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“Good for him. He survived. What more does he want, a sticker?”

“Ben,” I gasp in dismay, but he ignores me and hangs up.

“Give me that!” I wrestle it out of his hands. I know he let me take it. I’m not strong enough to get it from him myself.

The phone starts ringing again, and I dash into his room, slamming the door shut and turning the lock. It won’t stop him, but I’ve made my point. I hope.

“Do not take that job, Bees!” He calls from the table. If he hasn’t stood up to chase me, then he isn’t that serious.

“Hello?” I answer without checking, out of breath, and trying to hurry.

“Beatrice,” Alzghoul sighs with relief. “Do you know how hard it is to reach you through your bodyguard?”

“Sorry,” I cringe. “What’s up?”

“There’s a berserker here who lost his eye.”

I’m ashamed to admit it takes all my strength not to ask if he found it. My immaturity knows no bounds.

“He’s at the Pub?”Duh, he’s at the Pub, Beatrice.

“Yeah,” Alzghoul’s voice tenses again, and I pause.

No snappy comeback? No snarky attitude? Since when does the take no shit, iron-willed bartender of unknown race get stressed? Even Ben doesn’t ruffle his feathers, which has more weight in light of new information. My brain ticks over as I ponder this little dilemma.

“Bees, no.” Ben’s voice is on the other side of the door now.

“He’s asking you to come without your beast,” he continues. It’s almost like he’s reading a cue card.

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

“He doesn’t want his clan to know about this. He’s embarrassed.”

“Right.”

This has red flags all over it.

“I’ll be there in two hours,” I say flatly and hang up as Ben yells, “I said no!”

I unlock the door and open it to Ben’s enraged face.

“I don’t understand English,” I deadpan.

I go over to my box of stuff and find my side purse, fully loaded with knives and my bag of buttons. Mitri is efficient for a total jerk. I put them on and turn back to find Ben behind me, practically panting in anger.

“Bees,” he snarls and holds his hands up as if imagining throttling me.

“Obvious trap is obvious, Ben,” I pat him on the shoulder as I pass him. I make it to the table and gather my missing person pages.

“If you know it’s a trap, why did you just agree to go?!” He snaps directly in my ear.

If I can make adjustments for his sensitive ears, is it too much to ask not to be yelled at directly in mine?

“What’s a trap?” King asks with both brows raised.

“The random berserker who just so happens to have lost an eye,” I explain and get the joy of watching several brows lower in confusion.

“How is that a trap?” Mal asks in disbelief. “And how do they have your number?”