I smile through my tears because he sounds so determined. But Georgie doesn't yet understand there's no such thing as a safe place for me. He knows about The Society now, but he can’t possibly comprehend their power. The full depth of their reach is suffocating, yet this is the only option I have because Santi and Judge have stripped me of any others.

"Thank you," I tell Georgie, and I mean it. "This will just be temporary. I'm not going to burden you guys forever."

"Honey, you are not a burden," he assures me. "Never."

When I don't respond, he stops rubbing my back and gently turns my chin to face him.

"Say it with me," he insists. "You are not a burden."

I don't want to because it feels like a big fat lie, but I know Georgie, and he won't drop this until I give in, so I say it.

"Good girl." He grins, rather pleased with himself for my capitulation. "This is what friends are for. We ride or die, baby."

"I don't know what I did to deserve a friend like you." I reach for his hand and give it a squeeze. "Because I’m pretty sure none of my Society friends would ever stage a kidnapping to help me."

"Mm-hmm, that's called next level, sweetheart. Don't you forget it."

I laugh despite being so exhausted and emotional I can't think straight. And then the van pulls to a stop, and Madame Dubois turns off the ignition.

"How'd you get her to help with this wacky plan?" I ask.

"Are you kidding?" Georgie snickers. "She's the one who showed up with the mask and a van this morning. There was no asking."

Again, I laugh, and I feel better just knowing Georgie is here with me, even for a little bit. He helps me up and opens the rear door, and when we step outside, we both freeze.

"Holy shit." I stare at the home we’re parked in front of, wide-eyed. "What is this place?"

Georgie seems equally awestruck by the elegant villa with Greek-style columns, a beautiful courtyard, and gardens that must cost a fortune to maintain. Madame Dubois, on the other hand, is as casual as ever as she saunters up to the door, snapping her fingers at us to follow along.

"Who knew psychic work paid so well," Georgie mutters.

"Oh, no." Madame Dubois turns to him with a twinkle in her eyes. "The pay is absolute shit, but that's not why I do it. I'm very wealthy. Old family money."

With that information bomb, she turns and unlocks the door, then gestures us inside. We follow her, and I quickly find that while the outside is stunning, the interior is even more so. There’s a very French style to the home with herringbone floors, gold accents, and ornate crown molding as far as the eye can see.