His shirt is open. Sleeves rolled. Hair fucked from his hands going through it too many times. He doesn’t turn when I come in.

“Door was locked,” he says.

“Not enough.”

He exhales through his nose. “I don’t need another lecture, Knox. I already got one from Holden.”

“Don’t give a shit.” I kick out a chair from his kitchen table. “Sit.”