Page 45 of Kings of Sherwood

“I’ve got medicine.” He lifts a bottle of Jim Beam.

I have to roll my eyes. “Don’t break out the good stuff just for me.”

“Cram it, Boston. Jim and I go way back.”

I close the door behind me and take a seat on the floor next to him, my back against the wall, and accept the two-finger pour he hands me.

“Salud.” I raise my glass, take a sip.

Steady my nerves.

Here goes nothing.

“We have to talk,” I say.

Rob doesn’t move, doesn’t even look my way. “About?”

“I think you know what.”

He cracks a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “If this is about the goddamn housekeeper, Scarlet, I swear—”

“It’s not,” I cut in, “although the issue still remains.” I flick a discarded pair of boxers away from me and take a deep breath. “We need to leave Sherwood.”

He stiffens. “No.”

It’s calm, knee-jerk, not unexpected. I suck in another inhale.

“I knew you’d say that. So here’s all the reasons you’re wrong.” I slug back more bourbon for liquid courage and tick out my fingers. “The bounty is making us sitting ducks. The perimeter’s not going to hold forever no matter what I do; it’s not designed to be secure against constant, round-the-clock threats. We don’t help anyone by dying here or getting thrown into whatever kangaroo court Maren’s uncle has in store for us. And Wheatley’s guys won’t be furloughed forever. They figure out a way to escalate this, we’re talking FBI. Federal prison. I don’t think I have to tell you why that’s bad news. For us. Forher.We’re all criminals in many, varied,creativeways.”

He grunts. “We’re not just criminals.”

God, he makes me want to tear my hair out.That’sthe point he decides to argue with? “Okay, sure,” I say, fighting to keep my voice even. “But we aren’tnot.”

“We help people,” he goes on. “By any means necessary. And sometimes those means are crimes.”

“Frequently,” I correct. “Frequentlythey are crimes. In fact, almost exclusively, I’d argue. But guess what? That doesn’t even matter. Because now those samepeopleare trying to kill us.”

“You mean one scared kid with a bargain-bin firearm?” Rob swipes at the air, sips his glass. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of that.”

“You’re being willfully obtuse,Robin,” I say, letting every syllable drip with the hard prep-school diction I know he hates. “And you know it. Where there’s one, there’s many. Sure, tonight, there only happened to beonestupid enough to go out in a monsoon. But that doesn’t mean other, more capable people aren’t out there. This is theSouth,for Christ’s sake. You of all people should know that the population’s armed to the teeth.”

Rob muses for a long moment.

“I almost...” he trails off. Another pause. “I almost wish hehadbeen some tactical badass, you know? Someone we could take out and actually fight.”

He’s dodging the point again. But at least he’s not outright disagreeing with me. So I decide to humor him. “That wouldn’t not have been a pain in the ass,” I point out.

“No,” he agrees. “But it’d be simpler.”

“Well, we’ve never really done simple,” I snap. “Why start now?”

Rob nods, staring into the middle distance.

“If we leave, what even are we?” he says at last.

“Safe?” I offer. “For one thing. Alive. Not in the crosshairs of every hillbilly for a hundred square miles who hates us and wants us dead?”

Rob shakes his head. “Nah. Nah, not at all. See, that’s the thing.”Nowhe looks me in the eye, those green eyes cutting me right to the center. “Theydon’thate us. Hell, they like us, or used to. Neutral, at minimum. They’re only hunting us because they’re broke and desperate.”

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