Chapter 3

Kate

The employee knows who we are and immediately starts to chuckle when she sees us.

“Good afternoon.” She’s trying, but she can’t keep the smile from her face. The men are not amused. Marlowe is on the alert, a scowl ready in case one of the numerous people staring at us steps forward. Nobody does. “Can I help you guys with something?”

We don’t really need help since I’m just here to buy a few phones in their boxes, and then activate them online.

“Sure,” I say, against my better judgment. I figure that she might as well point us in the right direction, so I don’t have to wander around. The phones are probably behind the counter anyway, so she’ll have to ring us up, too. “We need three new phones—”

“For the Witchwood Boys,” she fills in, and I want to scream. Tanner is placid beside me, but his energy is crooked. His shadow is crawling across the ceiling with long, clawed fingers. “I did my senior project on the Witchwoods. I recognized you guys right away. I’ve always known there was something special in that forest.”

This chick has no idea that a hyena with antlers and cloven hooves is watching her from across the room. Hunting her, more like. She’s lucky that she can’t see that.

“Is this what suffices for customer service nowadays?” Brooks grumbles, tapping his fingers against his arm in irritation.

This old dinosaur. I give his ancient twenty-six-year-old ass a look, tucking the wool coat around me to hide my dress. Brooks is too busy staring at a wall of TVs with a queasy twist of his lips to notice me glaring at him.

I look back at the employee, determined to get through this without causing a scene.

“We were camping .” I don’t care if this person believes me or not, because I shouldn’t have to explain myself to strangers. If I say I was camping, then so what? She doesn’t know me. “Could you show us where the phones are?”

Her smile is knowing, and the phone in her pocket is absolutely recording. Maybe Tanner was right? I could post about this right now, tell the world how boring my day is. I’m literally only here because … my supernatural witch husbands need new phones since they were lost for decades in a magic forest due to an ancient owl monster.

Shit.

My day is interesting.

I bite my thumbnail and trail after the employee, three witches lagging behind me.

So, she gets us the damn phones and leads us to the counter, talking incessantly. The guys have tuned out, leaving me to deal with her. If it were up to them, they’d just go quiet the way they do with Mrs. Madsen.

“I can’t even imagine trying to teach a time-traveling man to use a phone!” The girl is so excited as she rings us up, and I cringe at the climbing total. I’m going to need my one and only credit card for this. Oh well. We can get it paid back quick.

“He didn’t time-travel,” I say, but she isn’t listening. “He’s only distantly related to the real Brooks McDowell.”

Would it be easier for people to believe he’s a clone? No, that’d make things worse.

“Do you think you can save any of the other victims?” The employee is hopeful as she waits for me to tap my card and finish paying. I look up and she’s smiling softly at me. “My cousin disappeared, and we don’t know if she ever went to the tree, but … she could’ve. Did you see anyone else when you were there?”

The hope in her voice absolutely kills me, so I just take the receipt from her and make a beeline for the exit. If that girl’s cousin is in the Witchwoods at all, she’s probably in the Hag Wytch’s Pit.

But hey, the employee didn’t mention the sex tape. Could’ve been worse.

We get to the truck, and I sit willingly in the back this time. I start by handing the boxes to Tanner and Marlowe while Brooks drives us to the other cemetery, the one where Mr. Skye is buried.

I instruct the men to open the packages while I get my account pulled up on an app, type in the serial numbers from the new phones, and add three new lines.

By the time we pull into the parking lot of the second cemetery, I have a much higher phone bill, but I’m able to activate their devices.

“You guys are all set.” I’m perky, despite the upcoming grave robbery. I have reason to be.

It’s difficult to survive without a phone. I’m helping the men adjust to their new timeline. They were right about getting us out of the woods as soon as possible, so they’d have a guide to show them around.

Imagine if we’d been trapped in the Witchwoods for so long that even I didn’t understand the time that we stepped into? People living on Mars or … something. This is fine. The men can handle phones. They can handle social media.

Marlowe studies his phone with a mischievous grin, already digging into it with a swipe of his inked fingertip. Tanner grudgingly slips his into his pocket with a sigh. Brooks won’t take the last phone.

“I don’t want it,” he declares, but I ignore him, shoving it into the back pocket of his slacks.

“It’s very expensive. Don’t lose it.” I pat his taut cheeks as I walk past. “I’ll teach you how to watch porn on it.”

