I immediately seek out the comfort of my bracelet and try to channel my thoughts into something more productive.

“I don’t think I know who I am,” I say suddenly.

Ever eyes me. “Is this really the place?”

“Well, if not here, where? I don’t see us talking about anything else, and if we can’t search and talk at the same time, I really worry about your multitasking abilities.”

“My multitasking abilities are just fine.”

“Then help me.”

If I didn’t know better, I’d say that Ever looks horrified. Horrified. The guy who turns fingers into spare parts. “My multitasking doesn’t extend to therapy sessions.”

Well, fuck. You think you know a guy, and then he’s not even there for you in a life-altering moment.

My head snaps to the side, and I’m successfully distracted as I pick up on a noise again. “Did you hear that?”

“I still have no clue what you’re talking about.”

I’m certain this time, and I pick up my steps like a greyhound on the hunt for blood. It was definitely this way, and I’m sure it was a voice. The further we walk, the louder it gets.

“Eight … seven …”

I glance back at Everett. “Someone’s counting.”

Both of us jog toward a bank of windows that look out over the warehouse floor, and it takes me way too long for my eyes to adjust.

There are people everywhere. A huge group surrounding two in the middle and⁠—

St. Clare!

My gut bottoms out, and I’m about to turn and run to him when Tommy moves so fast it’s hard to track him. He kicks St. Clare, who folds to the ground, and then—Tommy pulls out his gun and presses it to my man’s head.

The blood drains from my body so fast I swear I hear it leave in a whoosh that rings in my ears. Pure, blinding rage replaces it, and all I know is that Tommy is dead. He’s fucking dead.

My gun’s in my hand faster than I know how to move, and I lift it, line up my shot⁠—

Before it’s flung from my grip.

Ever crashes into me from the side, and at first, I think we’re under attack, but then reality hits me as hard as I hit the ground.

It’s just me under attack.

From Everett.

With strength I didn’t know he had, he pulls my wounded arm high up my back. The scream I let out is all but silence as the pain shoots through my whole body, and then his hand comes down tight and immovable over my mouth.

“Don’t make a fucking sound.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

ST. CLARE

Tommy’s whistling a chilling tune, gun still firm on my head, and every time I shift, he plants it there harder, like he’s reminding me what a fucking psycho he is.