Page 72 of Without a Trace
“No,” I said. “We need honesty.”
The bottle spun again.
I was just getting started.
We were high on the chaos now. Dizzy from tension and tequila and the weight of all the things we weren’t saying out loud.
It landed on Lena.
Sweet, wide-eyed Lena—who had pulled her legs up to her chest like she could hide from the game.
“Truth or dare?” I asked, resting my chin on my hand.
She stared at the bottle like it might save her. “Truth.”
I smiled. “Who do you think is the most dangerous person in this room?”
The air shifted.
Lena blinked. “What?”
“You heard me.”
Rhett coughed. “Scar…”
“No,” I said. “I want to know what little Lena thinks.”
She looked around the circle. Slowly. Hesitantly.
Her eyes passed over Kane—then Rhett—then paused on Zeke, who smirked from the armchair like this was all a goddamn opera built for him.
But she didn’t stop there.
She looked at Alden.
Then Trace.
Finally, back at me.
“I think it’s you,” she said quietly.
Even the fire cracked louder.
Trace tensed. Alden’s lips parted like he might object. Sloane full-on gasped.
“Me?” I said, smiling. “Why?”
Lena fidgeted. “Because you’re the one everyone’s afraid of. Even if they won’t say it.”
I laughed. Loud. Sharp. Threw my head back like it didn’t matter. But god, it felt like power humming under my skin.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said.
I spun the bottle again.
It landed on Zeke.
The smile that stretched across his face made my stomach tighten.
