“How did you know that?” I wonder.

The edges of Zay’s lips tug upward into a cocky grin. “Because I know a lot of things.”

I arch my brows. “About cops?”

Instead of answering, he glances at Hunter and Jax. None of them say anything, and the silence makes me a bit squirmy.

Why does it feel like they’re having a private conversation right now?

“How much do you know about Honeyton?” Zay asks, looking back at me.

“That it’s a small town that’s severely lacking in public transportation,” I answer. “Seriously, I missed the bus today and had to walk home. In my old town, I could’ve just taken the city bus or called a cab. Well, if I had enough money.”

“You walked home from school?” Hunter asks, sounding astounded.

I nod. “Normally, I ride with Dixie May, but her car is still getting transported here. So my aunt drove us to school this morning and was supposed to pick us up, but I sassed off to her this morning, so no ride for me.”

Hunter frowns. “You should’ve texted me.”

“You were at tryouts,” I remind him. Not that I would’ve felt comfortable doing so.

“Yeah, well … you could’ve called Harlow. Although she can be a little bit flaky when it comes to responding to her text.” He gives a short, contemplating pause. “Zay and Jax are going to trade numbers with you, and if that ever happens again, you can text them.” He pauses. “I think maybe you should just start riding to school with us.”

Zay’s gaze skates to him. “You really wanna bring her into this?”

“Into what?” I ask. “Because, while I’ve told you guys some things, you haven’t really told me much.”

Zay’s attention returns to me. “Because we’re not sure yet if we can trust you.”

“You don’t think I’m trustworthy?”

Am I trustworthy? I really don’t know that part about myself, having not had any friends for a while.

“I don’t know,” Zay says. “You, your entire family, there’s hardly any information available about you.”

I frown. “You looked into my past?”

“No. But the person who hired us did a little bit and wants us to find out more,” he explains, grazing his teeth along his bottom lip. “Well, not just you, but your whole family. Still … it’s strange that there’s hardly any information online about you.”

I swallow hard, wondering why there isn’t. “What all did you find so far?”

They remain quiet for a thundering heartbeat of a second.

“Did you read about what happened to my parents?” I finally ask, my tone shaking a bit.

Again, they don’t answer. But their silence is answer enough.

“I want to get out of the car,” I say quietly. When they make no effort to move, I start to panic. “Let me the fuck out.” My fingers curl into fists, and I’m about to go into fight mode.

Fight or flight.

Fight.

Fight.

Fight.

Story of my fucking life.