The calm in his voice didn’t match the fear in the air. It didn’t make sense. And Colby hated things that he couldn’t understand—they were dangerous, unpredictable. Could turn on a dime and go from ease to attack.
Colby put the bowl on the floor between them, the bottle by its side. He didn’t miss the longing look the water received, but their prisoner obviously wasn’t going to weaken, not yet.
“You’re one of Urban’s pack. Cale’s got questions for you,” Colby said.
The prisoner frowned. “But you know where we live, you know we have an Argent in the pack—what questions could be left? That’sridiculous.”
Colby closed his eyes for a second. This was worse than he’d thought. If this guy showed Nico or Cale even a hint of that attitude, he’d spend the last hours of his life in unrelenting agony.
“Whatever the questions are,” he said, “I suggest you answer them without mouthing off. Things will go better for you that way.”
“Yeah? They’ll pat me on the head and send me home? I’m not that gullible, you know.”
“No, they won’t do that,” Colby said. “But at least that way you’ll die easy.”
The prisoner stared at him, wide-eyed. Colby could hear his heart rate kick up until it was pounding, fast and uneven.
“So, they’ve sent you in to soften me up,” he said at last, trying to sound as if he wasn’t intimidated.
Colby shook his head. “Their ways are a bit more direct than that. I’m just saying, make it easy on yourself and answer their questions.”
“And betray mypack?” Colby wasn’t sure if it was indignation or fear that cracked the prisoner’s voice. “I guess you’ve never heard of loyalty or principles then. But of course you haven’t, or you wouldn’t be with Cale.” His lip curled as he stared at Colby. “And my name’s Tristan, by the way. You might want to remember that for when my pack comes for me.”
“Eat your damn food if you want it,” Colby snapped, unsettled by Tristan’s words.
Tristan might believe what he was saying, that only someone without principles could be part of Cale’s pack. But it was because he didn’t know what Cale and Nico were capable of. Everyone had a breaking point.Everyone.It was just that some reached it sooner than others, and some only realized they’d passed it months after it had happened.
Tristan inched forward cautiously and picked up the bottle. “Guess you’ve got no need to drug me,” he said as he twisted off the cap and took a long, deep pull.
“Guess you’ve watched too many movies,” Colby said, and tried not to notice the grin on Tristan’s face as he lowered the bottle. It was only for an instant, as if he’d momentarily forgotten where he was and who Colby was, but it was wide and open and genuinely amused. Like he didn’t know he was supposed to be broken. Like hope wasn’t just another weapon.
Fuck. Colby ran his hand through his hair. This had been a bad idea. This had been astupendouslybad idea, coming here and meeting Tristan. It was bad enough to know that someone who didn’t deserve it was locked up here. How much worse to findout he really was a clueless innocent, despite being part of Urban’s pack. This would haunt Colby. Like so many other things.
He should never have come here, should never have seen that smile on Tristan’s face. Even when facing death, he was more alive than Colby could remember being.
“Eat your lunch,” he said abruptly. “I need to get back.”
TRISTAN
Tristan snatched up the stew and sat down against the wall, clutching the bowl to his chest as he realized it was warm. He’d gotten so cold in the night, and the room still felt like an icebox.
The guy standing in front of the door moved as if he were impatient. