Page 11 of Brotan

"Royce showing his face anywhere?" Diesel asks.

Ash shakes his head, dropping into the chair beside us. "Rat's gone underground since the indictment."

Diesel wastes no time dragging Ash into our business. "You hear about the new doc in town?" he asks, that mischievous smirk spreading wider. "Turns out she patched our boy up after that bloodbath at Quinn's. Now she's here, and get this—he pretended not to know her, she called his ass out, and now he's sulking like someone stole his favorite gun."

"Not like that," I snarl, slamming my bottle down hard enough to crack the glass.

Ash raises his scarred eyebrow, waiting for the real story.

"Maya Johnson?" he asks, and my head snaps up at her name on his lips.

"You know her?" The question comes out sharper than I intended.

Ash shrugs, reaching over to steal a handful of Diesel's fries. "Hammer found her. Said she'd been through some shit, needed somewhere to lick her wounds. Lost a patient, took the fall for some hospital bigwig's mistake."

"Lost a patient," I repeat, Hammer's words from our call echoing in my head. Another puzzle piece clicks into place.

"Escaping into the arms of a green knight in leather armor," Diesel snickers, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Say one more word," I warn, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper as I lean forward until we're nose to nose, "and I'll rip your tongue out through your asshole."

Diesel holds up his hands in mock surrender, but that self-satisfied smirk never wavers. The scent of beer and leather between us is familiar—the smell of brotherhood that means I won't actually hurt him. Well, not permanently.

I turn to Ash, ignoring Diesel's bullshit. "Hammer admitted he brought her here because of me."

Ash nods, taking a long pull from his beer. "Said something about her being the only human who ever cracked that thick skull of yours. Made you quit the fight circuit when the rest of us couldn't drag you out with a chainsaw."

The pieces snap together with nauseating clarity. Six months ago, half-conscious and bleeding in Hammer's truck as he drove me back from the ER. His questions about what happened, and my pain-addled rambling about the doctor who'd treated me like I was more than just a monster.

"If there were more humans like her," I'd mumbled, "maybe I wouldn't need to bust so many heads."

Hammer had laughed, called it one hell of an endorsement. I didn't think anything of it then.

Shit.

My phone buzzes with a text from Helen: "Town meeting tonight. 7 sharp. The doctor will be there. So will you."

"Classic Crow move," Diesel grins, reading over my shoulder. "Push away anything that might actually matter before it has a chance to reject you. Working out great for you this time, huh?"

"I didn't—" I start, then stop. He's right. It's what I always do. Keep everyone at a distance, especially anyone who might see past the scars and tusks to something I can't afford to acknowledge.

When the guards forced us to fight in the camps, the ones who survived were the ones who stopped feeling. When we crossed the Rift and humans discovered us, compassion was the first casualty. I learned young that caring makes you vulnerable, and vulnerability gets you killed. Better to be the monster they already think you are than risk letting anyone close enough to see what's left of the person beneath.

Maya doesn't just risk seeing that person—she already has. And that terrifies me more than any physical threat.

"She called me out," I admit, the words scraping my throat raw.

Ash tips his beer in my direction. "Good. 'Bout damn time someone did."

* * *

Since Victor still has the town hall on lockdown, the diner transforms for town meetings. Tables pushed together to form a makeshift council chamber, chairs arranged in rows facing the jury-rigged stage. By 6:45, the place is packed tight—these people might be down, but they're not out. Not yet.

I plant myself in the back corner, positioned to see everything while staying out of the spotlight. Diesel flanks me, for once keeping his mouth shut about Maya. Ash joins us minutes later, passing over cold sodas that'll do nothing to quiet the storm in my head.

"Hell of a turnout," Ash mutters, surveying the crowd. "Word spreads fast when there's fresh meat in town."

My eyes scan the room instinctively, hunting for her. Not here yet. The relief and disappointment war in my gut, both equally unwelcome.

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