Page 163 of Making Choices

“Cub’ll keep a lock on your location,” my brother tells me. “There’s a tracker in yours and Nads’ phones, one on your car, and another in your necklace. We’ve got you covered.”

“What. The. Fuck?” Nadia mouths at me.

I shrug, my right hand moving to clasp the alien-head pendant that I never take off.

“Put your phone in your bra, Nads.”

As she does like I’ve requested, I do the same.

The device settles between my arm and my chest. It’s comforting and oddly enraging. As my skin flares with the familiar itch again, I realise that I can’t wear Zeke’s necklace for another second. It’s a dumb impulse, one borne out of jealousy, yet I can’t stop myself from reacting to it, even though I know it’s reckless. Propping my knee under the steering wheel to keep my wheels straight, I pull the necklace over my head and toss it on my back seat.

Immediately, my neck feels empty.

Good.

Now it matches my heart.

After this, I’ll get a tracker added to a different necklace... one that isn’t tainted by Zeke.

“Cub wants their number plate.” At Sander’s instruction, Nadia turns around in her seat and recites the letters and numbers in a loud voice. “It’s comin’ up clean, but that doesn’t mean much. Keep drivin’. Pull straight into the garage and shut the door behind you. One of the Shamrocks’ll meet you there.”

Hands gripping the steering wheel tight, two handguns on my lap, I do as I’m told.

Isaiah catches up to us and takes up a defensive position next to my side mirror.

The SUV remains on my taillights.

My twin softly coaxes me to stay calm the entire way. He keeps my mind off my looming panic by explaining that he’s going to deal with the co-pay for Fret’s rehab program and Wyatt’s university tuition with his basketball salary while we work out a legal strategy with Gabriel to get our money back. I promise him that I’m fine financially, even as my need to get out of Slash’s house continues to mount. We agree that Nate will be fine for now since he still lives at home, and it seems that our father is doing his best to hide his theft from us.

All the while, my best friend mutters prayers as we continue to be vehicularly stalked.

When my home comes into view, after thirty fraught minutes of conversation that flip-flops between serious and nonsensical, I exhale properly for the first time since I realise I was being followed. Even with the SUV still on my tail, when we pull into the driveway and Isaiah skids to a stop and pulls his gun, the relief I feel at the knowledge the Shamrocks can handle things from here is immense. Nadia pats my knee comfortingly as the automatic gates that are usually only closed at night slowly rumble shut behind us. Hitting the button to close the garage door, I follow Sander’s instructions and, once we’re safely encased within the lower level, I flop back in my seat.

I offer Nadia a tight smile.

Sander interrupts us, “You’ve stopped.”

“We’re in the garage.”

“Good.”

As he ends the call, my door is pulled open and my guns are placed on the centre console. Two big hands drag me out of the vehicle. With a steady touch, I’m patted over like I’m made of fine china. For some reason, I was expecting Slash to descend on me, so it takes me a second to register the identity of the man assessing me for damage.

“I’m fine.”

“Did they do anythin’ to you?” Toker asks, continuing to hold me by the upper arms as he scans me from head to toe with worried eyes. “Come at you in any way?”

“No. Just followed us really close, kinda rode my bumper at times, then sped off down the street when I pulled into the driveway.” As I explain what happened, a horrible thought hits. I press my palm to my mouth and exclaim, “Oh, no... I lead them to Slash’s house.”

My cousin shakes his head. “His address is already common knowledge, believe me.”

“Is it safe for Anna to stay here?” Nadia asks.

“Yes,’ he replies immediately. “This is a specially built fortress. Security is state-of-the-art. No one’s getting in or out without a key, a personalised code, and their face on a camera or three.”

Somehow Toker manages to infuse his statement with vehemence and ambivalence, and his tone fills me with matching uncertainty.

“I can go somewhere else?”

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