Laughter bubbles out of my throat, as if this is the funniest shit I’ve ever been a part of. “Maybe I’ll dance for you sometime.” I gesture down at my body. “Without all the blood.”

He snorts and shakes his head. “Less blood would be better, but honestly, I’d fuck you right here, right now if we had the time.” He reaches down and adjusts himself and I raise my brow.

“Oh, you did like it, did you?”

“You have no idea, rabbit.” When Creed uses the nickname for me, it’s endearing, more so a sense of pride in me. I decide I like it a second later, happy to be the savage rabbit for him.

I glance over at Row where he’s standing silently watching me. “You okay?”

Row blinks. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

Tilting my head, I study him closer. “About what?”

He grimaces. “That I’m one of them now. That I’ll be expected to be a part of the world.” Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair. “I never wanted anything to do with this.”

Moving over to him, I go to reach up to him before realizing I’m covered in blood, so I switch to my other hand and touch his chin. “Just because you’re a Hound doesn’t mean you have to act like them.”

“Doesn’t it?” he asks, and I know he asks because of the mask he’d so easily slipped on.

“No. You can be you, without fear from me,” I reassure him. “Mask and all.”

He seems to relax at that. “Let’s gather up all these weapons and get you cleaned up and dressed. We still have a plan to prepare for.”

Grinning up at him, I move over to the bodies. “Like taking candy from a baby,” I say as I pick up the sizable rifle Fitzpatrick had been carrying. I pass it over to Creed. “For you, Mister Navy Seal,” I tease. “Your weapon.”

He takes it and grins. “Why thank you, tiny dancer.”

I punch him on the arm playfully before getting to work emptying their pockets. It’s all going fine until I reach into Fitzpatrick’s pocket and pull out a box of some kind. I stare at it in confusion, at the weird green dots on the screen.

“What the fuck is this?” I ask, frowning at it. I tilt it this way and that, trying to figure out what the numbers mean.

Row and Creed move over to me but it’s Creed who recognizes it immediately. “That’s a fucking tracker.”

“A tracker?” I turn it over. “What are they tracking?” Two dots sit right where we are, clustered together, and it dawns on me a second later. “Us? They’re tracking us?”

Creed looks up at Row with a glare.