“The telephone room,” I replied. It was a tiny space beneath the back stairs meant for one. “My great-grandfather built this place. Back in his day, it was added when he got a telephone. It was the only one in the house, so it was a space for privacy.”

Jed reached his arms out and easily touched two of the walls. There was a small nook in the wall where the phone went and a corner bench seat. The walls were painted a deep burgundy and the single brass light fixture made the space oddly cozy instead of claustrophobic.

It was Jed though, that made it feel that way. He took up most of the space. Reaching back, he grabbed the door and pulled it shut behind us.

The shotgun went off again, but I barely heard it this time.

Maybe coming in here was a stupid choice. The only exit was behind him.

“What did Macon do to you?”

“Get out, Jed,” I said on a sigh. I’d been up since five to exercise. In the office by seven-thirty. I’d left early today because of dinner with my brothers, but I wouldn’t have gotten home until close to nine. Normally.

Work filled my time. My thoughts. It kept me moving and moving was good, because if I slowed down, I thought. If I thought, I turned into this. A barely drunk thirty-year-old with no life. Hardly any friends. Nothing but… fuck me. Unhappiness.

The last thing I wanted to do was talk about Macon.

“No.”

I stared at his lips as he uttered that one word. The scent of him filled the room. Pheromones and clean male. Laundry soap.

“There’s not enough room for both of us.”

“Then why did you come in here? It’s not like you could hide from me.”

I closed my eyes. Sighed. Felt the liquor bottle pulled from my fingers.

“What did Macon do to you?” he asked again.

“Do?”

“Did he hit you? Is that how he controlled you?” Fury filled his gaze as he raked it over me, looking for signs of Macon’s anger on my body.

“He never touched me,” I admitted.

“What other deals have you made with Macon? Other people? Who… who—” When he couldn’t finish his question, I looked up at him. Leaned back at his intensity. Anger was pumping off him in waves. His jaw was clenched, his eyes fierce. Every line of his body was taut as if exposed to a live wire. “Who did he make you fuck?”

No one had ever, ever, asked me that. How he even got to that question made me realize he could see all too much.

“What do you mean?”

“You accused me of it at the wake.”

My throat clogged up with tears, but I willed them away. I didn’t cry. It was weakness that could be used against me. Even with Jed. Emotions were powerful weapons.