Lucas’s tension was obvious as he led me up the stairs. He was practically crushing my hand in his from holding onto me so tight, and he didn’t let go until we entered his room. Only then did he drop my hand and immediately went to the window, his eyebrows drawn together as he looked out into the yard.

But the gate wasn’t visible from that vantage point.

He hissed in frustration, his arms folded and his fists clenched. “Shit.”

“Shouldn’t you go out there?” I said. My palms were sweating, nervous energy making me pace. I’d never seen any of them look like that, as if they were genuinely frightened when they saw Reagan at the gate.

“Jason and Vincent have his back,” Lucas said. He didn’t sound particularly happy about it though. “If Manson wants me to keep you safe, then I’m fucking keeping you safe. So just relax.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his legs as he bowed his head. He looked far from relaxed himself; he looked more like a grenade whose pin was slowly being pulled loose.

“How dangerous is he?” My gut twisted as I recalled Vincent telling me that Reagan was the reason he had a gun. What the hell could have happened to make them so afraid of him? I understood why Manson was — I could only imagine the trauma of having a parent like that. But they were all freaked out and it was worrying me even more.

“Don’t underestimate him.” Lucas got off the bed again, pacing in front of it like he couldn’t figure out how to settle himself. “The last time Manson saw him, Reagan threatened to kill him.”

The knot inside me grew hard as a rock. “We need to call the police. This isn’t safe.”

“Police won’t do shit, Jess.”

He paced to the window again, scoffed, and paced back. He looked around the room helplessly, his frustration palpable in the air.

“Somewhere in that police station downtown is a file for the Reed family about three inches thick,” he said. “Domestic disturbances, DUIs, public intoxication, domestic battery. No good came of it. Fucking nothing. His mom wouldn’t press charges. Reagan would sit in jail for a night and come right back in the morning. Cops around here see the last name Reed, and they think trash. Criminals.” He sighed heavily, rubbing his hand over his buzzed hair. “A kid like Manson isn’t supposed to make it this far, Jess. He should be dead, or hooked on drugs, or already in prison. The police have had him on their radar ever since he brought the knife to school. Vincent has a record. I have a record. If the people the cops are supposed to help are already behind bars in their mind, then they don’t care.”