In the aftermath of that drama bomb, it was as if someone had slapped her—except there was no one to hold back from her, no guy to yank free and disarm and immobilize. And as Grier went white, Isaac felt a paralyzing impotence. You couldn’t protect people from events that had already happened; there was no rewriting history.

Or . . . people, either. Which was the root of so many problems, wasn’t it.

“What . . . did you say?” she whispered.

“That was no accidental overdose.” Childe’s voice cracked. “He was killed by the same man who’s going to come after you unless he gets this soldier back. There is no negotiating, no bargaining, no terms to trade. And I can’t—” The man started to break down, proving that money and class were no protection against tragedy. “I can’t lose you as well. Oh, God, Grier . . . I can’t lose you, too. And he will do it. That man will take your life in the blink of an eye.”

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

As Grier braced herself against the counter, she was having trouble processing what her father had said. The words had been short and simple. The meaning, however . . .

She was half-aware that he was still talking, but she’d gone deaf after, “That was no accidental overdose.” Stone deaf.

“Daniel . . .” She had to clear her throat as she cut in. “No, Daniel did it himself. He’d OD’d at least twice before. He . . . It was the addiction. He—”

“The needle in his arm was put there by someone else.”

“No.” She shook her head. “No. I was the one who found him. I called nine-one-one and—”

“You found the body . . . but I saw it happen.” Her father let out a sob. “He made me . . . watch.”

As her father buried his face in his hands and lost it completely, her vision flickered in and out like someone was playing disco with the lights in the kitchen. And then her knees went loose and—

Something caught her. Kept her from hitting the floor. Saved her.

The world spun . . . and she realized she’d been picked up and was being carried over to the couch across the way.

“I can’t breathe,” she said to no one in particular. Wrenching at the neckline of her shirt, she gasped. “I can’t . . . breathe. . . .”

Next thing she knew, Isaac was putting a paper bag up to her mouth. She tried to bat it away, but her arms just flopped uselessly and she was forced to breathe into the thing.

“You need to shut the fuck up,” Isaac said to somebody. “Right now. Pull it together, my man, and zip it up good.”

Was he talking to her father? Maybe.

Probably.

Oh, God . . . Daniel? And her father had been forced to see it happen?

Questions that needed answers did more for her than the carbon dioxide influx. Shoving the bag away, she pushed herself up.