BREE’S POV
I pull off the jackets and get into the luxurious shower.
The water sticks exactly like she warned. I fix it and stand under the heat, feeling it wash away the last few hours.
And the whole time, Daiya will not settle.
She paces, restless and whining inside me, aching and beckoning me to chase the tug in my chest to wherever the men were.
It feels almost like there has been a hook sunk into my chest, reeling me to them—it’s unexplainable, a burning that intensifies on the spot where I was marked, and it is deeply, annoyingly inconvenient.
Go down, she keeps saying. Go back. Get close. Get warm.
“Absolutely not,” I tell the tile, like a woman losing her grip on reality. “We are not going to go and throw ourselves on those three psychopaths just because you’re a horny lit
