Page 110

Eden

You can’t find the right answer,

if you only ask the wrong questions.

The broody trees close in around us, hiding us from my brutes, and the small hairs on the back of my neck prickle to life. Mateo starts humming, and it takes a moment for me to recognize the tune.

If you go down in the woods today, you're sure of a big surprise...

“Stop that,” I snap at him, hating the fear that bites at me.

Mateo slides a look at me. “Stop acting so afraid.”

“Why would it be an act?”

Sinners stalk through the trees, some watching the meeting from the tree line, most lingering around their camps.

I hate that they look organized. I hate the bulging bags of food I see near almost every tent.

I hate the smells of things being cooked and how my stomach begs on its knees for a taste.

I hate the weapons and ammunition that flash at me with my every step.

They’re so prepared.

There are also so many more tents than we could see from the cameras, and silently, I begin counting them.

“Because you’re supposed to be smart,” Mateo breathes.

His hand is light on my back, he gestures for me to turn.

I swallow hard, eyeing him. He’s beautiful and broody, and he still looks as sweet and unassuming as he did the first day I met him.

I know he isn’t, though.

I step over a branch, and when I crane my head to keep counting tents, I accidentally bump into a rough-faced Sinner. He whirls around, his hands raised to grab me, but then he catches sight of Mateo.

His hands drop.

But his dark eyes follow me as I scurry past a line of tents, trying desperately not to be noticed.

Focus. You’re okay. Don’t pay attention to them. They’re not here.

Ten tents to a row. Nine rows deep.

God. They still have ninety men. How many more times do I have to watch my brutes face death?

Sooner or later, the odds will catch up with them.

I slow, staring at the tents, at the men , and Mateo reaches out a hand to guide me.

I walk past it without glancing at him.

“Are you mad at me, gatita ?” Mateo asks, and he sounds amused, though it’s etched in something closer to... resignation?

“You killed friends of mine,” I reply, my voice feeling tight and too hot. I hate that I still feel betrayed by them. “Yes, I’m mad at you, Mateo.”

Mateo stops outside a sprawling clearing, and I catch glimpses of an enormous tent inside it, far bigger than the ones lined up outside. There’s a sudden shout through the trees—and a violent crash of metal.

His eyes narrowing at the sound, Mateo nods at me to go ahead.

Tentatively, I lift a branch as I make my way in, his footsteps at my heels.

And his murmured reply chases me.

“You need better friends.”

I step out into the clearing, taking in the smoking fire and the small cookpot Heather is standing next to.

A metal ladle is sprawled in the dirt some feet away, and there’s a metal bowl on its side beside it—the cause of the crashing, I assume.

The enormous tent’s unzipped opening flutters in the breeze, and I catch a glimpse of someone’s long, crossed legs just inside.

Nausea hits me, and I stare at the collar around Heather’s neck. The rope tying her to a tree near me makes her look like a dog given some extra leeway to roam the yard.

But I was prepared for that, at least.

It’s the newly felled tree sprawled to one side of the clearing that sends fresh chills down my spine. We saw the Sinners chopping them down, but...

Its branches have been cut away, and they’ve flattened the thick trunk on two sides. It’s more than long enough to span our moat. How many more of these do they have?

With a few of those, the Sinners could cross into Bristlebrook.

Into my home .

It’s the first one I’ve ever had. My safe place.

My sanctuary. I can already see them soiling my room—tearing pages from Othello and cutting down the curtains Jayk sewed for me so terribly.

I can see them shattering Beau’s hideous lamp and breaking Dom’s TV.

I can see their filthy hands on Jasper’s toys.

Panic holds me in its silent, shuddering clutches.

They’re planning to invade.

The civilians are inside... oh God, forget the house. They can’t touch my friends.

There’s a lean Sinner sitting, bored, on top of the felled tree. There’s a rifle by his dangling foot.

“Pick it up, Madison,” he says, not looking up from the knife in his hands. It takes me a distracted moment to look away from that knife and notice the small wooden figure between his fingers.

He’s carving something.

I didn’t know Sinners could create. I thought they only knew how to destroy.

Heather’s brows flick up dangerously at his command. In the next instant, she’s grabbed the small cookpot off the fire, swinging it back to haul at him—but as soon as she starts to throw it, her leash grows taut, and she’s jerked viciously backward by the collar at her throat.

She lands hard on her back, and the cookpot drops, spilling out onto the dirt. Gagging, Heather curls onto her side, clutching at the tight, strangling collar.

