He walks with me, and after a few steps, we’re shifted, facing forward and stepping back onto the main floor.
Without another word, and with strong, confident strides, we leave the way we came, climb inside the car, and roll out into the night.
Ten, maybe fifteen minutes go by, before the tension begins to subside and Arsen, now in the driver’s seat, turns the music on low.
I seek out Ransom in the side mirror, finding his eyes closed tight, head dropped back on the seat.
He seems tortured, at a loss.
Defeated.
“Where to, my man?” Beretta asks, but nobody answers.
Ransom makes no move at all, while Arsen looks toward the clock, a low sigh following.
Beretta pulls his phone out, but quickly locks it, glancing out at the night with a tight drawn frown and low fought groan.
I flick my gaze over them once more and something stirs beneath my ribs.
The time on the stereo reads two in the morning, and I get the feeling they either don’t want to go home... or they can’t.
We were about to start the night all over again, likely ring in the sunrise behind those doors, but the fresh energy we went in with converted to a heavy weight with our exit.
“Go to my house,” I say, focused on the road ahead.
No one speaks the entire drive there, not even when Arsen pulls up to the curb in front of the walkway leading to my front door.
I unbuckle, grabbing my purse from the floorboard, and push the door open, stepping out onto the sidewalk.
I turn back, my eyes moving along the three, all staring right at me, and I raise my brows.
“Well...” I draw out. “Are you coming?”
There’s a slight pause, a slow beat of silence, and then all at once, they’re at my side.
We head inside my house.
“Game two, boy!” Beretta claps, high-fiving himself and bumps a shoulder into Arsen, who laughs beside him.
Shaking my head, I set my glass of water in the sink and grab my blanket off the couch, joining Ransom on the balcony.
He holds a vape pen to his lips, and this time, when he blindly passes it my way, I accept.
As I inhale, his eyes slide my way, but only for a second.
We stand there, looking out at the night for a few minutes, nothing but the ocean in front of us.
I spin, leaning my back against the glass and look at him.
“Don’t.” His forewarning is quiet and ignored.
His command could mean anything. It could be his way of telling me not to ask questions about what happened tonight, or it could be related to the last time he was here. It’s probably his way for covering both, but we finally have a minute, so I take it.
“You had no reason to help me out with my car, but you did.”
He frowns, looking straight ahead. “I said don’t.”
“And I don’t care. I would have thanked you sooner had you been around, but you guys were never down the road when I tried, and apparently, school is low on your guys’ list.”
He scoffs, looking away. “Like B said, our lungs had to heal. Claim jobs make for a lot of smoke, and we couldn’t exactly light it and leave it.” His blue eyes find mine. “We had to make sure it was nothing but the frame when it was done.”
I stare a moment. “The cop had said it looked like it was gutted.”
He nods, a bit of a bite in his tone as he shares, “Sold the system to a guy in Irvine. Sold the gym bag in the trunk to a chick in Fountain Valley.” His gaze tightens the slightest bit, as if he’s looking for a reaction.
As if I’ll be upset over the Saint Laurent my mother spent a small fortune on when she insisted my workouts go from three days a week to five.
Keep it tight and he’ll still come home at night—laws of a loveless marriage.
“Well” —I look out at the water behind me, then back to him— “I hope you got a fraction of its worth.”
“I did,” he quickly confirms.
A small smile pulls at my lips and I shake my head, glancing inside the house at the other two.
Beretta tilts and turns his whole body as he plays the game, and Arsen sits beside him, calmly pressing buttons, chuckling at B, as Ransom called him.