Page 119 of Entangled

I rub at the tension building between my eyes. It hasn’t strayed far since I agreed to take on the civilians.

Sincewetook them on, I correct myself sourly, thinking of Jasper.

Damn it, if it’swe, why do I still feel like I’m the only one who gets how quickly they could all die here? There’s this weight tied around my neck, and it’s just getting heavier and heavier.

The only time it’s eased at all has been around Eden. Finally seeing her safe, talking to her in the woods, watching her nearly walk into a tree because she was checking me out. Just the idea of watching stupid movies with her and Beau tonight had turned my whole mood around.

I decide to try another tactic and follow Beau back into his room for his next trip. He moves around to his musty green armchair. He bends, trying to lift it from behind, but it’s too big. At this rate, he’s going to give himself a hernia.

I walk around to the front of it and lift it up. Just for a moment, with both of us working together, it’s perfectly balanced.

Then he drops it.

My breath leaves me with anoofas the heavy weight slams down, and I reel back.

Passive. Aggressive. Asshole.

Slamming my hands on the top of the armchair, I lean over it to glare at him. “What the hell was that?”

Beau shrugs a dismissive shoulder. “I don’t want the chair anymore. It can stay here.”

“You do want the damn chair. It’s your favorite chair.”

I try to un-grit my teeth. Beau has a favorite chair. He has a favorite everything. He falls hard and obsessively at the drop of a hat.

He hesitates, looking down at the wide, velvet-coated monstrosity.

I tap it, nodding. “Good. I’ve got this end now, just pick it up.”

Beau’s eyes lift to me, and then he gives me a slow shake of his head.

“No, Dom, I don’t think you do have your end. In fact, I don’t think you ever had it. I always,alwayspick it up first, and sometimes you come round to chip in when it suits you. But you’ll let your end drop—you always do. Hell, you’ve dropped more chairs than I can even keep track of. I don’t know that I trust you to put your hands on my chair.”

I don’t think we’re talking about the chair anymore.

Trying to parcel out what he’sactuallytrying to say is giving me a migraine. “Beau, I haven’t slept. I’m tired. And stressed. I haven’t showered in two weeks, and I smell worse than the barracks bathroom after curry night. Can you just tell me what the problem is so I can fix it?”

If he tells meI should just know, I’m going to set his chair on fire.

Beau’s face clouds over, like a storm is setting in, and then he leans over the chair.

And somethingbeepsat his waist. Beau looks down, checking the receiver he has attached to his belt. If the radio or any of the cameras are set off, the receiver sends an alert.

He looks up at me, then heads for the door without a word. I catch up quickly, falling in beside him as we make for the study. We cross the inner balcony, and as we pass the music room, I hear Eden and Jasper talking through the cracked door.

Beau must hear it too, because his steps slow for a moment, before he glances at me and picks the pace back up.

I can feel the build in him now. His steps are too clipped, his mouth too tight. He’s like clockwork, and he’s right on track to be beating down his wrath like it really is a sin he needs to strangle.

We pass through the secret bookcase, and by the time we make it into the study, he looks ready to burst.

Ready to wait him out, I look up at the cameras, but most of them are dormant. The only motion camera activated is way out west, where a new Reapers banner is flapping across the main road out of the forest.

Great. They’ve rebranded.

I glance back at our HAM radio. “Has Bentley been trying to reach us?”

I walk over to it and open our transmission, fixing the dials and tuning in to the Cyanide repeater group. I gave him our call sign and took his down, but he said he wouldn’t talk to anyone until he heard my voice.

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