It’s a joke, but Brooks takes it seriously.

“I don’t need pornography, Kate. I have you.” He moves up to the cemetery gate and then follows Marlowe inside, leaving me briefly alone with Tanner. Sort of. I can feel them on the other side of the ivy-draped wrought iron, waiting impatiently.

Both of their shadows remain on this side, one with wings and one with antlers, watching us.

“Do you think this spell will work?” I ask Tanner, letting some of my nerves bubble to the surface. “To close the gate, I mean. I’m assuming this is all theoretical, that you guys are just making your best guesses as to how to do this?”

Tanner steps toward me, unbuttoning my borrowed jacket. He slides his hot fingers around my waist, and I let out a breathy sigh. That feels nice. I want to ask him to teach me how to use a bow, but we should probably wait.

It’s like our whole lives are on pause because of this spell.

I can’t wait until it’s over.

“I wasn’t fuckin’ around when I said that Brooks can write a mean spell.” Tanner tugs me closer, pressing our fronts together. “But then, maybe the gate isn’t something that can be closed?”

I consider that.

“We’d need to deal with the Hag separately then,” I say, trying to fathom the very idea of hunting her down. I don’t imagine it’d be easy. We could die. We could … do worse than simply die.

There’s a reason Brooks scratched revenge off his bucket list without completing the task.

“Deal with the Hag, huh?” Tanner watches my mouth as he says that, like his mind is split between the threat and me, wearing a little black dress in his arms. “I sure as shit hope not. Let’s give Brooks’ spell a chance first. The alternatives aren’t great. Just like the gate might be something we can’t close, the Hag Wytch might be something we can’t kill.”

“A god that can’t be killed, but one that can be trapped,” I murmur.

My mind goes straight to Prometheus, that guy from the Greek legend who took fire from the gods and gave it to humans. He gets bound to a rock for eternity. Every day an eagle eats his liver, and then it grows back at night only to be eaten again.

The point is: he can’t die, but he’s trapped. A fate worse than death. Eternal torture. A curse.

Like the souls trapped inside of the Hag.

I wish we could find a way to free the ones that she’s eaten. Is something like that possible? I have no clue. I know very little about magic, but I want to know everything.

“Hopefully,” Tanner muses, stepping back and dropping his arms at his sides. I feel cold without him. “Keeping her trapped in the Witchwoods would be the easiest way to go about it.”

His shadow is still holding mine in a dark embrace, a pair of demon tails swishing near its feet.

I clear my throat and lift my chin.

“You’re not going to make me dig up your dad in this outfit, are you?” I ask, changing the subject.

Tanner grins at me, nice and lazy and flirty.

“I brought you a change of clothes.” He gestures to the bag slung over his shoulder. “Not for your benefit—I’d love to see you rob a grave in a dress you can’t bend over in—but because of those goddamn voyeurs.”

“So it’s okay if someone films the zombie, just not my panties?” I’m teasing, but I do think that’s what he means.

Tanner’s expression is heavy again.

“Yeah, Kate. Exactly that.” He’s dead serious.

It gets quiet between us, and I notice that both Marlowe and Brooks’ shadows are shifting in discomfort, like they’d prefer if we joined them inside the cracked iron gate.

“If I find the person responsible for those videos, I’ll feed ‘im to the Hag.” Tanner holds out the bag, and I take it, unzipping it to find a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie inside.

The bag is all that he has. No shovel. None of the guys have shovels. How are we going to dig a hole without—

Ah. Right.

With my Northwoods’ magic.

I look up, my fingers itching to give Tanner’s wolf ears a little scritch.

So I do. I step forward again, lift up on my toes, and give one of the warm, fuzzy ears a rub. His eyes are a reflection of the sky and the fog, a mix of blue and silver, pupils too big and lips parted.

“Are you sure you’re okay? If you’re not, we can find another corpse—”

Tanner places his hand gently over my lips, and I drop back down to my heels, fingers sliding off his hat’s ear.

“You asked me to be honest with you, Kate. So let me be real clear.” He drops the hand from my mouth, using a single finger to trace one of the big white fangs clinging to the brim of my hat. I can feel that somehow, like a tickle I can’t quite reach. “The Hag Wytch isn’t the only monster in the forest. Not even the worst monster in the forest. I’m ecstatic that my father is dead.”

