Page 71 of Entangled

Fuck. Heather might not be my only problem here.

Heather stands, turning to stare at Eden like she’s trying to communicate with her eyes. Eden glances at her, then she looks at the two Sinners.

She looks at them for a long, long time.

The burned man, Alastair, tilts his head just slightly, raising one eyebrow a fraction of an inch. The familiar look makes me want to hit him.

Finally, Eden shakes her head. “No, they didn’t touch me.” She glances up at Jayk. “Actually, they stopped the other Sinners from doing any serious damage. I think... I think the only reason I wasn’t tortured, or raped, is because of them. Alastair had some weight among the Sinners, and he used it to keep us from being harmed.”

Well, shit. I straighten, giving them a new look. That complicates things.

Jayk stares at Eden, then slowly removes his hand from his knife as Bentley whistles low. “And that’s another one for the pro list.” He looks away from the lantern he was examining and grins at Mateo. “If you ever get out of this mess, you look me up, dollface.”

Jesus. Time and place.

Mateo doesn’t even look in Bentley’s direction.

“Why are youdefendingthem?” Heather gives Eden a furious glare that could singe the hair off her head.

Rather than backing down, Eden lifts her chin with quiet dignity. “I’m not defending them, Madison. I’m just stating facts.” Then she pauses, her pursed lips becoming chilly. “Heather. I’m not defending them,Heather.”

“Same person, babe,” Heather says in a hard voice. “Whether you like it or not. But they”—she points at the Sinners—“don’t deserve your mercy. Or did you forget that Mateo dragged us back like pigs for a slaughter. We could have escaped then. Why are they even alive, Eden? You were meant to kill them. You had the bowlin your hands. He was meant to die.”

Eden’s hands knot in front of her, and she hesitates. There’s a torn, guilty expression on her face as she looks at Heather. Something squeezes in my chest too, watching her struggle with this.

She couldn’t do it. She has a soft, big heart. She never wanted to kill anyone.

I wonder what that’s like.

“I—” She tucks a strand of hair over her ear, then glances at the two men. “Well, I?—”

“I figured it out,” Alastair breaks in smoothly. He’s watching Eden again, and I’m ready to rip out his eyes, though there’s nothing heated in his gaze. There’s nothing in it at all. Those eyes are empty... and cold. “The men were dropping. It didn’t take much.”

Eden frowns at him, then looks at me, biting her lip. I shift closer to her.

“We can fix that right now,” Heather snaps.

“Actually, I need a few things from these two first,” Bentley breaks in, his voice too loud for the small cave. “Albuterol. Your little friends have a stash back at Cyanide in your ‘Den,’ I know you do, and I want in.”

“No one cares about your damn inhalers.” Heather storms up to the two Sinners, and grabs Alastair by the hair. She yanks his head back. “Tell them how much blood is on your hands. What, you’re a hero because you stopped them raping us? That’s the barefuckingminimum.”

She punches him across the face, and his head whips to the side.

When he lifts it, blood coats his teeth. “Do you want to play, death wish?”

Heather hisses, then lifts her arm to hit him again. I come up behind her and catch her fist, yanking her into me.

“Enough. That’sen?—”

Heather slams her head back, and I only just pull back to avoid it, though she clips me in the solar plexus with her elbow, then wrenches herself out of my grip.

“He killed Tommy,” she shouts at me, but this time, her anger is coated in tears. “Execution-style. He didn’t fucking hesitate.”

Her throat works, her face twisted with anger, and she shakes her head.

“Thomas is dead?” Jasper asks, his voice ringing with shock.

Her words hit me hard. Thomas. We had our share of problems, especially after Heather. He was a competitive shit, and he slacked off on basic duties more than I liked. But he was solid when he was needed, and he was in my unit for five years before we ever saw a flash of Heather’s red hair. I played cards with him in dusty deserts, the sand making the cards gritty, and drank with him off duty in Eastern Europe until we were slipping off our chairs.

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