Page 113 of Cruel Games

“Nothing—”

“I fucked her brains out in the rain because she went on a killing spree on Main St.”

Well, those were two very different and wildly distinct and interesting answers.

“Uhm, come again?”

Coyote had moved across the room and picked the towel out of Ivy’s lap, his hands setting to work drying her hair. She let him, which was strange but not entirely out of character. I noticed his leash still dangled from his collar, and chuckled to myself at the absolute single-mindedness of the man.

How long would he leave that fucking thing on himself before he realized he could take it off?

“She was off her rocker, man, came out of the bank dripping blood everywhere, and I followed her, and she just started swinging on any asshole she passed who was asking for it.” Jackal swung an imaginary bat in the air, whistling for comedic effect. “She took out two dudes before I stopped her, and then it was a fight?—”

“He forced himself on me because I wouldn’t tell him?—”

She stopped like she’d hit a mental wall and clammed up, her face flushing as she stared resolutely at the floor. I sensed we’d hit a payload and frowned.

“Tell him what?”

Jackal chuckled. “Yeah, Ivy, what won’t you tell me?”

“None of your damn business,” she spat from beneath the towel, growling under her breath.

“She was gone, Dingo,” Jackal muttered, his voice low and pained. He was like a whining, kicked dog as he watched her let Coyote tend to her. “There was nothing in her eyes but emptiness. She was on a one-way track to suicide by cop.”

Coyote’s hands on her head stilled as he stared down at her, his eyes filling with emotions I didn’t even think he understood completely. “You wanted . . . to die?”

Somehow, he was blaming himself for her, for this, and I’d be damned if I let her silence confirm his fears.

“You’d better start talking, or I’ll wring it out of you myself.” I made to lunge for her, but Coyote was faster, yanking her up and over the back of the couch as I faceplanted where her ass had been moments ago. “Dammit, Coyote, bring her back here.”

“No.”

He dragged her into the kitchen, setting her on the counter so he could dry off as much of her as he could reach. I gave up on her and let my attention drift to the bag in Jackal’s hand. “What’s with the backpack?”

His chin jerked toward the kitchen. “Hers. No idea what’s in it.” I watched his lips curl into a grin, and got a feeling of worry in the pit of my stomach. “Why don’t we find out what’s in it.”

He barely touched the zipper before a flying Ivy sailed over the counter, hurdled the couch, and landed on top of him on the floor, her hands clutching the bag with all the desperation of an addict in the depths of withdrawal having their drugs taken from them.

“Don’t you dare touch my things,” she spat, her voice shaky and wild. Her eyes were slightly unfocused as she stared down at the bag in her hands, not moving off Jackal as she zipped it all the way back shut and sighed in relief.

Now, I really wanted to know what was inside that fucking bag.

Before I could make a move, Coyote was on her heels, liftingher off of Jackal’s prone form, grunting as she kicked and flailed and panic filled her eyes.

“Put me down, you animal! Let go! This is outrageous?—”

“Shut up,” he growled, his eyes narrowed as they fell on the bag in her grip. “Talk.”

She refused to meet his gaze, even when his fingers cupped her chin and dragged her to face him. “I won’t.”

This time, her voice lacked most of the conviction it’d possessed when the fight started.

Something in her was breaking, and when it shattered, I was worried there’d be no putting it back together.

Considering I was pretty sure I knew what had set off this catalyst.

“You know,” Coyote whispered, his hands shaking as he raised them to grip her by the shoulders.

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