Chapter 8 · The Door Doesn't Care Whose Hands Are On It

"They gave the order twenty minutes ago," Dutch says through the radio, and Knox's thumb goes white on the button before he even answers. "Board says you're compromised. Says the Voss girl's got you thinking with something other than your head, boss. We're coming through the wash line whether you open it or not."

Knox doesn't answer him. He drops the radio on the shelf so hard the battery pops loose and skitters under the rack, and when he turns around his eyes are already on me like I'm the one who said it.

"You hear that?" I say, tray hugged to my chest, the match stem rattling in its little plastic well. "Your own crew thinks you're mine now."

"Shut up, Rhea."

"Make me."

He crosses the vault in two steps. I back into the shelving before I mean to, metal cold enough to bite through my shirt, and then his hand is flat on the steel beside my head, not touching me, just there, close enough that I can smell him —