Page 172 of Tell Me Pucking Lies

I step onto the porch, pacing toward the far end where the wood creaks under my boots. The night air is cold, sharp enough to clear my head. “No, you’re not. That wasn’t part of the deal.”

His tone drops, going low and venomous in a way that reminds me exactly how dangerous Gilbert Kane really is. People forget that—they see the years of hiding, the domesticity, and they forget he used to run with wolves. “You don’t give me orders, Rev. I’m going to find them myself if I have to—”

I hang up.

The screen goes black. My reflection stares back from the darkened glass—tired eyes with shadows underneath, blood still crusted under my nails from the fight. I look like my father, and the realization makes my stomach turn.

Atticus leans against the doorframe, watching me with those too-knowing eyes. “What’d he say?”

I pocket the phone, feeling its weight like an anchor. “He’s getting restless.”

“And?”

“And he’s not coming here.”

Atticus exhales through his nose, sharp and dismissive. “Then what’s the plan? We keep babysitting them while your daddy issues work themselves out?”

I glare at him. “You think I like this?”

“I think you like her.” He says it flat, matter-of-fact, like he’s commenting on the weather.

The silence after that line is heavy enough to crack bone.

He’s not wrong—that’s the worst part. I do like her. More than I should, more than is smart, more than makes any strategic sense. Lexi is a complication I don’t need, a vulnerability I can’t afford, and yet here we are.

Before I can formulate a response that doesn’t sound like a confession, the front door opens again. Koa walks out, shutting it quietly behind him. His arms are crossed tight over his chest, jaw clenched so hard I can see the muscle jumping. He looks like he’s one bad thought away from violence, one wrong word from snapping completely.

“They need a moment,” he says, his voice rough.

I don’t ask what happened in there. Don’t ask if she screamed at him, if she cried, if she told him she never wants to see him again. I don’t care right now.

“So––” I start, testing the waters.

Koa cuts me off immediately. “Fuck no.”

I nod once. “Didn’t think so.”

For a second, no one talks. The only sound is the clock ticking on the wall inside, slow and taunting, marking time we don’t really have. Somewhere deeper in the house, Lexi’s voice carries through the walls—muffled, breaking, something between a cry and a curse. The sound of someone’s world falling apart.

Koa’s fingers tap against his bicep in a nervous rhythm I don’t think he realizes he’s making. It’s the only tell he ever gives when he’s stressed, this unconscious percussion against his own body.

“You think you can protect her from this?” I ask quietly, genuinely curious about his answer.

He looks up at me, and his eyes are flat, unreadable. Defensive. “I already did.”

I laugh—short, humorless, bitter. “You delivered her to the man who sold half this state’s soul. That’s not protection. That’s business.”

“Watch it.” His voice drops to a warning growl.

“Just saying what everyone’s thinking.”

Atticus speaks without turning around, his British accent clipping the words. “You two done measuring whose guilt’s bigger?”

We both look at him.

He keeps staring outside, tracking something in the darkness only he can see. “Because she’s not staying here. She’s not safe with either of you. And if Gilbert’s moving pieces already, he’ll burn us all just to make his point.”

I lean back against the couch, jaw tight. He’s not wrong—Gilbert Kane is desperate, and desperate men with nothing to lose are the most dangerous kind. They don’t care about collateral damage. They don’t care about strategy. They just care about getting what they want, consequences be damned. When he contacted the Reapers for this mission, I wasn’t head of it because of the familial relations, but the second Lexi got involved, I knew it couldn’t be anybody else.