Niall tried to move her behind him, murmuring, "Come away from him."

But Irial slid his hands around Leslie's waist. His thumbs slipped under the edge of her shirt to stroke her skin. Her eyes blurred at the pleasure of that casual touch—not anger, not fear, just want.

Irial was asking Niall, "You didn't think she was yours, did you? Just like old times. You find them, and I take them."

Leslie blinked, trying to focus, trying to remember what she should be doing. She should be afraid. She should be angry … or something. She shouldn't be watching Irial's mouth. She stumbled as she tried to back away from him.

Niall bristled. Leslie could swear his eyes actually flashed. He stepped closer to Irial, hand clenched like he'd strike him. He didn't. He just ground out, "Stay away from her. You're—"

"Mind your place, boy. You have no authority over me or mine. You made your feelings on that quite clear." Irial pulled Leslie closer until she was right back where she'd been when they danced, in his arms and frighteningly unable—unwilling—to move.

Her face was flame red, but she couldn't move for several heartbeats.

"No," she said, forcing the word out. "Let go."

Then Niall stepped forward. "Leave her alone."

His eyes did flash.

"She's a friend of our court, of Aislinn's, of mine." Niall moved as close as he could to Irial without touching him.

Court?

"My girl claimed by your family?" Irial pulled her up so they were face-to-face and gazed at her as if there were secrets written on her skin. "She's not been claimed by yours."

Claimed? Leslie looked at him, at Niall, at the strangers around her. This is not my world.

"Let go of me," she said. Her voice wasn't strong, but it was there.

And he did. He let go of her and stepped away so suddenly, she had to grab his arm to keep from falling to the floor. She was mortified.

"Get her out of here," Niall said. From somewhere in the crowd behind him, Seth stepped forward. He reached out for her hand, an uncharacteristically friendly move for him, and pulled her away from Irial.

"Soon, love," Irial said again as he bowed from the waist.

Leslie shivered. If her legs had been working, she would've run from the club. Instead the best she could do was stumble alongside Seth.

Leslie and Seth had gone several blocks before she felt able to look at him. They weren't friends—by his choice—but she still trusted him more than she trusted most guys. She still valued his opinion.

They were almost at the Comix Connexion before she spoke…"I’m sorry.”

She'd glanced at him as she said it but turned away at the sight of the anger on his face. His hands were held in loose fists. He wouldn't hurt her—Seth wasn't like that— but she still flinched when he reached out and caught her wrist.

"Sorry for what?" He quirked his eyebrow.

She stopped walking. "For making a scene, for acting like a big slut in front of you and Niall, for …"

"Stop." Seth shook his head. "That was not your fault. Irial's trouble. Just… just get away from him if you see him coming your way, okay? If you can, just go. Don't run, but get out."

Mutely, she nodded, and Seth pulled his hand away from her wrist. Like at the Rath, Leslie was sure he knew things he wasn't saying. Is it a gang thing? She hadn't heard of any real gangs in Huntsdale, but that didn't mean there weren't any. Whatever it was that Seth knew, he wasn't talking, and she didn't know how to ask. Instead she said, "Where are you going?"

"We are going to my house."

"We?"

"You have somewhere else safe to go before work?" His voice was gentle, but she felt certain that it wasn't a real question.

"No," she said, turning away from the too-knowing look on his face.

He didn't say anything else, but she'd seen the understanding in his eyes. And in that instant, she was sure that he—and therefore Aislinn—knew how ugly things were at home. They knew that she'd been lying to them, to everyone.

She took a deep breath and said, "Ren's probably there, so … you know, not exactly the safest place to be."

Seth nodded. "You're always welcome to crash at the house if you need."

She tried to laugh it off. "It's not …"

He raised an eyebrow.

And she sighed and stopped lying. "I'll remember that."

"You want to talk?"

"No. Not today. Maybe later." She blinked back the tears in her eyes. "Ash knows, then?"

"That Ren hits you or about what happened with his dealer?"

"Yeah." She felt like throwing up. "Both, I guess."

"She knows. She's been there, in a bad place, you know? Not the same, not as—" He stopped. He didn't offer her a hug or do any of those touchy-feely things that a lot of people would do, things that would make her fall apart.

"Right." Leslie folded her arms over her chest, feeling her world unraveling from somewhere inside, and knowing she couldn't fix it.

How long have they known?

Seth swallowed audibly before adding, "She'll hear about Irial too. You can talk to her."

"Like she talks to me?" Leslie held his gaze then.

"Not my business either way, but—" He bit his lip ring and rolled it into his mouth. He stared at her for several heartbeats before saying, "You'd both be better off if you started being straight with each other."

Panic welled up inside of her, a black bubble that made her throat feel tight. Like it had when their hands … No. She wasn't thinking about that, wouldn't think about it. Lately, the awful feelings had been so distant. She wished they would stay that way. She wished numbness would settle over her. She started walking faster, almost running, feet hitting the sidewalk with a steady thunking noise.

If I could outrun the memories… She couldn't, but it was better to think her heart raced from running than from the terror hidden in the memories. She ran.

And Seth ran steadily beside her, not behind or in front, keeping his pace measured to hers. He didn't try to stop her, try to make her talk. He just sprinted alongside her like running through the streets was perfectly normal.

They were at the edge of the railroad yard where he lived before she could bear to stop. Breathing deeply, she stared at one of the fire-blackened buildings across the street. Standing there in the patch of grass that shouldn't thrive in the dirty lot, she braced herself for the conversation she didn't want to have. She asked, "So how … what … how much do you know?"

"I heard about Ren setting you up to get out of trouble."

Hands, bruising, laughter, the sickly-sweet smell of crack, voices, Ren's voice, bleeding. She let the memories wash over her. I didn’t drown. I didn't break.

Seth didn't look away, didn't flinch.

And neither did she. She might scream when the nightmares found her, but not by choice, not when she was awake.

She tilted her head back and forced her voice to stay steady. "I survived."

"You did." Seth's keys clinked together as he shook them to find the door key. "But if everyone had known how bad things were before Ren let—" He stopped himself, looking pained. "We didn't know. We were so caught up with … things, and—"

Leslie turned away. She didn't—couldn't—say anything. She kept her back to him. The door creaked open but didn't slam closed, which meant he was standing there waiting.

She cleared her throat, but her voice sounded as tear-filled as it was. "I'll be in. I just need a sec."

She darted a glance his way, but he was staring into the empty air behind her.

"I'll be in," she repeated.

The only answer was the sound of the door closing gently.