“You’ve got no choice, Dina.” He says my name as if he’s my daddy. “Drive the car.”
Chapter 3
She drove me home
Declan
Dina lives in a beige, three-story building in the older part of Selnoa near the coast. The location and her dialect tell me she’s a Selnoan native, and given that her daughter attends a local college on the other side of the city, I’m guessing that Dina has lived in Selnoa all her life.
We park in the residential parking spot under the building and climb a flight of stairs. Correction. Dina climbs. I carry my sniper case and drag my right foot while hopping on the steps with my left one. The older buildings have no elevators. Dina lives on the top floor.
Because of course she does.
Annoyed, I hop after her.
When I look up, her tennis-style black skirt gives me a nice view of her thighs. I can’t see her underwear, so I stop for a rest and let her ascend a little farther. Ah, there we go. Tan underwear. More peach than beige. I lean toward peach because that’s what I imagine Dina Ferrar would taste like.
“We don’t have an elevator,” she says from the top of the steps, having reached the second floor.
“Once I’m up, I have no plans on coming back down for a while.”
She bites her lip. “My dad stops by often.”
“You’ll tell him you have a new boyfriend.”
She sighs. “You think quick on your feet.”
She’s sassy. I raise an eyebrow.
Dina waits for me and offers me her shoulder. “You can lean on me if you’d like.”
She feels bad that she made fun of my crippled leg. I don’t want her sympathy. I shake my head. “And miss the opportunity to look up your skirt? Not in a million years. Ladies first.”
As we continue up the steps, she says, “You’re such a man.”
I shrug. “If you say so.” Her words carry weight. I’m aware she’s going through a divorce, and her ex might’ve wronged her.
In my limited experience, women are loyal to the men they marry, even if they don’t love them. I can’t say the same about the men. My father was a bastard, born out of wedlock to Grampa’s mistress. My father whored out my mother and made money off the men who wanted her.
“You’re in pretty good shape,” Dina comments as she digs into her purse for the key to an apartment with a green door. The one across has a blue door with a white swivel stripe. A nod to the local soccer team. Dina’s door must not sit well with the neighbor. The opposing team’s colors are green and yellow.
I hook a thumb over my shoulder. “How is your neighbor during soccer matches?”
Dina looks up from her purse. Her eyes are pretty. Deep dark brown, not a fleck of yellow. Like chestnuts. They appeared burgundy in the sunlight on the road earlier, but that’s because of the tousled, shoulder-length brown hair Dina colors deep red.One of her earrings is a large yellow hoop, the other some sort of Christmas ornament.
When she doesn’t answer but keeps staring at me, I raise an eyebrow.
Dina blinks. “Oh. Sorry. Paki is bad on most days. Insufferable during soccer matches.”
“Is he nosy?”
“He keeps to himself.”
“Good.”
Dina digs into her purse some more. “I can’t find my… Here we go.” She pulls out a single key. “Ta-da. Found it.”
“Lucky me,” I mumble in my native tongue. I’m from Couldermouth, a town on sovereign land that’s not on this coast. My mother grew up around here and taught us the language before my dad killed her. I’m forced to speak it with Dina; otherwise, I wouldn’t bother.
