Which is why I’m now on the Upper East Side, standing across from Lander’s building, trying to talk myself out of going to him. Even now, after I’ve traveled across the city to see him, I’m still trying to convince myself that I don’t need to do this. I want to believe that I can go home, curl up in my anger and Micah’s blood money, and draw strength from that.

But the problem is, I’m still shaking. So I left Micah’s money on my bed, unprotected and unwanted, and now here I am.

The traffic is light this time of night. There aren’t many pedestrians around, and the ones who do pass me give me quizzical glances. I must look odd, standing here in the middle of the sidewalk, shivering as I stare at a mostly dark building.

But this is New York, so no one stops to ask if I’m all right or if I need help. And to be honest, I’m not sure it would be any different in Kansas or California. That’s the thing about fear—people can smell it on you. It repels the lambs and attracts the wolves.

E’s Wolflike Indecency. I still don’t know what that drawing’s title is an anagram for, but the image says enough. I look around me, wondering when the wolves will come. I imagine Micah with a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth advancing on me, redefining our relationship, calling me enemy.

I can’t be thinking like that. Fear is simply not an emotion I can work with.

Anger. I need anger. I squeeze my eyes closed and imagine Travis leering at me. I think about Jessica lying her ass off on the witness stand—anything that will bring me that warm feeling.

But then those images give way and I’m in that limo again. I can feel Javier’s hand on my thigh. I can smell the cigarettes on Micah’s breath as he calls me friend and unloads my gun.

I’m shaking.

“Bell.”

My eyes fly open and I take a step back. Lander is standing before me, wearing a long coat partly covering up cotton jersey pajama pants and a white cotton undershirt.

“The doorman just called and told me you’ve been standing out here for the last half hour.”

I stare at him for what feels like minutes but is probably seconds. I don’t say a word. I can’t even find my voice.

He reaches out to me and I fall into his arms. Clinging to him, I press my head hard against his chest as he pets my hair.

“Warrior,” he whispers, “what’s happened to your armor?”