Tanner waits for something from me, maybe disgust. Horror. I stand there patiently, hoping that he’ll keep talking. There’s zero judgment on my end. He seems emboldened by that, like he’s going to take a risk.

This is what I asked for, isn’t it? The real him. The truth. Naked and bare and raw.

He delivers, like he always does.

“When I was sixteen, my dad took me out to the woods, sat me in the backseat of his car, and proceeded to tell me the best way to assault a woman.”

My jaw drops, but Tanner only offers a challenging lift of his brow.

“He … what?” I don’t know how to make sense of what he just said to me.

“I opened the door, vomited all over the ground, and my dad beat me for being a pussy. So, when I tell you that he’s better off dead, I’m serious.” Tanner looks serious. Dangerous. He looks dangerous. “I’m giving you complete and total honesty, Kate, even if I think it’s a bad idea. Who wants to hear about this shit? Wouldn’t you like me better if I flirted with you instead?”

“No.” I don’t hesitate to answer him, clutching the duffel to my chest. Tanner is upset. Maybe not about his father’s death or the imminent exhumation, but he’s hurting in a hundred other ways that I’m not sure he fully understands.

Soft, squishy heart activated. Again. I can’t help myself.

“You sure about that?” He winks at me, but his sexy smile is tainted. “If you change your mind, speak up. Remember: I only have one ironclad rule. Just one.” Tanner lifts a finger and then uses it to point in the direction of the cemetery gate. “After you, wife. It’s time to meet your father-in-law.”

Hefting the duffel bag up my shoulder, I slip past him, edge between the two shadows waiting for me at the gate, and find Brooks and Marlowe on the other side.

Tanner is right behind me, like always.

“This is my first disinterment,” I whisper to the three of them, batting my eyelashes. “Be gentle with me?”

Marlowe is slack-jawed. Now that he’s into me, he’s really into me. It’s cute.

“Go change your clothes, you brat.” Brooks gestures in the direction of a creepy portable toilet, all of the eyes on his hat squeezed shut.

“Gentle? You sure you’d be into that?” Tanner laughs at me, catching the door of the toilet before I can close it. “One rule, Kate.”

He stays right where he is, fingers curled around the edge of the blue and white plastic until I reemerge in a fresh outfit.

If Tanner noticed that I left the slutty dress on underneath the hoodie and tucked into the sweatpants, well, he doesn’t tell the others.

It’s not an easy task for me to move the grave dirt with magic, but I manage it. It’s sloppy and messy and I’m tired by the end of it. The soil is within my jurisdiction when it comes to power, so even though I can feel the men’s energy pouring through me, it’s just as difficult as using a shovel would’ve been.

Grave digging fucking sucks.

“Good practice,” Brooks assures me, patting my shoulder once the coffin is revealed.

The four of us—me bent over and panting—stand at the edge of the hole in the ground, moonlight spilling over us. There’s a gravestone at the head of the plot with Tanner’s father’s name on it. It’s a big headstone, very nice. Someone paid for an expensive funeral for this man.

“What an arrogant prick, even in death.” Tanner adjusts his hat, and a bright red scorpion topples off the brim to the ground. It takes off through the grass, spreading sparkles behind it. Thanks Witchwoods. I just love giant glowing scorpions. Ebon lifts off from Tanner’s shoulder and goes after it. “Who would want this man embalmed? Not his only son.”

“It fucking smells,” Marlowe remarks, lip curled. “Is a corpse this old supposed to reek?”

“Shit if I know.” Tanner hops into the grave and grabs onto the lid without preamble. He yanks it open, a cracking sound echoing across the empty cemetery. Normally I’d be nervous about getting caught, but we still have a few memory charms left. Just a few though. Some spell of disinterest powder sprinkles. It’s going to be fine.

We’re so screwed.

My eyes lift to the dark sky, aware that our chances of being filmed in some random cemetery are slim. It’s once we arrive at the McKay Community Forest that we’re in real trouble.

“Well, well, hello there.” Tanner squats at the head of the coffin, staring down at the body.

It’s lying flat on its back in some sort of hunting outfit, a leather glove on the wrist. From here, the skin looks wrinkled and a little rubbery, like it was embalmed once upon a time but is giving way to rot. It’s grotesque, and it does smell pretty bad.

“Hey Tanner,” I start softly, and he looks up at me. “I’m just checking in with you.”

