Chapter 17 · Safe House, My Ass

The phone's already at my ear when the window explodes.

Glass everywhere. Locke's got me on the floor before I can scream, his body covering mine, one hand yanking my head down. Something hot zips past where I was standing. The curtain's shredding itself, fabric just disintegrating in a line across the room.

"Stay down." Locke's voice is flat. Cold. He's not even looking at me. He's looking at the door.

My phone's still in my hand. Devin's voice is tiny, tinny. "Ivy? Ivy, what's—"

Locke rips it out of my grip and kills the call. Tosses it across the room. "How many people knew this address?"

"I don't—" Another burst. The lamp explodes. Porcelain and blood. Wait, blood. Locke's shoulder. "You're hit."

"Grazed." He doesn't even glance at it. He's moving, dragging me toward the bathroom. "How many, Ivy."

"Just—just your guys. The ones who drove us." My voice sounds wrong. Too high. "And Devin."

His jaw does this thing. This tightening thing that means someone's about to die. "Devin."

"He didn't—he wouldn't—"

"You told him where we were?"

"No. I swear I didn't. I didn't tell him anything." But even as I say it I'm remembering. The texts.