Angel was the shade of a ghost when Lars was done. Even Cora felt a bit lightheaded, and she’d only glanced across twice when her curiosity had gotten the better of her.

Lars sat back, hands bright with blood, and looked around. She tore off a few sheets of paper toweling from the roll and handed it to him. He gave her a grudging nod and wiped his hands. “Check on Milo would you?” he said as he bent and began bandaging Angel’s wound.

She looked over her shoulder and shivered. The temperature had dropped in the room, and the towel she wore was scant protection against the cold. She knocked on the door, and pushed it open at a mumbled, “It’s open.”

Finn stood at the basin, washing her cutoff jeans. There was a pile of wet clothes beside him; Angel’s and hers. His shirt too. He stood bare chested, a few scratches and bruises on his torso.

“You didn’t have to—”

“Here,” he said gruffly. “Toss them over the radiator. They should be less wet tomorrow.”

He twisted her jeans so hard that water streamed off them, and then laid them down on the pile over her underwear.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He ignored her, bustling past so she had to crane her body out of the way for him to get out the door.

Seriously, what the hell was wrong with everyone? They’d barely survived the ransom drop, and now everyone was pissed off at her?

She stormed out the bathroom, and scanned the room until she saw the radiator against one wall. It was still off. She turned it on and threw the wet clothes unceremoniously on top of it.

Then she spun to the men. Finn was hunting through the supplies, his mouth in an unhappy line as he took in the unhealthy snacks Lars had bought. Lars was just getting to his feet, seeming intent on going into the bathroom.

“Enough!” she yelled.

Everyone, even only half-conscious Angel, flinched and looked at her.

There was no place for her jeans on the radiator, so she threw them on the bed. She ran a hand over her hair and then crossed her arms over her chest.

“What the hell is wrong with you two?” she demanded. “We’re alive. We should be celebrating. Instead you’re both just…just…” she waved her hands, suddenly at a loss for words.

“What?” Lars prompted in a quiet voice. “We’re both so fucking glad we made it out of there, we just gonna pretend we didn’t notice how you’ve suddenly become BFF’s with the guy who wanted to put a bullet through your fucking skull?”

Lars surged toward her so fast that she took a hurried step back before she could stiffen her spine.

Cora held out a hand to Lars. “You don’t understand. He was the only way—”

“No, I don’t understand, Cora fucking Swan!” Lars thinned his mouth. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go take a lukewarm shower. That okay with you, bunny?”

He turned before she could reply, and she threw Finn a helpless look. He stared deadpan at her, shrugged, and bit into a candy bar with a faint grimace on his face.

“You know it’s not like that, Finn,” Cora said.

He shrugged again, inspecting the inside of the candy bar like he was trying to figure out what it consisted of.

“Finn, please. My father—”

“Is dead.”

Her chest closed up at his words. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. She looked up, blinking hard so the tears threatening to spill wouldn’t. “If it hadn’t been for Angel—”

Finn looked up at her. “If you’re supposed to become some kind of cartel leader, then you’ve got a long fucking way to go.”

She gaped at Finn in disbelief, but he simply finished his candy bar, went to the dressing table, and poured himself a plastic cup of whiskey.

“I’m tired,” he said. “We’re all tired. You want to talk this out, we do it in the morning.”

And what was she supposed to say to that? Angel had his eyes closed, possibly already passed out from the pain or the whiskey. And from the sounds coming out of the bathroom, Lars was well into his lukewarm shower.

Finn sat down on the edge of the bed, took off his jeans, and folded them up on the nightstand. His pistol and holster went on top. He pulled the top sheet down and slid into the bed, curling up to face the wall.

Cora hobbled over to Angel’s bed and sat at the foot, carefully unwrapping the plastic from around her bandaged knee. The bandage came next.

The doctor at Javier’s compound had done a neat job, but the stitches he’d put in place had torn. The gash under her kneecap looked grey and bloodless, and she wasn’t quite sure if that was good or bad.

