Page 92 of Chaos

That, though, is not the root of my emphatic, “Oh,fuck.”

“What?”

I blink a couple of times, like that might erase the image of the lifted, bright green truck that screamssmall dick energyhurtling our way. When it doesn’t, I swear again and stumble back from the window and right into Finn, my back slamming into his chest while steadying hands land on my hips. “It’s the Webers.”

A hot, huffed exhale brushes the top of my head. “Stay here. I’ll handle this.”

Not a fucking chance.

Locking an iron-grip around his wrist, I yank Finn away from the door. Despite his protests, I yank again, and again and again until I reach a different door, one I’m hoping leads to a decent-sized closet. When I open it and find just that—although,decentis a bit of a stretch—I hastily shove Finn inside, ignoring his baffled exclamation as I throw myself in too and shut us in.

Not a single inch of space separates us. Not a singleparticleof space separates us. Literally nothing. Every time he breathes, I feel it. When he asks what we’re doing, I feel the vibration in my own chest as clearly as I do in his, and the sensation makes me shift except I can’t shift, there’s no goddamn room.

Fists balled at my sides—did I mention his hands are once again firmly planted on my hips?—I clear my throat. “Hiding.”

“Not that I’m complaining.” Finn dips his head to whisper against my temple, unknowingly depriving himself of the flush that stains my cheeks as I, against my own will, take his words a little more seriously than intended. “But why?”

“Let’s just say you were really, really wrong when you assumed I was friends with the Webers.”

“What does that mean?”

“Just that I’d rather not be caught snooping around the trailer of a couple of men who’re known for their gun collection and who also happen to hate me.”

Finn is silent for a second. And then he hisses and growls and practically shrieks all in one sentence, “You think they wouldshootyou?”

“Oh, repeatedly.” I have no doubt about that. Probably not, like, fatally or anything. Maybe just in my general direction—it wouldn’t be the first time they’ve used that maniacal scare tactic on a trespasser, and I’m not just any ol’ trespasser, am I?

Finn shifts impossibly closer, gripping me like I’m liable to float away at any moment. “What the fuck, Lottie?”

What the fuck, indeed. What the fuck am I supposed to say? To tell him? The truth? Jesus, I’d rather take the bullet—it would probably hurt less than the nauseating shame that seizes my gut when I think about regaling Finn with the tale of my little tryst with the eldest Weber.

Better he think I’m being dramatic. Better he think I’m lying and just wanted to reenact my teenagedom with a bout of seven minutes in heaven. Better literally any other scenario than me spilling the beans on what kicked off a very steep downfall. “Fuck me, this was so dumb.”

“Not gonna argue with you there.”

I cut Finn a glare.

“Relax, princess.” One hand shifts to my lower back, drumming a hypnotic rhythm. “They’re not gonna hurt you, okay?”

“Not without me hurting them first.”

Fingers dig into me, pulling all of my focus. Harsher,firmer, he repeats, “They’re not gonna hurt you.”

I swallow. “Okay.”

Finn nods, sharp and satisfied. His hand slips lower again, partially dipping beneath the waistband of my jeans like he needs some skin-to-skin contact and only the curve of my fucking ass will do. At least when my breath catches, I can blame it on the trailer’s front door opening at the same time.

Instinctively, I press my face against Finn’s chest—muffling the sound of my erratic breathing, I tell myself. The same way I tell myself it’s just instinct that has Finn stroking my hair with long, smooth movements.

It would be nice, I think, if stomping footsteps didn’t have us both stiffening, didn’t remind me of the shitty situation I’ve gotten us into.

“I’m telling you, man,” Clint fucking Weber’s voice bleeds through the thin closet door, so startlingly close it makes me jolt. “Those horses looked saddled.”

“You’re paranoid,” someone else replies—Carl. Fuck my life. Of course, it had to be both of them. “No one comes out here. Now, would you hurry the fuck up?”

Yes,I silently agree as my palms find their way to Finn’s chest, fisting the soft material of his t-shirt.Hurry up. Get out.

In a miraculous turn of events, the universe grants me a rare kindness. The brothers don’t linger for very long, the sound of their retreat putting a miraculous end to my brewing heart attack. As the front door slams shut, I exhale loudly, gently banging my forehead against the clammy throat it’s nestled against. “Close call, hey?”

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