finger down her cheek.
But instead of heat, the move brought a shiver of dread. “Tell me what’s wrong. Please.”
He stared down at her. Then he said, reluctantly, “Hood gets out the day after tomorrow. And the word on the street is that you’re going to be his first stop.”
“He . . .” She trailed off as her stomach knotted and adrenaline kicked through her bloodstream as she flashed on sharpened teeth, scary-dead eyes, and a nose piercing that flared out to wicked points. Rumor had it that the incarcerated cobra de rey was more superstitious than ever these days, and had decided that making her his bitch would give him the power to add the VW?s turf to his own.
They had known he’d be getting out soon. They just hadn’t known when.
Or at least she hadn’t.
“Why didn’t I hear about this?” She was the one with the informants, the one with her ear to the streets.
“I paid Jocko to squelch it.”
“You . . .” She stared at him, not understanding. “Why?” She could have been finding patterns, making plans. She could have been . . . oh, shit. Cold sluiced through her as she got it. She freaking got it. He hadn’t told her because he was planning on killing Hood and he didn’t want her trying to stop him. Or if things went bad, he didn’t want her charged as an accomplice. Sick dread washed through her, bringing a new film of tears. “You’re not a killer.”
It was what separated them from the gang. She and Dez wore guns and walked tough, but the weapons were strictly for defense, and they shot to scare, to wound. Not to kill. Never to kill.
He cupped her face in his scarred palms and looked down at her, staring like he was trying to memorize the moment. And in his eyes, she saw more darkness today than yesterday. “I couldn’t save my family,” he said softly. “I can save you.”
“You—” She broke off, knowing there was no point in arguing that one. It was why Dez had come to her rescue that first night, when Hood had cornered her, coveted her. And it was why he was willing to sacrifice himself now.
That, and because he was a stubborn ass who didn’t fucking listen.
She reached up and gripped his wrists, right over the new tattoos. “This isn’t the only way. We can deal with him legitimately. We did it before—we can do it again.”
His eyes burned into hers. “I’m not going to let him touch you.”
“I’m not arguing with you there. But there are other options.” She took a deep breath. “Let’s leave. Fallon said the offer is still open. The department will stake us to a move, help us get started somewhere else.”
For the past couple of years, Dez had wanted to bail and start over, but she had refused to be chased out of yet another home. Which she supposed made them a pair of stubborn asses, but if she had to give up on the neighborhood to save him from himself, she would do it.
He shook his head, expression bleak. “The Cobras aren’t just a street gang anymore, Reese. They’ve got a long reach. Moving to a new city won’t solve anything.”
She wanted to argue that they could change their names, build new lives—she had done it before, could do it again—but she had a feeling that was just an excuse. As far as Dez was concerned, he had let Keban beat him that night in the storm, so he wasn’t going to let Hood beat him now. Or, rather, he was going to be the one to do the beating.
Feeling suddenly sad, small, and desperate, she turned her face and pressed a kiss to his scarred palm. “Promise me you won’t kill him.”
For a second she thought he leaned into her touch, that his fingers tightened. But when he pulled away from her, his eyes were cool. “I can’t.”
Tears stung Reese’s eyes even in sleep, blurring the memories, which spun past faster now, mercifully showing as single images: Hood’s eyes, open and staring; a ruby pendant; a ring box sitting in a pool of blood.
“That’s enough,” Strike said, his voice breaking through the memories and bringing her back to drowsy reality.
“You want me to block it out?” That came from the silver-eyed man who held her hand, his words resonating in her head as well as her ears. Through their strange mental link she learned his name—Rabbit—and caught a trace of wood smoke, sharp and acrid, along with a sense of worry.
“Not yet,” Strike rumbled. “Let’s wait and see what she . . .” The words faded.
No! Reese grabbed for consciousness as it started to slip away again. Come back! She fought against the grayness that crept in from the edges of her dream state, but couldn’t stay awake. As she faded, another memory broke through unbidden, one that came from years earlier than the others.
“Hurry!” Fingers biting into her wrist, the stranger dragged her along the outside wall of Seventeen while rain lashed down around them. As they ran, he muttered to himself, “Mendez, what the fuck are you doing?”
Behind them, shouts sounded as the Cobras pounded in pursuit. They were cursing vilely that she had gotten away and threatening the guy who had helped her escape.
He dragged her over two buildings, to a pile of junk lumped haphazardly behind Fifteen. Then he let go of her so he could shove aside a metal sheet. Behind it, a corrugated pipe led into pitch blackness. “Get in,” he ordered roughly. “They don’t know about all of the tunnels.”
In the light of one of the few unbroken outside floods, she saw that the guy who had risked his own ass to get her away from Hood was a couple of years older than she—maybe eighteen, nineteen? He was tall but whip- thin, his fierce eyes rendered colorless by the sodium lights, his dark hair plastered to his skull as the rain poured down. He wore the ragged, mismatched clothes of a castoff, but he wasn’t anything like the other street kids she had met in the month or so that she’d been on her own. He had a presence the others lacked, an aura of capability and strength. There was a layer of menace, too, one that warned that he wasn’t someone she wanted to fuck with.
She hesitated, shaking. He had gotten her away from Hood, but that didn’t necessarily make him any better than the cobra de rey. He might just have wanted the fresh meat for himself.
When he moved, she flinched back, expecting him to make a grab. But he put his hand over his heart instead. “I’m one of the good guys, okay? And I swear on my sister’s soul that I won’t hurt you.” Then he held out his hand to her, in an invitation that showed where a wide, slashing scar crossed his palm.
The sight should have scared her. Instead, it made her feel a strange kinship. Nodding, she darted past him and ducked into the tunnel as the gang members? footsteps got closer and she heard Hood shouting: “You’re mine, bitch. You hear me? Mine.”
“Not on my watch,” Mendez grated as he pulled the metal sheet back into place, cutting out the light. Then he guided her fingers to the tail of his ragged denim coat. “Be as quiet as you can, and hang on to me. I’ll take care of you, I promise.”
Then, with him leading the way, they crept into the darkness together, leaving their enemies behind.
The next time Reese aimed for consciousness, she made it all the way back, waking up to find herself lying on a couch. A thick blanket was tucked around her, its suffocating, too-warm weight threatening to trigger claustrophobia.
She didn’t let the fear take over, though. Instead, she forced herself to lie still and feign sleep as she tried to get a sense of her surroundings. Given the weirdness that had already gone down, she needed all the intel she could get.
All she came up with, though, was that the air was clean and processed, the couch and blanket smelled fresh, and her surroundings were silent except for the background hum of appliances. She didn’t hear anyone nearby, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there, waiting for her to come around and . . . and what? The fragments that came back to her didn’t make any sense, didn’t tell her where she was, or what Strike and the others wanted from her. Panic sparked. She hated not knowing things. Knowledge was power. Control. Safety.
Shit. Breathe. In and out.
Logic said they had drugged her—the impossible memory of Strike appearing out of thin air had to be some
