AMANDA
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered, pacing the length of the room.
The keys sat on the table. Right there. Right where Colt had dropped them after teasing me like it was a joke, like it didn’t matter that I was begging.
I turned to Ashton, with that maddening, unreadable expression.
“Say something,” I snapped.
He blinked, slow. “What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know,” I hissed. “Maybe that I’m right? That this is a suicide mission? That they’re all going to die because they refuse to listen?”
I turned sharply, my nerves snapping like a live wire. “We need to go after them.”
A slow, mocking sigh.
Ashton didn’t even pretend to care. He was slouched in the chair like he had all the time in the world, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, the other resting over his stoma
