I didn’t understand that, and in the company of four Chaos brothers, I couldn’t ask.

I gave my gaze to Tack. “Okay. I won’t be hasty.”

He appeared visibly relieved, which kind of scared me that I might be doing the wrong thing.

“I… Joker’s at my house. I need to get home,” I said.

“Tell him we said hey,” Hound ordered good-naturedly.

I gave him a shaky grin and nodded.

Then I gave my farewells and got out of there.

I got in my car and backed out of my spot by the stairs to Ride’s office.

Okay, that didn’t go as planned. Perhaps I should have thought it through more fully.

But I hadn’t been able to get it out of my head. Even after what happened the night before (the good part on the couch, before and after the drama), falling asleep with Joker again, getting up with Joker (again), getting ready and heading out to work (with Joker… again), I could force myself to let it go.

But all day I’d be scanning groceries, doing it seeing the insides of his biceps. The random pattern of white rings surrounded by puckered skin.

Dozens of them.

All over.

When had he endured that?

I couldn’t imagine the boy I knew in high school would allow that to happen. I’d seen him with split lips and black eyes, holding himself funny. But although he was larger now, had filled out, he was no scrawny kid. He’d have fought back if his father tried to do that to him.

Wouldn’t he?

I shook my head as I drove.

He would.

Anyone would.

Burning.

This all could only mean one of two things. His father did it to him when he was younger and couldn’t fight back, which was utterly unthinkable. Or his father did it to him when he was older, but did it after he made it so he couldn’t fight back, which was also utterly unthinkable.

But even so, I couldn’t quit thinking about it.

So I had to do something about it.

I was halfway home when my phone binged with a text. Being a mother, and now a girlfriend (I hoped, we hadn’t made it official, but that was the only thought that made me smile all day), I didn’t ignore it. I grabbed my phone and looked at it when I was stopped at a red light.

It was a text from Tyra that read Don’t worry. I’m on it.

Oh no.

I wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

I didn’t text back but got another bing when I was idling, waiting for Tyra’s garage door to open (the house even had a garage with a remote opener—I mean, could it get better?).