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“Hey, that’s cheating,” Nate said.

Jackson swallowed the mouthful of food and reached over again with his fork. “Nuh-uh. You bet she’d tap out before her plate was empty. You never specified that she had to be the only one who emptied it.”

Nate opened his mouth to argue the point, but then closed it, most likely because he realized that’s exactly how he’d phrased the bet. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Well, that’s a damn shame, ’cause unspoken intent is filed under Not My Problem.”

Pinto laughed as he leaned across the table with his fork. “Loophole! Sucks to be you.”

“Oh, you guys blow.” Nate’s face puckered with mock indignation. “You realize I’m your boss, right?”

“Yeah, whatever, you big loser.” Still chewing, Jackson leaned back in his chair. “Now be a good sport and pay the woman.”

While Nate reached for his wallet, Hatch shuffled into the kitchen, bare chested, red hair sticking up in every direction, and a big crease on the side of his face from where it had been pressed against the couch.

Yawning, he surveyed the table with bloodshot eyes. “Where’s Navarre?”

“Supply run. He’ll be back in a bit.”

As if on cue, the front door opened, and Navarre stepped inside. This morning, he wore a faded Miami Dolphins tank over black workout shorts and beat-up running shoes. A ball cap covered his short brown hair. In his right hand was a white plastic bag, which he brought to the kitchen and set on the table by Dorcas’s now-empty plate.

“Special delivery from Larissa,” he said.

That was weird. She knew Larissa, but not well enough to receive random gifts from her. “What’s in it?”

He smiled. “Only one way to find out.”

Curious, she peered into the bag and was surprised to see two small, slender boxes and a green plastic case. She took one of the boxes out, and a wave of gratitude went through her. “How’d she get my contacts?”

“Beats me. I’m just the delivery boy.” Navarre glanced over at Nate and gave him a nod. “I made sure nobody followed me.”

The two men bumped fists.

Dorcas turned to Nate. “Thank you.”

He made a dismissive sound. “There’s nothing to thank me for. Larissa did all the hard work. Now why don’t you put them in so you can see all these ugly mugs?”

After thanking Navarre, Dorcas got up and went to the bathroom. She opened the packets containing her new contacts, and...oh, yes, that was so much better. After hours of squinting, it felt really good to be able to see clearly again.

Now that her world was back in focus, she frowned at her reflection in the mirror. Bed hair, wrinkled clothes. Not a speck of makeup. God, she was a hot mess. She combed her fingers through her hair, smoothed out her clothes, and splashed cold water on her face. It wasn’t much of an improvement, but considering the situation, it would have to do.

Back in the kitchen, she took in the men who’d been unfocused images until now. She took in Jackson’s myriad tattoos, the row of piercings that lined Pinto’s left ear. And Hatch—dear Lord, now that she got a good look at him, he reminded her of a ginger George Clooney. Still, he couldn’t hold a candle to Nate, who, as far as she was concerned, looked like pure, unadulterated sin. Seriously, the man should come with a warning label.

“So what’s the game plan for today?” Jackson asked as he piled more pancakes onto his plate.

Dorcas passed him the syrup. “I don’t know. What are we doing, Nate?”

“First order of business is to find you a safe house.”

Dorcas frowned. “But I don’t think I need—”

“She’s at a safe house,” Navarre cut her off.

Nate swallowed a swig of soda. “No offense, man, but this is your home. You’re not on the clock. I appreciate y’all letting us crash here last night, but I can’t expect you to—”

“In case you haven’t noticed, we enjoy this shit.” Jackson’s deep voice filled the kitchen. “Besides, we like Dorcas. She’s sweet, and she made movie night more fun. If anybody wants to hurt her, they’ll have to get through all of us.”

“Damn straight,” Hatch chimed in over a mouthful of food.