Page 74 of Violent Skies

“What’s your question?” I prompt.

A wicked grin spreads across his face. “Setting aside everything that has happened, who would you turn to?”

I swallow thickly. What kind of question is that? I don’t understand what he gets from this, what he’s after. If he wanted names or places, I could try but this is—

“Koa or Riggs.”

I shut my eyes, praying to see Koa. Hoping that he’s there to tell me the answer because I’m so viciously convicted that I can see them tearing me apart at the seams but it’s not him that greets me. It’s Riggs’s bright blue eyes, that sharp boyish smile sitting in the driver's seat of the beat-up Civic, the curls of his brown hair wild in the wind, the smell of his leather jacket and car oil on my nose. The taste of peppermint on my lips.

I open my eyes and gently dig in my pocket for the reminder. Riggs turns his head away, his feet shifting on the floor like he wants to run. I unwrap it slowly to expose the smudged pen on the inside.

I love you.

I realize in that moment, the foil itching at my fingertips and the ink seeping into the corners of my heart, it could have said anything and my answer would still be the same.

“No.”

“No?” He narrows his eyes at me.

“It’s a trick,” I say. “If I was in trouble I would never turn to just one of them. That’s never how it worked. It’s not even how it works now. So, no.”

Liloa nods. I have no idea if that’s the right answer. Riggs looks like he’s going to puke and I’m starting to panic that maybe I should have just lied. Picked Koa to satiate this hungry, curious lion.

“You’ll have your protection tomorrow. My nephew will arrange everything.” Liloa opens the front door for us to leave without an issue. I step out onto the small porch and pause, turning back to face him as Riggs takes the stairs down.

“Why?” I ask.

Liloa’s eyes light up with pride but also a steady, experienced concern.

“Because I would like to be standing on the winning side when this is over,” he answers.

“Winning side?” My voice shakes as my heels hover over the step.

“I would seriously consider your answer, Cress. It may cost you everything in this war.”

“What does that mean? What war?” I ask, but he retreats into the house and closes the door in my face.

Idon’t sleep. I spend the night wandering back and forth between Riggs’s bed and checking on everyone else. Birdie crawled in bed with Murphy and the two of them look like children again: messy hair, cheeks flush from sleep. Rafe is on the couch in the living room. I’m pretty sure it’s because his ribs are still bothering him and that’s the comfiest place he can actually find a few hours.

But I can’t do the same. Every time I close my eyes I can’t breathe.

I slip into my shoes and pull one of Riggs’s hoodies over my head as I quietly sneak out of the house and make my way to the garage. It’s such a simple thing. Four walls made of old steel, painted a blue that at one time was bright, bold and visible from the road even in the dark, but now after years of abuse and weather, it’s faded, chipped, and barely recognizable as the same building. I slide through the door not bothering to close it behind me and weave around the furniture and cars toward the back bay where they parked the Cuda.

The sheet falls from it like a gust of wind has caught it, hitting the floor without a sound as I run my fingers over the roof and the window frame. The driver’s seat calls to me and I climb inside, pressing my forehead against the steering wheel as tears stream down my hot cheeks.

Sometimes, even now, I can still feel him in here. Like his soul is forever tied to the metal and leather. His spicy scent, his infectious laughter, the look of his caramel skin when the sun hit it through the front window. Every joke, every kiss, every freckle and moan.

He’s imprinted in every stitch and screw.

“What are you doing?”

I lift my head to see Riggs—sleepy, shirtless, and confused. His bare feet pad across the cold garage floor toward me and the Cuda like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

A month ago I wanted you dead. I wanted you to feel how lonely the darkness was without Koa. Now I—I sink my teeth into my bottom lip to keep from crying harder at the sight of him.

“I don’t know,” I admit and he pauses, his hand rubbing across his face before he pads back the way he came, pushing the doors wide open to expose the pitch night sky and then wanders around to the bench grabbing something before sliding into the passenger seat.

“Jesus,” he groans at how far forward it is.