“No,” Rebel says, sighing. “Not a good solution, anyway. Not an easy one.”

Nothing about any of this seems easy to me. I hold my tongue, though. “So what are we doing right now? We’re just going to wait here until your father summons us?”

“Yep.”

“Perfect. Because we just love being cooped up in small, enclosed spaces with each other.” I press my fingers into my forehead, sighing heavily.

“I actually don’t mind being cooped up with you, sugar.”

I think he’s being sarcastic again, but when I look up at him, he’s not pulling faces. He looks…he looks like he means it. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I do nothing but complain. How the hell can you find that enjoyable to be around?”

“You’re feisty. I like that. And you give me shit. Not many people feel like they can do that.”

“Probably because they’re tied to a chair, scared for their lives, right?”

He gives that hard laugh again, though this time he actually smiles. Walking away from the window, he sits on the edge of his bed, tipping his head back, sighing. I watch the muscles in his throat work as he speaks. “Guess that all depends on the circumstances of the situation, doesn’t it?”

“So…you have hurt people?”

“Many people, sugar. Many, many people.” He looks at me, his eyes zeroing in on me, unblinking. It’s like he’s daring me to react. Daring me to look away. Daring me to do or say something.

“Was there a good reason for everything you’ve done?”

“I think there was a good reason. But would a judge? Or God? Or you?” He closes his eyes, and I feel it then, stronger than before. I want to do something crazy. I want to comfort him. I want to help him. I want to be closer to him. How is this possible? I feel like crying at my own stupidity. “I don’t know,” he whispers. “Maybe.”

I turn away from him, picking up a snow globe with shaky fingers. I suddenly don’t feel safe anymore, and it isn’t because of Rebel. It’s because of me. Because there must be something seriously wrong with me.

“Are you afraid of heights?” I didn’t hear him standing up. He’s right behind me, so close his breath brushes against the skin of my neck as he speaks. I break out in goosebumps, unable to control the reaction—half fear, half something far more worrying.

Matt. You’re in love with Matt. This man is a self-professed dangerous criminal. You are not attracted to him. You’re just not. “I’m all right with heights. Why do you ask?” Just like my hands, my voice shakes.

“Do you trust me enough to climb out of this window with me?”

I spin around, giving him a look I hope expresses how mad I think he is for even asking that. “Why are we climbing out of the window?”

He’s standing so close, looming over me. I’m not used to being around someone so tall. The Romera women are tall themselves, it’s in our genes; I’ve frequently found myself standing a clear few inches above most men. This is an unusual feeling. Anxious, but weirdly—and this is the strangest part—safe.

“We’re climbing out of the window because I want to show you something. What do you think?” Rebel’s eyes are crystal clear, so sharp and assertive. He stares at me, studying each aspect of my face individually—forehead, nose, cheekbones, jaw, mouth—before he looks up into my eyes. “You trust me not to let you fall to your death?” he asks, that odd, deep line forming in his cheek as he fights a smile.

“I suppose I’m no use to you if I’m dead,” I reply.

“Exactly.” He seems pleased that I’ve risen to this challenge. Returning to the window he was standing at a moment ago, he unlatches it and opens out the two panes, sticking his head out and looking up. Smirking, he glances back at me and nods. “All right, you have to follow me up. I’ll grab you and lift you.” With that, he pulls himself out of the window using the lintel to hold his body weight and then he’s gone.

“Oh, boy.” I stand by the window, flinching when I see how far the drop to the ground is.

“Just climb up onto the ledge. I’ll pull you up the rest of the way.”

I look up and Rebel’s already on the roof, half his body visible as he leans out into space, reaching down for me. “Is this going to be worth it?” I ask, wondering if I can back the hell out now without looking weak.

Rebel waggles his eyebrows at me, laughing. “I can make it worth your while.”

“Shut up.” I clamber up onto the windowsill, the soles of my Chucks not feeling all that grippy all of a sudden. I look for the handhold he must have used to pull himself up and I see it, a small length of iron piping protruding out of the house. Probably designed to drain excess water if it rains. I lean up, my heart in my throat, reaching for it. Adrenalin spears through me as I grab hold of it, and then my body is twisting, moving, leaning out into space.

I’d wanted to do it myself, to pull myself up without his help, but that’s not what happens. Instead, I’m left dangling out in the void, one hand holding onto the length of iron pipe, the other scrambling, reaching, grabbing upward for…nothing. There’s nothing there.

“Jesus Christ, Soph! What the fuck are you doing?” There’s grunting above me, and then hands, big and strong, locking around the wrist above my head. My shoulder sings out in pain as I’m wrenched up, knees, hips, ribcage scraping against the edge of the roof as I’m pulled over it. And then I’m safe. The whole thing takes place in the space of five or six seconds, but it feels as though it took a hell of a lot longer. I lie on my back, chest rising and falling at speed, barely able to think coherently through the roaring sound of my own blood in my ears.