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“Don’t say shit,” Lula told me as I reached her. “I’m your lawyer, and no one asks you anything without me at your side. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“My uncle is with the state police,” Clint said as his gaze flashed toward the incoming cops. “We have people inside the governor’s office. This will be handled quietly.”

“How exactly do you plan to hide so many deaths? Didn’t a bunch of these fucking idiots get killed in Little Memphis?”

Clint didn’t miss a beat before explaining, “We’ve got a tasty political scandal in our back pocket. The media can run with that exclusive, while the killings will be dismissed as a drug incident.”

With the Reed cousins in control, I glanced at where the helicopter’s lights were barely visible in the dark sky. I crossed my arms and recalled how Goldie felt in them.

Despite knowing everything would work out, I really wished I had kissed Goldie goodbye when I had the chance.

GOLDIE

Flying back to Little Memphis in the dark left me spiraling mentally. I sat with my busted foot in Nine’s lap to keep it stabilized. The rotors’ steady hum both relaxed me and sent me into a dark place. I flashed back to the SUV, with me stuck under a blanket and the engine rumbling in my ear.

Soon, my mind began playing tricks on me. I heard my mom sobbing and felt my hands colliding with Aaron’s face. More than once, I believed York had come with us. Instead, he had remained with Clint and Lula to deal with legal issues.

Eventually, I started dozing off, only to jerk awake. At one point, I stared at Nine and thought of us as kids. He was the youngest in his family. Once a goofy little boy, he had grown into a powerful man. I was an adult, too, but I felt scared in a way only my mom and dad could fix.

“It’s dark in here,” Nine said in a hushed voice barely detectable over the rotors’ steady hum. “No one’s watching. Just let it out, so you can be a tough fox once we land.”

Taking his advice, I covered my face and cried into my hands. I’d nearly died. My body hurt so badly in so many places. I couldn’t even feel my fucking right foot.

And I’d killed people! Sure, they were assholes, but I had ended their lives. I was both relieved by my abilities and burdened by what I had done.

Under all the life-and-death shit, I wished York had stayed with me. I knew Clint and Lula would protect him from the cops. But he was a man who kept to himself and often hid in the shadows. Now, the spotlight was on him because of me.

Rock Savo was waiting for us when we landed. The wide-shouldered, tall-as-fuck man picked me up and carried me to a nearby SUV. My normally bitchy club VP—and fellow Rawlins kid—behaved especially gently. I smiled at how fear had made him soft.

Once at the hospital, the ER doctor said a bunch of words I didn’t understand. Rock stuck close and repeated everything to me whenever I was confused. I eventually caught on to how I had a concussion.

After I went through several tests, Rock patiently explained a dozen times about the upcoming surgery on the rupture of my Achilles tendon. Though I didn’t understand what he was saying, I could tell by his seafoam-green eyes that he was growing frustrated.

Finally, Rock showed me the area above my right heel and said it was broken.

“They will keep you until the surgery in the afternoon,” Rock said softly as his intense expression softened. “If it goes well, you can go home a few hours after surgery.”

“You have such pretty eyes,” I said and patted his cheek. “I never noticed that before.”

Rock grinned. “You survived, Goldie. That’s the only thing you need to remember. I’ll handle everything else.”

When Boone arrived at the hospital, I didn’t understand anything my little brother said. He was a big guy like Rock and wore the same worried look. Though I wanted to tousle his brown hair, my body felt limp and unresponsive.

The doctor sent me for another test. I kept expecting someone to explain that my brain was ruined and I’d never understand anyone again.

My headache had lessened by the time Blackjack and Yarrow arrived around two in the morning. My dad wore a cap over his dark hair. His beard needed trimming, and his brown eyes were tired.

Next to him, my mom seemed small and fragile. Her long, straight brown hair was a mess, and her blue eyes were red from crying.

Yarrow climbed into bed with me and stroked my head. “They’re dead,” she whispered. “Everyone’s dead.”

I smiled at my dad, who settled in a chair next to the bed and took my hand. He asked how I was doing. I might have answered wrong because Boone explained the situation.

“I’ll go home today,” I said when the men finished speaking.

“Rawlins home?” Yarrow asked while scooting up on the bed to rest my head on her chest. “I’ll take care of you.”