Page 75 of Wraith

“That’s true,” Goldie says slowly. “But there’s another option. If someone else came forward. Someone who knew even more. Someone who knew where all the bodies were buried, metaphorically and literally.” His pause is deliberate. “That could strike an even bigger and more immediate blow against the Sons. And it might take some of the heat off June if she wasn’t the primary witness.”

He’s looking directly at me now.

But he doesn’t know what he’s asking. What I’d be giving up.

Gator catches on a second later. “Wraith…”

“I know things,” I admit carefully.

“Then testify,” Gator says. “You and June both. Go to the feds. Bring down Midnight and everyone else. The Devils will back you. We’ll provide protection. Officer Alvarado is solid — she’ll make sure your statements are handled right.”

June turns to look at me. It’s fast. Just a glance. Gator and Goldie don’t even register it because they’re both watching me, waiting for my response.

But I see it.

And she sees me see it.

It’s the old language. The silent communication we used to have when we were together before. When she’d look to me for approval, for permission, for direction on what to say or do or think. When my voice was louder than hers, even when I never spoke it out loud.

I furrow my brow. Just slightly. A tiny gesture that probably looks like I’m considering Gator’s suggestion.

But it’s not consideration. It’s a command.

Don’t do it. Don’t testify. Don’t become a rat. Don’t put a target on your back. Don’t take away my leverage with the Sons.

Don’t ruin this for me.

June’s face changes. Something in her eyes dims just a little.

“We need to think about it,” June says, and her voice is flat. Resigned. “It’s a big decision. I need... I need time.”

She stands up. I stand with her.

“Let’s go, Wraith.”

We’re moving toward the door and I can feel Gator and Goldie watching us, confused by the sudden departure. I drop cash on the table as we pass — enough to cover everyone’s drinks and then some.

The parking lot is bright with the afternoon sun. June walks fast, her arms wrapped around herself, and we’re almost to the truck when I hear Gator’s voice, sharp and sudden.

“June, wait.”

Chapter Thirty

June

“June, wait.”

Evan’s voice cuts through the parking lot like a fishing line snagging on my sleeve. I stop three feet from Wraith’s truck, my hand already reaching for the door handle, already halfway to escape.

I turn.

Evan’s crossing the asphalt toward me, and Goldie’s standing by their bikes with his yoga mat tucked under his arm like some kind of spiritual security blanket. The sun catches Evan’s face, and I can see the worry there, the same expression he wore when I was thirteen and broke my arm falling off my bike. The same look he had when the hospital called to say our parents were dead.

“Junebug, please,” he says when he reaches me. “Just listen for a second.”

Wraith’s presence is a weight against my back. I don’t have to turn around to know he’s watching, waiting, calculating.

“I already told you, Evan. We need time to think.”