She was still bent over, inspecting her wound, when the bathroom door swung open.

“You should clean that out,” he said.

She glared up at him. He stood in the doorway, toweling his hair dry. Like Finn, he’d taken his shirt off, and hadn’t bothered to put his jeans back on. He wore bright red boxers that made his pale skin look that much paler.

She looked away from his slim body.

“Is there any way I can…” she wriggled her fingers over the wound. “I don’t know. Stitch it up again?”

“Yeah, I’ll do it,” Lars said grudgingly through a sigh. He gestured at the towel on her head and she unwound it and handed it to him. He slid it under her leg and then hitched up the towel she’d slung around her body to mid-thigh. She shifted a little at his touch, keeping her eyes fixed on a nearby stain in the carpet.

Lars tossed his towel on the brown carpet, folded it twice, and used it to pad his knees as he came to kneel in front of her. He poked and prodded her for a few seconds, and then reached to the side and pulled the bottle of whiskey down from the table. There were only about five fingers left.

“Don’t yell,” he said, a second before pouring the whiskey over her knee.

She clamped her jaw shut, her eyes watering with the searing pain and then more from the slow throb where she’d used to have three teeth. Lars glanced up at her, for a moment seeming surprised that she hadn’t made a sound. Then he went to work on her wounds.

His fingers were cool, and worked deftly to clean out the gash.

Behind them, Angel’s breathing grew heavy and slow. Lars sat back when he’d tied off the bandage.

“Like what you see?” he asked casually.

Cora’s eyes flashed up. She’d been staring at his chest again. It was the color of buttermilk. Unmarred by a single freckle. The little bit of hair he had was so pale as to be almost transparent.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. The whiskey made her thoughts foggy and her body heavy. Exhaustion washed over her like a wave of lead, and her shoulders slumped.

“Let me clean your face, then you go sleep.”

“Thank you, Lars.”

He used the few drops of whiskey that were left in the bottle for that. She’d probably smell like a drunk tomorrow morning. Some of the cuts burned, but some she could hardly feel.

This close, she could see Lars had tiny flares of yellow by his pupils. A few flecks of darker color scattered through the rest of the green.

Lime. That was the color she’d been trying to think of since she’d met him. Pale lime. Or new grass.

“What’s going to happen now?” she murmured as Lars was dabbing at the corner of her mouth.

“We’ll figure out everything in the morning.”

“We’re safe?”

“As we can be,” Lars said. He tapped her thigh. “Now go get yourself tucked in.”

She glanced over her shoulder, trying to see which bed had more space in it. Angel had fallen asleep on his back, Finn on his side.

“Milo will make space for you,” Lars said pointedly.

She nodded and went over to Finn, touching him on the shoulder. The man murmured in his sleep until she shook him lightly, hating the fact that she had to wake him up. His eyes fluttered open, and took a while before they focused on her face. Then he shifted back in the bed, holding open the sheets for her to climb in.

Hobbling awkwardly in a circle, she perched on the edge and lay down, trying not to touch him.

Maybe he’d already fallen asleep again. Maybe in his drowsy state, he’d forgotten to be mad at her. Because he reached out an arm warm from sleep, and dragged her closer until there was no space between them.

Her eyes flashed open guiltily. There hadn’t been any time to think about what had happened last night with the three of them. How her relationship with Finn and Lars had changed.

If it even had.

She watched Lars move around the room. He put his pistol on the dresser, dragged the chair out, and positioned it so it faced the motel room’s door. Then he checked all the locks, made sure the window was closed, and went to sit on the chair. He’d slung his jacket over his bare chest, but still didn’t have any shoes on.

He rocked back the chair and hooked his feet onto the edge of the table, staring at nothing as he slowly ate a candy bar, his pistol in easy reach.

Guarding them.

“I thought we were safe?” Cora mumbled. Her body was finally resigning itself to sleep, and her thoughts became slippery. “You said so.”

