I woke up and peeked into the living room. No Rogan spilling off the couch meant he must be at the gym or walking Takoda.

With the place to myself, I cranked up Taylor Swift in my ear buds and danced to "Shake It Off" as I made my way to the kitchen. I'd heard the song the first time over the radio at the drugstore. I looked it up on my phone and listened to it whenever I could get time alone with an internet connection.

Near the fridge, I chanted the words and wiggled my butt like I really had girlfriends and ex-boyfriends I could sing about, pretending I could shake off whatever life threw at me.

At the other side of the kitchen, I looked through the opening in the far wall. In the nook, Rogan and two men sat at his card table with their guns held motionless in the air, all three sets of eyes focused on me.

Rogan's gaze skimmed over my face and torso. He snapped his head away and shoved a long rod inside the barrel of his gun. Bottles, cloths, and tools were scattered between the dismantled parts on the table.

"Hey, girl." Blaze lifted his chin to get my attention.

He offered me the smile of an old friend, even though I'd barely met him. He wore a black tank top which showed a stark tattoo on his left arm, two arrows crossed at an obtuse angle. Unlike Rogan, he hadn't shaved his beard or cut his hair, and he still looked like a rugged warrior from the desert.

Rogan stopped cleaning his gun and tilted his head to him.

"Tessa, you remember Blaze. His real name is Gavin Turner."

"But no one calls me that."

Rogan nodded at the man across the table from him. "Dirk Legend, known as Diesel."

"Uh, hey." They didn't see my ridiculous Taylor Swift moment, did they? "I actually don't remember much from that night, but hello, nice to see you again."

"How're you doing?" Diesel asked. His hair curled over a small bandage on his temple. His voice struck me as deceptively soft for a man I knew was in the middle of explosions and gunfire just a few days ago.

"I'm doing well, thank you."

"Boggs treating you okay?"

"Yes."

"You look better, Swift," Blaze said.

"Swift?"

"Your little song and dance." He wagged his finger in a circle and pointed at me. "Taylor Swift."

Shoot. I guess they did see me. "Oh. I, uh, love that song."

I smiled at him and he grinned back. Leaning my elbows on the counter, I watched their hands work with casual intention. "Do you guys clean your guns over breakfast often?"

Blaze stopped working and looked up at me. "This is my rifle." He pointed to the gun on the table. "This is my gun." He grabbed his crotch. He raised his rifle in the air. "This is for fighting. This is for fun." He gave his dick a squeeze.

"Oh." I hid my giggle behind my hand.

Rogan narrowed his eyes at Blaze without lifting his head from his work.

Blaze ignored the warning in Rogan's glare and bellowed a rich belly laugh.

Rogan returned to shoving small cloths inside the barrel of his gun, but I could swear his lips twitched and his head shook in laughter.

***

"Later, Swift," Blaze called. Diesel waved behind him as they walked out the door with their guns and supplies in cases slung over their shoulders.

I turned off the TV and peered up at Rogan. "Do they live close?"

"Next door."

"I thought I saw them going in the apartment next to this one."

"Hmm-mmm."

"Guns all clean?"

"Rifles."

"Right."

He took a seat next to me on the couch. "What'd you do on that compound when you weren't babysitting, working at the drugstore, or cooking in the kitchen?"

"I woke up before morning prayers and did my chores in the barn. Most days I'd ride my horse before anyone woke up." And some days Zook joined me.

"So you worked three jobs and shoveled horse shit?"

"Everyone helps out. We had an Appaloosa mare named Traveler. Beautiful pearl-white with chestnut spots."

"Solid horses, Appaloosas."

"She was sure-footed and fast. I'd ride her through rivers and trails for hours. She never let me down."

"What else did you do?"

"I taught the younger kids." I stared at the black flatscreen, remembering my hours in the schoolroom with my sisters and brothers teaching them to read and do arithmetic. I didn't want Milo to find himself in the same position as Zook and some of the other boys who worked construction for my father. "We raised them as a community. It wasn't all bad."

"You spent your childhood shoveling shit and taking care of kids."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Young girls should be out doing stupid things."

"Like what?"

He crossed one ankle over his knee and wrapped a hand over his calf. "Chasing false hope. Believing in fairy tales."

"And you don't believe? How old are you?"

"Thirty-three."

