Page 69 of Bitter’s Sweet

“No one pretends to be you,” I say. “No one sends anything from your phone. No one gives him your location. CSI traces what Razor chooses to send. That’s it.”

Mercy looks at me sharply.

Sweet notices too. “You sound awfully certain.”

“I am.”

She considers it, then nods. “Don’t block him.”

“All right.”

“And if I change my mind?”

“We block him.”

Something eases in her shoulders, barely, but enough.

She looks surprised when I give her phone back without doing anything else. “You really didn’t scroll.”

“I said I wouldn’t.”

“You also said you don’t do relationships, so I’m still learning which declarations are reliable.”

Mercy coughs into her fist.

I lean closer, keeping my voice low enough for only Sweet. “Careful.”

“With what?”

“Making me want to prove myself.”

Her throat moves.

Good.

No. Not good.

This is not the time to notice the pulse beating pretty under her skin or imagine putting my mouth over it until she forgets how scared she is. This is the time to keep her breathing, find Razor, and keep Mercy from getting hurt because some Reaper can’t accept that a woman left him.

I turn to Mercy. “You’re not going home.”

“I know.”

“Scarecrow takes you to the clubhouse. Guest room, second floor.”

Her eyebrows lift. “Was that for me or for you?”

“For the part of you that thinks being older than me means bullets show respect.”

“I was burying trouble before you grew chest hair, Bitter Adams.”

“And yet here you are still needing an escort.”

Mercy smiles sharp. “Fine. But if Scarecrow touches my good crystal moving me, I’ll haunt him early.”

“He’ll enjoy that.”

Sweet folds her arms. “And me?”