Page 68 of The Revenge Agenda

Molly’s waiting in the hall. “See? It wouldn’t have made a difference if we told him you were here or not. We … didn’t want you to see him like that.”

“Like what?”

“Hyperfocused. He gets like that sometimes. We probably won’t see him for a few days.”

“A few days?”

Molly crosses his arms. “We only didn’t stop you because Rush says you’re a good guy. So you better not judge him.”

I screw up my face. “Why would I judge him? I want to understand.”

“It’s him. Most of the time, his attention is clouded because of his sparkly brain. But sometimes, it gets super focused on things and literally cannot let them go. Like, if we made him come out of there, he’d be physically here but mentally back in there. And it would make him hella anxious to not be doing the thing he feels like he has to do. Understand now?”

“Not even a little bit.” I turn my frown back to the door. “Can I help him somehow?”

“Help? He doesn’t need help. He’s not in danger. Just give him space, and in a few days, he’ll pull through.”

No matter what Molly says, his complete disconnect is a worry. “Will he remember to eat?”

“Nope. We take it in turns bringing up food and something to drink. This isn’t our first rodeo, cowboy. And once Madden’s home, he’ll sit up here with him. Try to get him to sleep.”

“He won’t sleep?”

“Nope. He’s been up here since he got home last night.”

Okay, so he might not be hurt, but that’s definitely not healthy. I don’t like it. But according to Molly, there’s no way to help.

“Does … did something happen? Why now?”

“He’s escaping,” Seven says, joining us. “The world is too much, so he’s hiding in his head.”

“Neither of you are doing much to reassure me,” I point out.

Seven nudges Molly. “Imagine being this mentally well-adjusted?”

“Excuse me, I am too mentally well-adjusted.” Molly plants his hands on his hips.

“Uh-huh. Tell me about your mommy issues?”

Molly flips him off. “It’s Rush’s choice to live his life this way. It’s not up to us to tell him if it’s right or wrong or healthy or not.”

“But what the fuck is he hiding from?”

Seven’s face tightens, turning all hard edges and even scarier than usual. “He saw that scum last night. The chapjockey thought he had the right to put his hands on Rush.”

My brain short-circuits. “He … what?”

“Felt him up. Rush thinks it’s his fault because he didn’t tell him to stop.”

My blood pressure shoots off. Roars in my ears. “What. Exactly. Happened?”

Seven huffs, looking like he’s about to punch a wall. I’m feeling the urge too. “He was trying to win Rush back. Kept moving closer even though Rush told him he wasn’t sure. He was scared of you. Then foul-fingered frogface slipped his hand between Rush’s legs and told him he missed his dick. Rush took off after that and was pretty upset when he got home. It was a real effort to get that much out of him.”

Anger burns in my gut, overriding all my common sense, and turning my vision red. My fists curl tight. “I’m going to kill him.”

I don’t give them any more than that before I head for the stairs and thunder down them. My anger is a storm in my ears, and I know I need to cool it, I know I need to calm things down, but then I remember he put his hands on Rush. He upset Rush. I’m seeing red.

It’s not until I get to my car and the passenger door clicks open that I realize I’m not alone.

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