He turns back to the corpse and then spits on it.

“Stupid fucker. Can’t beat my ass now, can ya, Pop? Let’s get this done, so I can have a beer and fuck my wife.”

I flush and work my jaw, but I am flattered.

“How do we move him?” I ask, and Marlowe grins, leaning over the hole and spitting on the body. Brooks does the same. They all look at me.

Okay then.

I follow suit, and Tanner grins, climbing out of the hole.

“It’s this easy to make a zombie?” I ask, fixing my hat but avoiding the teeth. It swallows convulsively around my head, like the cone is the mouth and my head is halfway down its throat. Let me put it this way: hats should never swallow.

Tanner lifts his machete and points it at the body, twirling the tip six times. He drops the blade by his side, and then watches apathetically as his own shadow swoops down, clawed fingers snatching one of his father’s arms. Brooks’ antlered shadow snags the other side.

“We’re not making a zombie, just animating an object temporarily.” Brooks glances over at me as the corpse cracks and shifts and then … stands up.

Holy shit.

Together, the pair of shadows drags the withered form up and over the dirt wall.

The body gets to its feet in the grass beside the grave, wobbly but standing. It turns its head to look at me, and I choke on a sound of surprise.

“It’s not a zombie … how?” I ask, wondering if any zombie movies were out at the time of Brooks’ disappearance. Tanner and Lo must’ve seen some. They both seem like the type who would watch a zombie movie and enjoy it.

“It’s not undead.” Marlowe grabs my shoulder and pulls me out of the thing’s way. It’s ghastly, with its sunken cheeks and dirty skin, the black sockets where its eyes should be, the withered lips. “It’s just moving via magic. It’s a puppet.” He takes my other shoulder so that he’s holding me steady from behind. “I just recently learned this, before you showed up in the woods. Close your eyes.”

I do as he’s asking, trying not to get distracted by his warm breath on the side of my neck. The heat of his fingers. The press of his body against the back of mine.

“Feel that? Like a tug at the back of your mind, like something you forgot and you’re trying to remember. That’s your shadow. Use it to move the corpse.” Marlowe rubs his hands down my arms to my elbows as I search for that feeling.

Something I should remember, but can’t recall. Like a memory of lost keys or a missing phone.

It’s frustrating to chase that feeling, as dizzying as spinning in a circle and stumbling into a wall. Magic. That nauseating twist when my hand went into the tree and the world flipped around. The Witchwoods. Like an inverse. Like a bad reflection. Like a mirror.

It doesn’t take much. I feel a nudge, and then it’s like I can see my shadow in my head. I was able to use it during my chess match with Brooks, so why not now?

I move the limbs around in my mind, like it’s a toy, then open my eyes to see if it’s working.

My shadow grabs one of the zombie’s arms and flops it around, but not as gracefully as I’d imagined or intended.

“It’s not a perfect science,” Marlowe tells me, patting my arms and then giving another squeeze, like he’s reluctant to let go.

Does Marlowe think he’s in love with me? It feels like he does. If I’d asked him to say it instead of Tanner, I probably would’ve gotten a different response.

“What are we doing with the zombie? What’s its purpose in the spell?” I ask, studying the corpse and wondering where the hell we’re going to store it for the next few days. In the garage, I guess?

“We’ll pour the brew down its throat, and then stick its hand into the tree. It’ll go into the woods with the spell inside of it.” Brooks gives me an assessing look, as if he’s gauging my mood before he says this next part. “If this doesn’t work, we’ll have to try sending a living person over—just not one of us. I thought this might be the more ethical method.”

Ah. The more ethical method. Sending a zombie.

Tanner doesn’t seem fazed, studying me instead of his deceased father. He can tell I’m still worried about him just by looking at my face.

“Sometimes people are just bad people, Kate. I’m glad that for once in his life, my old man can help me out the way a father might want to for his son.” Tanner pauses and then shakes his head. “Well, glad he can help me in death. He’s worth more dead than alive.”

“If you need a hug or anything …” I start, and Tanner laughs, walking over to stand in front of me.

Now, I’m sandwiched between him and Marlowe, and imagining all sorts of other combinations to use during sex.

Just … not with the zombie around.

“If I need a hug ?” Tanner asks me, looking at me like I’m crazy. That handsome face breaks and he laughs again. He actually doubles over and laughs at me for offering him a hug—when his zombie dad is swaying in the moonlight beside him. “Oh, kitten. Goddamn. You have claws, yes. But you’ve also got a lot of fluff.”

