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“Because this ends one of two ways and both hurt you.”

His smile comes back. “She belongs to me.”

“No.”

Sweet says it quietly and clearly.

Razor looks down at her.

She says it again.

“No.”

Something fierce moves through me.

There she is.

Not mine.

Hers.

Always fucking hers.

I should have remembered it before I put Razor's tracker on her car because I decided club business mattered more than her answer. I should have remembered it before I used Trixie as a weapon, and before standing in front of my brothers and trying to make Sweet ashamed of giving me exactly what I wanted.

Trust.

Razor's grip tightens. “She came when I called.”

“I came for Mama.”

“Same thing.”

“No. It isn't.”

Sweet's left hand shifts slowly toward the pocket of her jeans.

Something silver catches the light.

A restoration palette knife, one of the little tools Sweet uses at the school.

Good girl.

No.

Not good girl.

Sweet.

Her choice.

Her move.

I keep Razor's eyes on me.

“You went into my apartment.”

His grin widens. “Nice place.”