“Our version of safe isn’t all that safe,” Lars said, swallowing and biting off more of the candy bar. Then he looked across at her, his eyes flashing to Finn before settling on her again. “Go to sleep, bunny. You’ll be fine long as one of us is awake.”

So she closed her eyes. Tried to relax. Finn twitched in his sleep, and curled up a little more against her. That made it easier; he was so warm and solid.

She’d forgotten to wash her mouth out with salt. Her tongue carefully explored her gums, touching the empty space where she’d had three teeth.

Cora forced herself not to shudder.

Had it been a premonition, seeing Santa Muerte’s skull with its three missing teeth? Had her fate already been decided?

If that was the case…who was going to strike her that killing blow to her head, the one that had cracked Santa Muerte’s skull from brow to crown?

It was an unhappy thought to fall asleep on, but eventually the faint creak of Lars rocking in his chair and Finn’s long, steady breath on the back of her neck forced her into the abyss.

Finn jerked when a cool hand touched his shoulder. His eyes flew open, and he turned, blinking up groggily at Lars.

“Sorry, man,” Lars whispered. “But I gotta get some shut eye.”

He could tell; Lars had shadows under his eyes and a grim set to his mouth.

“Sure,” Finn grated, and then turned back to Cora. He couldn’t remember her getting into bed beside him, but she lay curled against his chest, her face nuzzled into the crook of his arm. He gently pulled his arm out from under her, drawing a sleepy protest from her, and sat on the edge of the bed. He blinked hard and then squeezed his lids shut with his fingers to force them to focus.

Too much whiskey. Too much sugar. Too much fucking everything.

“There coffee in this place?” he asked.

Lars nodded. “At the gas station.” Then he shrugged off his jacket and handed it to Finn. “Here. Everything’s still damp.”

“Thanks,” Finn said, taking it from him. But Lars didn’t immediately let go. He tugged hard, making Finn look up at him.

“We gotta talk,” Lars said.

“I know. But…just let me wake up.”

Lars nodded, and waved him up off the bed. Then he hesitated a second, threw Cora a tired glare, and lay down beside her. She let out a sigh, and turned her back to him, still deep in sleep’s grasp. Lars snorted softly and tucked his hands under his head, closing his eyes and wriggling against the mattress as Finn put on his jacket. It was tight, but he managed to zip it up.

When he glanced back at the bed, Lars already looked fast asleep. Cora and Angel too. He hesitated, but it was two in the morning; if Javier or Zachary had found them, they would have attacked already.

He closed the door behind him, locked it, and walked across the deserted parking lot to the gas station.

The attendant at the register gave him a disinterested glance as he came in.

“Coffee?” Finn asked.

The guy nodded and went to go make a fresh cup for Finn as he waited. There were pastries in a warmer oven, so he grabbed a few of those and some more water.

He paid for everything with one of Lars’s cards and went back to the motel, tensing as he heard the sound of a car pulling up. But it stopped at the far end of the motel, and a guy stumbled out of it to the closest doorway, fumbling with the door and managing to get it open on the third try.

Finn scanned the parking lot and eyed the car again. It might be the perfect getaway vehicle in the morning, especially if the guy who’d just driven in here was alone. He was so drunk, he’d be passed out till noon.

Their motel room stank of booze. His nose twitched as he sat down on the chair, drank his coffee and ate one of the pies.

Cora had puked when she’d seen what he’d done to that Mexican guy.

The last bite of the pastry turned rancid in his mouth. Finn spat it into its wrapper and tossed it into the trash can. He tried rinsing the taste out with the last of his coffee, but it stayed with him.

Why was she still here? Still with him? With them? Any normal person would have made a run for the hills.

Admittedly, she couldn’t exactly call 911. But that didn’t change anything.

Tomorrow she’d remember. And if not tomorrow, then the day thereafter. She’d remember, and what he’d done would sicken her again, and again, and again.

He sat forward, resting his forehead on his fingertips, elbows on his knees, and tried to work out what the fuck their next move could possibly be.