Something’s shifting.
And I don’t know if I like it.
Her eyes are on me. Wide, frightened, frantic, pleading eyes that glimmer under the weak yellow glow of the single overhead bulb. Rico’s laughing at something that isn’t funny, like he always does, his teeth flashing too white in his tanned face. He’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, tattoos crawling up both of them like serpents ready to strike.
He asks me if there’s any news. I shake my head. No. Not yet. He chuckles like this is all a goddamn game. Like she isn’t trembling on that chair, her legs pressed tight together, her shoulders curling inward as if that will make her smaller.
Rico tilts his head toward her and tells her that she better get comfortable then. My jaw tightens when I see her glance down at the untouched plate of food by her feet, her lashes low but not low enough to hide the flicker of want that betrays her. Then she snaps her gaze away, chin tipping stubbornly toward the corner.
I take a slow sip of my soda and let the fizz burn down my throat. My body stretches as I stand, rolling my shoulders like I’ve been sitting too long. I tell Rico I’m calling it a night. He can watch over her. He can shout if there’s a problem.
And then her head jerks up. “Wait,” she blurts. “Please.”
My brow lifts. I stop moving.
Her voice cracks. “Please don’t leave me here with him.”
The words sink in. Rico stiffens, his grin faltering, but I don’t look at him. I keep my gaze on her.
I step closer, my boots heavy on the floor. “Why?” I ask.
She swallows. Her lips part, glossy and trembling. “It’s not safe.”
Not safe.
It makes me smile. My chest tightens around it, but it’s there. The irony. The contradiction. The fucking insanity of it. She thinks she’d be safer with me?
I crouch a little so my face is level with hers, close enough to see the tiny freckle beneath her left eye. “What makes you think you’d be safe with me?”
Her throat works as she whispers, looking deeply into my eyes. “Please.”
Fuck me. I hate myself even before I do it. Even before my hands move on instinct. I untie her wrists, ignoring Rico’s sharp exhale from across the room. She rubs at her raw skin, wincing, but she doesn’t stop looking at me.
I grab her by the elbow and haul her up, guiding her down the narrow hall to the spare room. It smells like damp wood anddust, like it hasn’t been used in months. A thin mattress lies crumpled against the wall with a pile of bedding on top of it.
She stands frozen in the doorway while I strip the mattress bare and lay out fresh sheets, tucking corners, pulling blankets, making it neat like muscle memory. I can feel her eyes on me the whole time. Quiet. Watchful. Fidgeting with the hem of her skirt.
Her legs catch my attention. Long, toned, smooth. Cheerleader legs. No hair. Skin like porcelain stretched over strength. I shouldn’t be noticing. I shouldn’t be looking. But I am.
When I’m done, I step back and look at her. “There.”
She flinches when I brush past her, going back to grab the plate of food. When I return, I hand it over.
“I’m not hungry,” she says quickly, shaking her head.
“I don’t care,” I reply, flat.
Her lips part in surprise, and then her gaze slides toward the door like she’s calculating.
“You can sleep here,” I tell her. “Or out there with him. Your choice.”
Her shoulders slump, the smallest sound leaving her throat. Defeat. She takes the food, sits at the edge of the bed, and finally digs in.
I watch her. The way she chews delicately, the way she wipes her lips with the napkin like she’s at a dinner table instead of in a goddamn hideout. It’s almost comical.
“What?” she blurts, catching me staring.
“Nothing,” I murmur.
