Ronin is in jail.

It hits me hard and I sink down onto the couch and scrub my face with my hands, trying to stave off a headache. I’m pretty pissed that I didn’t figure out these guys had a past. I mean, f**k, Rook. How stupid can you be? How gullible? How naive? And now I’m right back where I was when I showed up at Antoine’s.

Confused.

Is Ronin a good guy?

Fucking Ford admits he’s not a good guy. That shit came right out of his own mouth at my birthday party. In fact, he brought that woman on purpose, to show me specifically that he’s got serious issues. The kind of issues I am very familiar with.

And Spencer admitted to killing a guy.

And they’re all responsible for at least two illegal jobs that I know of. How many more are there?

“Rook,” Spencer says as he takes a seat next to me. “I’m the same guy I was last night when you cried on my shoulder. I’m the same guy who painted your body all summer, remember?”

I sigh. “I know, Spencer.” He does know me awful well, doesn’t he? Practically reads my mind now.

“And even though Ford is an ass**le when he’s working, he’s still the same guy he was this morning when he took you running. Right?”

I look over at Ford and he’s glaring at me. “What’s with that look?”

“Blackbird,” Spence says, pulling my attention back to him. “He’s still the same guy. You’ve just never met the ass**le version we all know and hate. And right now we all have to morph into that other version of ourselves. Because we gotta get out of this, Rook. No one’s coming to help us. So please, we just all need to do our jobs.”

“But what’s my job, Spencer?”

“Be quiet and do what you’re told. Just let us handle this one, OK? Just let us take care of it.”

“But you said you’re not gonna help Ronin, right?”

“Ronin will help himself. He’s good at what he does, he’s smart, he’s devious and sneaky and all those things you hate about men and certainly don’t want to hear are your boyfriend’s God-given gifts. But he’ll figure something out. It just might take some time, that’s all.”

I avoid Ford’s penetrating stare as I mull all this over. Because I don’t want to know these versions of my friends.

I want Ford to stay the guy I trust to point me in the right direction and force me to do things that are good for me even though I hate it.

I want Spencer to stay the guy who makes me laugh, paints me pretty biker jackets, and makes scrapbooks of our body art so I’ll be happy.

And I want Ronin to be the guy I spend forever with. I want to sleep next to him, and go on long vacations with him, and take beastly sexy showers with him.

But as long as this shit is hanging over us, nothing will ever be like that again.

So I just curl up on the end of the couch and close my eyes. I’m tired and I’m gonna grab some shuteye while I can. Because I will be one busy girl in a few hours.

Chapter Thirty-Four - RONIN

This is how I get through jail. Because this isn’t the first time I’ve been under suspicion, nor will it probably be the last, considering the wake of crime spraying out behind me from all our previous jobs. But this is what I do.

One. Embrace the orange jumpsuit. You cannot fight it. It’s dirty, it smells like that cheap-ass soap they use, and it’s had more hands on it than you want to think about. But unless you want to go naked—and you don’t, trust me, the mattresses are revolting enough to make you want to sleep on the floor, even with the sheets and orange jumpsuit—just learn to love it.

Two. Do not eat more than once a day. No matter what. They really are trying to poison you.

Three. Do not think about what you might be guilty of. That just makes you vulnerable to questioning.

Four. Embrace your alone time. No people to talk to means fewer ways to screw yourself over.

Five. Try your hardest not to think about the girl on the outside and what she may be thinking of you right now.

Rook has got to be out of her mind. And the really f**ked-up part about all this is that I have no idea what I’m being held for. They said felony obstruction, but that could pertain to just about anything I’ve done over the past five years. I’ve had a long career of justice obstruction.

But I’m not supposed to think about that shit, or Rook, or Spencer, or Ford, or Elise.

Elise is gonna kill me.

I am so f**king dead when I get out of jail. She’s gonna want answers, she’s gonna want promises, she’s gonna want all kinds of shit I might not be able to tell her.

Damn, this jumpsuit is itchy. And I could really go for some fresh fruit.

A loud buzzer sounds and my door clicks open. A guard appears with his hand on his weapon. “Flynn, you’ve got a visitor.”

“Awesome, finally someone to talk to in this shithole.”

Did I mention rule six? Don’t fool yourself into thinking you can stick to these rules. Because jail, and especially county jail, sucks ass. And you will have no choice but to wish for company, think about the shitty clothes, the poisonous food, your crime—real or imaginary—and your girl, who probably left your ass as soon as she heard you were incarcerated.

I pass by the guard and then follow the hallway until I get to a door. This visitor can only be one of two people. Elise—and I’m so hoping not, because she’s gonna cry and shit and that’s just not good for the baby—or Rook. Because our partnership rules state that Spencer and Ford are not allowed to come visit.