She looked at Tyler and put a hand up. “Just wait here.”

For an instant, she was ready for Tyler to refuse.

But then he shrugged and said, “Okay,” and she realized she’d been hoping he would refuse.

The lock gave and she was through the door. She closed it gently, quietly, leaving it unlocked to spare her one extra second if she needed to get out fast.

This was ridiculous, creeping into her own house. Back before the fire, when she’d lived around the corner from Becca, everything had been on the ground level, and she hadn’t needed to pass anyone to get in and out of her room. The window had worked fine for that. And while their house had never been large, everyone had their own room.

This bullshit with Jake was infuriating.

Even now, the living room was empty and dim. Her mother must have been in the bedroom, or hell, maybe she’d gone out, too. But Quinn could see light beneath her own bedroom door.

She could hear them in there—but barely, with the racket her heart was kicking up.

She wanted to turn and run through the door and tell Tyler all her clothes had been stolen.

And then what would she do? Go back to his place with her dance shorts and her worn fleece pullover? Wear that to school?

She hated that her life had devolved to the point where she had to choose the lesser of two evils.

But . . . maybe Tyler wasn’t evil at all. She still couldn’t tell.

The kiss, the admission that he’d wanted to ensure she was free before making a move . . . she couldn’t wrap her head around it.

God, she was stalling. Ridiculous. She needed her stuff and she was going to walk in there and get it. She straightened her spine, stalked over to her bedroom door, and threw it open.

The room smelled acrid and foul. She stumbled back. Jake sat on the floor with three of his friends. They all looked up when she entered.

Two guys looked dazed and confused. She’d never seen them before. Heavy-lidded and slack-jawed, they were leaning up against her bed like they had no intention of moving. Ever.

The other guy, sitting next to Jake, looked interested, and not in a good way. In a don’t-touch-me-you-creep way. He also looked filthy, like he hadn’t showered in three days. Lank dark hair clung to his forehead, and he wore a tank top and shorts despite the fact that it was getting below freezing at night. A glass pipe sat in his hands.

Nice.

Jake got to his feet, a little unsteadily. He was tall and lanky and muscled, befitting a star basketball player. But whereas he’d once been quite a looker with blue eyes and that shock of blond hair, now he looked drawn and washed out. His eyes were bloodshot. And paranoid. “Get the f**k out of here, Quinn.”

“I just want my stuff,” she said.

Greasy tank top snorted. “She’s cute, J, where’ve you been hiding her?”

She expected his voice to be lazy and drawling, to match the boys who could barely hold themselves upright, but it wasn’t.

His tone was too interested. Too alert. It made her skin crawl.

Quinn wanted to step past them, to grab clothes from her dresser, but she remembered the last time she’d run into one of Jake’s friends, and she kept her distance.

“Get out of here,” said Jake. He took a step toward her and grabbed her arm. “You hear me? Quit messing with me.”

She jerked free. “I’m not messing with you!” she snapped. “I haven’t even been here!”

He came after her. “Look, you—”

She ducked under his arm and slid through the doorway into her room. Jake grunted, and she half expected him to grab her, but judging by the racket he made, he must have stumbled into the doorjamb. She made it past his friends and flung open a dresser drawer. “Just let me get my stuff. Then you can keep smoking pot until your lungs burn out.”

“That’s not pot.”

Tyler’s voice. Quinn spun.

He’d caught Jake’s arm and twisted it behind him, and just now had him pinned up against the wall.

Her brother was struggling, but though he was tall, Tyler had the advantage in mass.

Tyler gave her a look. “Hurry up, huh?”

Quinn hustled.

Greasy boy took all this in stride, his sharp eyes watching everything. “Is that Tyler Morgan?” he said. “Dude, I didn’t know this was your scene.”

“It’s not,” said Tyler. His voice was even, as if Jake wasn’t trying to buck his hold.

Quinn flung clothes into her backpack without looking. Her heart was in her throat. Jake was cursing at Tyler now. Tall-dark-and-sinister was flicking a lighter, but he couldn’t seem to get it to spark.

She had no idea whether this was going better or worse than if Tyler hadn’t intervened.

The bag wouldn’t hold any more, and she jerked at the zipper.

“Get the keys out of my pocket,” said Tyler. “Go down and start the truck.”

The dark-haired boy flicked the lighter again. Still no flame.

“Sure you don’t want to stay, sweet thing?”

“I’m worried I might puke on you,” said Quinn. It took everything she had not to kick him in the face.

Especially since he grabbed her ass when she skittered by him.

She whirled, her hand balled into a fist.

“Go,” said Tyler. “Ignore him.”

“I’m going to f**k you up,” Jake wheezed. “You think you’re so—”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Tyler. “Quinn. The keys.”