Quinn wanted to step past them, to grab clothes from her dresser, but she remembered the last time she’d run into one of Jake’s friends, and she kept her distance.

“Get out of here,” said Jake. He took a step toward her and grabbed her arm. “You hear me? Quit messing with me.”

She jerked free. “I’m not messing with you!” she snapped. “I haven’t even been here!”

He came after her. “Look, you—”

She ducked under his arm and slid through the doorway into her room. Jake grunted, and she half expected him to grab her, but judging by the racket he made, he must have stumbled into the doorjamb. She made it past his friends and flung open a dresser drawer. “Just let me get my stuff. Then you can keep smoking pot until your lungs burn out.”

“That’s not pot.”

Tyler’s voice. Quinn spun.

He’d caught Jake’s arm and twisted it behind him, and just now had him pinned up against the wall.

Her brother was struggling, but though he was tall, Tyler had the advantage in mass.

Tyler gave her a look. “Hurry up, huh?”

Quinn hustled.

Greasy boy took all this in stride, his sharp eyes watching everything. “Is that Tyler Morgan?” he said. “Dude, I didn’t know this was your scene.”

“It’s not,” said Tyler. His voice was even, as if Jake wasn’t trying to buck his hold.

Quinn flung clothes into her backpack without looking. Her heart was in her throat. Jake was cursing at Tyler now. Tall-dark-and-sinister was flicking a lighter, but he couldn’t seem to get it to spark.

She had no idea whether this was going better or worse than if Tyler hadn’t intervened.

The bag wouldn’t hold any more, and she jerked at the zipper.

“Get the keys out of my pocket,” said Tyler. “Go down and start the truck.”

The dark-haired boy flicked the lighter again. Still no flame. “Sure you don’t want to stay, sweet thing?”

“I’m worried I might puke on you,” said Quinn. It took everything she had not to kick him in the face.

Especially since he grabbed her ass when she skittered by him.

She whirled, her hand balled into a fist.

“Go,” said Tyler. “Ignore him.”

“I’m going to fuck you up,” Jake wheezed. “You think you’re so—”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Tyler. “Quinn. The keys.”

His body was tighter than a bow string, taut and rigid as he held her brother against the wall. Quinn had to get close to fish the keys from his pocket. This felt too intimate, sliding her hand along the front of his hip, searching for a metal ring.

Then the keys were in her fingers.

“Go,” said Tyler. “I’ll be down in a second.”

“The hell you will,” Jake snapped.

Quinn hesitated. That lighter kept flicking, never finding a flame.