"Oh yes, old man. Life is miserable, so why try? If you live to be ninety-three, you still have sixty years left, almost a lifetime. Are you going to live those years believing there's no hope?"

"One day some bastard is gonna get the best of me. Maybe when I stop to rescue a hostage"—he winked at me—"he'll plant one in my back. The way I'm living, I'm not gonna make it to ninety-three."

"So stop living that way."

"Not that simple. I've trained my whole life to get where I am—made immeasurable sacrifices. I'm called to be a soldier."

"Called? I'm not buying that called stuff anymore. My father felt called to have thirty wives. My whole family believed they'd been called to live a life that caused children to suffer. If your calling hurts people, you need to find another way to answer that call."

Rogan grunted.

"You don't need to seek out war zones, battling the worst criminals in this world. Life is what you choose to focus on. Focus on beauty."

"And ignore war?"

"Yes. Choose not to dwell on it."

"I'm not the kind to pretend it's not happening."

"I have two sisters I'll never see again. I could sit around and grumble about the unfairness, or I can tackle the day in front of me."

"What happened to them?"

"Pride and Sin disaffiliated when they returned from their missions. They're supposedly dead to me as I am to them."

"Pride and Sin?" He shook his head. "How'd they get out?"

"Someone outside the Brotherhood sponsored them. I don't know who."

"And you didn't have a sponsor?"

"No. I don't think my dad would let me go even if I could find someone willing to sponsor me out."

Rogan nodded.

"Anyway, lots of horrible things happened to me. My point is, I don't ruminate on the pain, I choose to rise above and enjoy the beauty right in front of me." I raised my hand and motioned to him from head to toe. "Like you, Rogan. You're a beautiful person."

He rubbed his hand over his head and turned his gaze to the floor. His golden eyes tilted up to me, but he kept his head down. He raised one eyebrow, and pulled his lower lip with his teeth. The raw lust smoldering in his eyes sent a hook careening into my chest. It reeled me in toward him, urging me to lean over and... kiss him. I wanted to tug his shirt off and dig my fingers into his pecs. What would his skin taste like on my lips? Um. Whoa.

"I took a ruby necklace," I blurted out.

"What?"

The deep breath I took barely calmed me, so I rambled. "At the drugstore. We had a countertop display. A shiny red square surrounded by little fake diamonds on a sparkling silver chain. It wasn't expensive, but I couldn't buy it even if I could afford it. Jewelry from the outside wasn't allowed, and red is the color of the devil."

Lines creased in his forehead.

"While my manager worked in the stockroom, I slipped the necklace in my pocket. My heart was beating so fast, I thought Satan would appear and strike me down. I never even wore the necklace. I twirled it in my pocket, played with the flat and sharp edges of the stone, pressed it as hard as I could and marveled at its strength. I expected it to heat up and singe a hole in my dress. My manager would see me as a thief. I'd be fired and my father would discipline me."

My head shook in disbelief.

"I didn't burst into flames. My soul wasn't damned. I enjoyed my time with that necklace while I had it. I appreciated its beauty, the person who designed it, the workers that created it, my manager for selecting it as an item the people of the town might like to spend their hard earned money on. At the end of my shift, I put it back in the display. But the loss churned in my stomach. I had held precious color in my hands, given it back, and returned to my dreary life at the compound. Before bed, I would dream I wore that necklace in the crook of my neck. Then I cried myself to sleep, praying my father wouldn't sense the sin of my thoughts."

Rogan turned toward me and pressed one palm into the couch. "Coveting a necklace is not a sin." His voice dropped and became scratchy. "It's normal to find something attractive and want to own it." He cleared his throat and broke our eye contact. "Besides, holding a necklace in your pocket for a few hours, then putting it back is not stealing, so stop beating yourself up about it."

He was right. I didn't actually steal it, and I shouldn't feel guilty for admiring it.

"You want a ruby necklace? Go online and buy yourself one. Clothes, jewelry, school supplies. Get whatever you need."

"Just order all that online? And what? Have it delivered here?"

"Sure."

"I don't... Okay. I'll try."

"You're sweet."

"Don't call me sweet." I stood and glared down at him. "Sweet makes me sick. Sweet shackles and gags me till I can't breathe. My mother died trying to keep sweet."

His head snapped back, and his eyes widened. "Fair enough. No more sweet." He chuckled and turned his gaze to the floor.