Horrified, I shove Mateo hard... and his foot reluctantly comes off the leash as he steps back.

The tension eases, and Heather starts coughing, dragging in air.

“Oops,” is all he says, and when I glower at him tearfully, he gives me a smile sweet enough to make the heavens weep.

My rage nearly engulfs me.

Stop acting so afraid , he said. He makes me afraid.

“Thank you for the reminder,” I finally manage to whisper. My voice shakes with anger, and I wedge as much disappointment and disgust into my tone as it can hold. “You’re right. I’ve made too many mistakes when choosing my friends.”

Mateo’s smile dips, and his eyes run over my face. The awful enjoyment drops out of it.

“Stop it. We saved you at Cyanide. We told you what we want for the future,” he hisses.

A bitter, huffed laugh escapes me. “You also told me you don’t hurt women.” I watch Heather pull herself onto her knees, hurting for her, and my lips twist. “Men lie .”

“Men—” Mateo’s angry snarl cuts off with a frustrated, snapping growl.

When I glance at him warily, stepping back, he tracks the move—and he has the gall to look offended .

“Yes!” he shouts at me, imploring and hot with irritation. “Yes, Eden, they do . They do!” Bitterly, he laughs. “How can you not...”

Mateo stops again, gritting his teeth, and he points at Heather. “ She is a stupid, reckless liability, and we should have killed her weeks ago. I’ll treat her like any other dangerous prisoner.” He looks at her, and something dark lurks behind his eyes. “Like she did to me.”

My fear for Heather deepens at the undisguised loathing in him.

Even the Sinner on the log watches him warily.

“Well.” My hands knot together nervously before I can make them stop, but I level him with a cool look anyway. “I imagine Alastair might have something to say about that.”

Mateo stiffens, and his next glance at me is like the cut of a blade.

A cruel, petty part of me is satisfied when the jab lands, but Heather snorts a hostile laugh as she gets to her feet.

“Alastair would kill me in a heartbeat if he didn’t need me,” she says, and I blink.

What?

“Heather, he doesn’t need you. We’re in open rebellion. If Alastair wanted to kill you, or try to use you as leverage, he’d have done it already,” I object, as mildly as I can.

Mateo’s breath hisses out, and he mutters under his breath.

Whatever he says, his treatment of her isn’t just caution or even revenge. Sour jealousy pours off him in waves.

I need her to pay attention to these things. Her hatred is blinding her to everything but her own rage.

Mateo’s anger is something she can use.

Alastair’s obsession with her is something she can use.

When Mateo doesn’t make another move toward either of us, my racing heart begins to slow, and I examine Heather more closely. Aside from that collar, she looks good—fed, clean, healthy, and unhurt. It’s something. Maybe more than something.

Those things count for a lot in this world.

Mateo walks past me, brushing so close I feel the threat and reminder... this conversation is being watched.

He settles beside the other Sinner on the tree, and they begin talking in low voices.

Heather rakes her eyes over me, but all she says is. “Why are you here, traitor?”

I suppress a sigh.

“Alastair sent me to fetch some food and water for the meeting...”

Turning her back on me, she swipes up the ladle and bowl from the dirt before she dumps them in a barrel of water, and I start edging closer. When she turns back, her gaze is a cold, grey tempest warning me away.

I stop, and her lip curls.

“Stop flinching . Did you just leap to do whatever he says? After everything? Looks like he doesn’t even need to put you in a leash to make a dog out of you.” There’s a bite to her words that feels wounded and defensive—like she’s hitting me before I can get one in.

It reminds me of Jayk—the Jayk I met when I first came to Bristlebrook, the Jayk who was drowning in his own hurt and needed to make everyone else feel it too. That Jayk, not the protective man he’s grown into.

And it puts another lump in my throat.

Heather is hurting in ways that have nothing to do with her body.

My gaze drops to the collar, where it’s chafing at her skin. It’s made from a stiff, faded red fabric, and large, ugly block letters are splashed across it.

BEAST, it reads.

My eyes burn .

“I’m so sorry, Heather. I’m so... so sorry,” I whisper, aching everywhere.

Her lips flatten. “Don’t be sorry .” She shoves past me, bending down to the overturned pot.

She scrapes the stew back in, though it’s thick with dirt and leaves.

“You were supposed to protect them. You brought his fucking army down on my civilians. You let Kasey just wander the woods. What the fuck are you doing, Eden?”

I take the hit, but I push the throb away as soon as it lands.

I know she’s angry. But we don’t have time for her to take it out on me.