“This will get you back to Seattle. You’ll be able to grab some more clothes and…shampoo or whatever. They sell tickets inside the café. If you hurry, you’ll be able to make the midday bus.”

I look at him, at the money he’s holding out in his hand. I close my eyes, allowing my head to fall back against the headrest. “Take me back,” I whisper.

“What?”

“Take me back.”

Rebel, always so self-assured and cocky, now looks confused. My heart beats faster, suddenly scared. What the hell am I doing? My parents flash into my head—how sick with worry they must be. Sloane, too. This isn’t just madness. It’s cruel. If I stay here and I don’t contact them, even just to let them know I’m alive, then what kind of person does that make me? Rebel leans over and presses the money into my hand. “You need to go,” he says. His eyes flash, as though he can read what’s going on inside my head. I close my hand around the money.

“It’s okay. I’ll stay. I’m not happy about it but I’ll do it. I’ll testify.”

Rebel pulls his lower lip into his mouth. If I’m not mistaken, he does it to hide the fact that he’s trying not to smile. I can see it in his eyes, though. “This is because you wanna sleep with me, isn’t it?”

“No!”

“Admit it. You’re only lying to yourself.” He’s not even trying to hide his smirk now. I thump him as hard as I can on the top of his arm.

“I’m doing it because you were right back at your cabin. You said you were going to show me you weren’t the man I thought you were, and you have. But mostly, I decided to stay because your father said he didn’t want me at his party tonight. And you may have noticed, but your father is a massive asshole. Displeasing him will make me one incredibly happy woman.”

Rebel tips his head back and laughs. I’ve never heard it before, his laughter. It sends electricity snapping through my torso, my arms, my legs, my head; it’s the most amazing sound. “The Widow Makers say I’m stone-cold, Soph. They say I’m made of ice. When the rest of the club meets you, I’m pretty sure they’re gonna say you’re made of fire.”

My chest tightens at the thought of meeting the other Widow Makers. God knows how I’m going to handle that. Not well, probably. Rebel twists in his seat, staring at me. His hand lifts from the steering wheel, reaching slowly toward me. My breath catches in my throat as he grazes his fingertips along the line of my jaw, his eyes fixed firmly on the point where his skin meets mine. “I swear nothing will happen to you, sugar. I’ll keep you safe, no matter what. Your family, too. From here on out, from now until you decide you need to leave, you’re under the Widow Makers’ protection, and so are they.”

******

REBEL

Soph stares anxiously at the payphone, chewing on her lip. She shouldn’t be worried, but she is. “Just do it. Pick up the phone and make the call,” I tell her.

Panic flashes in her eyes. “I’m going to break down. I won’t be able to stop myself,” she whispers.

“It’ll be okay. They’ll know you’re alive and well. They’ll stop worrying that you might be dead, and that’s the most important thing, right?”

“Yeah, I...I guess you’re right.” She moves mechanically as she picks up the handset and dials slowly, her finger hovering over each key before she presses it. The dial tone changes, turning into a ringing that I can hear standing two feet away. I watch her face as she waits for someone to pick up.

She grimaces when the ringing ceases and a male voice says, “Dr. Alan Romera.” Her whole body locks up. I turn around, gritting my teeth together. I’m a selfish son of a bitch and I know it. Sophia lets out a strangled sob, gripping hold of the side of the payphone. Her eyes look wild when she turns to me.

“Hello?” the guy says on the other end of the phone. A fat tear rolls down Soph’s cheek. She swallows hard and then shakes her head, slamming down the receiver.

“Was that your dad?

She nods.

“Why?” I ask. “Why didn’t you speak to him?”

“I can’t. I just can’t,” she whispers. Her voice sounds thick with emotion. “If I do, if I speak to him, then I won’t be able to stop. I’ll ask him to come get me. I won’t be strong enough to stay.”

She starts crying even harder, and no matter how badly I might want her to think I’m a completely heartless jackass, I can’t do it anymore. I move quickly, before I can change my mind, shifting to stand behind her. I wrap my arms around her body, her back to my chest, and I hold her as she cries. She doesn’t push me away.

I can feel her heart bang, bang, banging, its tempo fast and furious around her body. My hands are over her stomach, one resting on her hip, but I can feel her pulse beating there even, through the material of her shirt. She slumps back against me so that I’m the only thing keeping her upright. I’m not sure that it’s even a conscious decision to lean on me, but I hold onto her. I hold onto her tight.

Standing on the street in Grove Hill, the place where Cade and I grew up, I’m assaulted by a million different memories as I hold this broken, crying girl in my arms. She turns and buries her face in my chest, and my head is racing. I heard her father say his name on the phone: Dr. Alan Romera. I know this about her now, at least. Her last name isn’t Marne. It has to be Romera, like her father. A father who’s going out of his head, wondering where his daughter is.