“Go fuck yourself,” I mumble in mock protest, but that only makes him laugh harder, and my lips twitch into a smile. When I look over at Marlowe, I think I catch him smiling, too. Only lasts for a fraction of a second, but I swear that I saw it.

God forbid he ever allow himself to smile in Tanner’s presence.

Brooks leads the way with the corpse shambling behind him. Fuck, I hope the zombie is invisible the way magic usually is on camera. My phone is in my pocket, but I don’t even want to check. Because we’re doing this either way. Knowing that we might be filmed won’t change anything. I swipe my clean, dry palms down the front of my pants.

I didn’t exactly get dirt on me when I was magically digging Tanior Senior’s grave, but I’m soaked in sweat, and I’m glad that Tanner brought me something more comfortable to wear. Would’ve been more effective if I hadn’t just slipped the outfit on over the little black dress.

I thought it could be sexy later, if I took off my hoodie and the guys saw the dress. I have no idea what I’m doing here. Nathan never wanted to flirt. He’d offer affection in public more often than in private which I thought was weird. The few times I tried to seduce him, he laughed or remained unimpressed.

I really hope the guys don’t treat me that way, not about this. Not after Brooks turned me down in lingerie once before.

I stop walking and then shake my head, still not entirely used to all this. I love it, but I’m just not used to it. Seems like I could wake up any minute, and this would all be a dream. I want so desperately for it not to be that I can’t breathe when I think about losing it.

“Kate.” It’s Marlowe, but when I look up, all three of them have stopped and are watching me.

They don’t miss a thing, do they?

“I don’t want to lose any of this.” Any of you. I’m a coward for not just saying it right then and there. I should. I try to make myself do it. My throat constricts, but one brave bold choice brought me here and only brave bold choices are going to keep propelling me forward. “And I don’t just mean the magic.” My cheeks flush, and I put a hand up to one of them. I’m not embarrassed though. I’m excited. “I do like the magic. The rituals we do.” I lift my eyes, taking in all three of them at once. “Mostly, I’m enjoying the time we spend together. Going cool places. Doing fun things.”

“Fuck.” It’s Marlowe again, sweeping his hand down his face. He looks like he wants to tackle me, and there are cherry blossom branches on his hat. Pink petals catch on the wind and shimmer in the moonlight as they swirl around me. “Fuck, Kate. Christ. Fuck.”

He closes the distance between us with long strides and puts his hands on either side of my face, tilting my chin up and pressing his mouth to mine. Oh. There’s not even tongue. It’s a different kind of kiss. From Marlowe. From Mr. Two Birds One Stone.

The shadow hands drag the zombie out of Brooks’ way, so that he can watch another man kiss me with an inscrutable expression on his face.

“You’re not going to lose any of this. I promise you.” Brooks crosses his chest with a single finger, like he’s a knight from some fairy tale. His hat blinks at me. “Don’t waste your time worrying about that. We’ve got you.”

I smile at that, but … I’d like to ‘get them’, too. I want us all to rely on each other, not just me on them. Marlowe pulls away from me and steps back, running his sleeve over his mouth like he can’t believe he just did that. Is he blushing?

I turn to Tanner, and the expression on his face is dangerous again. Doesn’t scare me. He’s only going to be violent if he needs to protect me; he isn’t going to be violent toward me.

“Is this an I’m scared because of the Hag thing? Or an I was hurt by people who deserve to die, please kill them for me, Tanner thing?” This is a genuine question that I’m being asked. I have to answer him seriously.

“Just … yeah, the Hag Wytch. The gate. You don’t have to start hunting people on my behalf.” My breath catches, and I lift up a hand to run my fingers through my orange and black hair. Could it get any witchier than that? Fucking Witchwoods glamour magic.

Changes hair color and makes dicks bigger.

“There’s no way you three came into the Witchwoods with those cocks, right?” I ask, and Marlowe gives me another one of those looks that says he’s extremely confused by my personality and also mercilessly attracted to it.

“What the fuck are you implying? Are you trying to say you thought magic was the source of this massive cock?” He grabs his junk through his sweatpants and gives it a nice, tight fist. I walk right up to him and place my fingers gently on his. He goes completely still—and pliant—and allows me to move that mean fist away.

