“Hey Daisy, you need to tell your fuck-buddies to wrap it, honey, or you’re going to be sixteen and pregnant.” “I’m eighteen,” Daisy says flatly, but only I can still hear her. I glare hard at Emilia. “You need to fucking go.” Her smile fades. “I’m just joking around, Ryke.” She tosses the pills back to me. I catch it with one hand. “Daisy knows that.” “I’m not fucking joking.”
my defensive king
