The reassuring rise and fall of Ian’s chest beneath me on our cot had settled me into a weird space of half-sleep, half-wakefulness. That place was usually reserved for the end of a painting spree, when I wasn’t allowed on my scaffolding or ladder.

But this was so far away from my studio. They’d sectioned off a little partitioned room for us away from the endless murmuring and plans from the scary Roth Defense team.

Part of me wanted to get away from him. He’d lied to so many people. Lied to me by omission if not design. I understood part of it. Hadn’t I run to Los Angeles to start over? To show my family that I was worthy of becoming an artist?

They didn’t understand me or my art, but they’d supported me. They’d helped me with loans for school and for moving to J Town.

What would I have done without them?

Without my brothers looking out for me all my life? They’d taught me how to handle myself in most situations.

Ian had only himself. And a woman who twisted love into a bartering system that never worked in his favor.

But he’d made the decision to break the law. To take the easy way out to try and win the love of his mother. Was being alone better than living in that toxic soup of narcissism and abuse?

Those were the questions that whirled in my head, pingponging around like a super-ball thrown as hard as humanly possible. It could bounce forever without stopping, given the right circumstances.

I couldn’t focus.

I couldn’t hate him without loving him.

I wanted to hold him close and shove him out the fucking window. I wanted to rage at him and beg him to tell me none of this was true.

And in the end, all I could do was sit still with him and watch the minutes go by so slowly.

“Why does it have to be you?”

He toyed with the ends of my hair. “Because Jerry wants to tie up loose ends.”

“But wouldn’t that include Margo?” I didn’t want to ask that question, but it seemed to be the ugly one no one wanted to voice.

“I’m expendable. If Jerry hurts Margo, he’d have to contend with Donovan’s people for the rest of his life. Me? I don’t matter to anyone.”

I propped myself up on his chest. “You do to me.”

He cupped my face in the semi-darkness. “I brought this on everyone, I have to fix it. Simple as that.”

“But you just said you are literally going to die.” I curled my fingers into his shirt. I wouldn’t cry. That wouldn’t help anything, but he needed to understand me. “Why is that fair?”

“It’s not. Do you think I want to do this?”

“Yes.”

He sat up. “Zoe…”

“You’re taking the easy way out. Stand up for yourself, for me, for us.”

The pale light from the large windows started creeping into our space. His storm-surge eyes were bleak and shattered. “Me for Margo—there is no question. Tell me you see that.”

The impossible situation dragged me under. I curled my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist as I hugged him tight. He clawed at my back, his fingers sliding under my shirt to get to skin.

Right now, we both needed those life-affirming touches.

I curled my fingers into his hair and buried my face into the crook between his neck and shoulder. It was all we could do with so many people around us.

Tears dripped down my face and into his hair as the watery gray light filtered into the buttery dawn.

We pulled apart as the partition opened. Ian lifted me up and set me on the floor before climbing off the cot.

“Glad you could get some rest.” Simon’s voice was flat, but there was anger simmering.

Ian cleared his throat. “Not hardly.” He raked his fingers through his hair.

I passed him one of the ponytail holders from my pocket.

He gave me a sad smile and pulled his hair up into a messy bun. “What do you need me to do?”

“Not fuck this up.” Simon cracked his neck, then his knuckles.

Donovan came around the corner, drying his hands on a towel. Him doing something so mundane felt out of place. He must have splashed water on his face and hair. The unflappable Donovan Lewis seemed a little nervous.

If that wasn’t a dose of reality, I wasn’t sure what would be.

Beside him, the hulking man in black gear who always seemed to have a weapon strapped to him was unstrapping some piece of technology. “All right, the call should be coming in any minute.”

Ian twisted his fingers with mine for a second before he stepped forward.

Donovan met him at the table, clasping Ian’s shoulder once when the phone rang. He nodded to Ian. “Just like we spoke about.”

“Right.” He lifted the cell to his ear. “Hello?” Ian’s eyebrows immediately snapped together. “What? No. I—” His Adam’s apple bounced and a blank, shocked curtain seemed to drop over his face. He turned to Simon. “They don’t want me.” He held the phone out to him.

The big weaponry guy—Aidan, I thought. I couldn’t keep all their names straight. He and another man, lankier and no less strapped with weapons, were typing furiously as they listened in on the call.

Ian stumbled back and I caught him against me. “They don’t need me.”

Relief and horror crashed together inside of me. “What about Margo?”