With gentle fingers, I stroke him through his sweatpants right there in the graveyard (I’m going to end up haunted, aren’t I?), and lean up on my tiptoes to kiss the side of his jaw.

“Stop being so cruel to yourself.” I pet him some more, and then step back. He lashes out and snags my wrist, jerking me back to him. He has a little growl in his voice when he puts his mouth near my ear.

“Did you actually believe our dicks were from the Witchwoods?”

“Well, like the hair …” I gesture randomly, and Marlowe lets out this rough little laugh, like he’s shocked yet again. “You guys got bigger, too. Wider. From the woods.”

“We got bulkier because we had to fight for our lives every single day. Adapt or die. The magic only affects the eyes and the hair. Kate, what the fuck am I going to do with you?” Lo sounds affectionate, not angry.

“You’re taller than when you—”

“I matured . Men can continue to fill out until their mid-twenties. Kate, seriously.” Marlowe turns away and takes off for the truck, but I can hear him laughing as he goes.

Somehow, he’s stolen the keys from Brooks. Even our fearless leader looks confused as to how that might’ve happened.

“I can’t believe you’ve been running around with the idea that we had our dicks magically shapeshifted by the woods.” Tanner is chuckling at me, too. He puts an arm around me, leading us in the direction of the truck. “Did you get bigger tits or something? A tighter pussy?”

“I—” Wait. Fuck this. I had plenty of reasons to think like that. “Can you blame me? Most of our magic is performed through kinky sex rituals. Was it that weird to think the three of you were super hung because of magic? No, it’s not weird at all.”

Tanner can’t stop laughing, but Brooks is just peering at me with a slight frown and a little divot between his brows. He doesn’t say anything.

Yet.

I watch as six sets of shadow hands—the men’s shadow hands—toss the zombie into the back of the truck bed like it’s old garbage. Marlowe has the decency to tug a tarp over the top and secure it with some bungee cords.

Please don’t let Tanner’s dead father fly out in the middle of the highway.

God.

Can you imagine if we got caught with a zombie—or even just a plain ol’ corpse—on video?

Ebon circles overhead, searching for drones. Tanner gave her a hunting command when we got here. Seems like that’ll be something we have to do from now on. I don’t know how much longer I can wait for a foreboding spell that works on us.

I’m sure it’ll cost, like, fifty orgasms.

“It’s nice that you love our dicks enough to believe they were spelled for you.” Brooks opens the front passenger side door and holds out a hand, like he wants to help me in. I accept the offer, his lips brushing my ear as he lifts me up. “I was wondering the same thing about your ass.”

He slaps me on the butt just before my cheeks hit the seat, and then closes the door.

Dickhead. Not even remotely a real gentleman. So why am I blushing?

“Fresh Freeze on the way home?” Marlowe asks as he puts the keys in the ignition and glances over at me with a raised brow.

“We can’t get burgers and fries with a zombie in the bed of our truck.”

“It’s not a zombie, Kate. It won’t move unless we tell it to.” Marlowe starts the truck, and I’m pretty positive that he’s going to drive us to the burger place instead of the house.

“Mmkay, genius. Then we just have a dead guy in the back of our truck. I don’t think you guys understand what I mean when I say that we’re viral.” I smooth my hair away from my face and give the two witch men in the backseat a nasty look, too. “Basically, there are news crews all over the place trying to get an exclusive scoop at all times. We have to consider that nothing we do is private anymore.”

“If somebody touches my truck without permission, they’re going to have a lot more to worry about than my dead daddy in the back.” Tanner leans back in a loose-limbed sprawl that’s all bullshit. Violence. It’s in every muscle of his supposedly relaxed body.

Yeah … he might push back against the internet at some point.

“Wonderful. Break the arm of some influencer who finds the corpse in our truck.” I emphasize the word and then turn back to face the windshield, lips twitching. It feels like the men and I exist in a separate bubble from the rest of the world. We have magic. We can do incredible things with that magic.

Tanner wouldn’t need to break anyone’s arm—he could suffocate them from across a room. There’d never be proof against him. The rush of power in my head is wild and exciting. I’m almost giddy.

“Fine, we can go to Fresh Freeze,” I grumble, and Brooks laughs from the back seat.

“It’s cute that you thought we weren’t already on our way there.”

Then all three of them are laughing—at me.

Stupid fucks.