Page 214 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

"This thing is a death trap," he mutters. "Plague, hold the stool."

"I'm not holding the stool. It's filthy. It's had feet all over it."

"You're wearing gloves, dude!"

I tune them out.

Too busy wondering about Ivy to pay attention to their arguing. She texted when they got to the restaurant, then texted when they finished eating. Then nothing for over an hour, which means they're either at the second part of the date Thane planned and have no signal, or something happened.

Nothing happened.

I know nothing happened because she's with Thane. And because I would feel it. Not through the kind of bond we'd share if I could mark her without hurting her, but even without that, I feel her inside my chest like she lives there.

She's fine.

I still want the text.

I work the hinge pin loose with my thumbnail, easing it up until I can grip it and pull. The pin slides free with a metallic scrape and the hatch door drops an inch, now held only by Whiskey's hand and the friction of wood against frame.

Got it? I sign one-handed at Whiskey, who squints at me.

"Got what? Oh… yeah. Yeah, I got it. Just get the other⁠—"

My pocket buzzes.

Every nerve in my body fires at once.

My hand is off the door and diving for my phone before my brain finishes processing the vibration.

The hatch door swings down.

It slams shut across Whiskey's fingers where they're curled over the edge of the frame.

"MOTHAFUCKAAAHHHHHH!"

The stepstool rocks sideways and the rubber foot pops off, and for one horrible second I think he's going to crash to the floor with the door still clamped on his hand.

But the stool holds.

Barely.

"FUUUUUUCK—GET IT OFF—GET IT OFF⁠—"

I lunge at the door with a startled growl and push it up, freeing his hand.

He drops to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

The hall shakes.

"I told you that stool is a cheap piece of shit," Plague scolds him, dropping to one knee on the floor beside Whiskey and grabbing his hand to examine it.

"Bro, stop fuckin' critiquing me when I almost died!"

I'm only vaguely aware of another argument kicking off as I look down at my phone. The screen is already lit up in my palm and the name at the top says IVY, and I'm so fucking relieved my hands go loose and I almost drop the phone.

IVY

On our way home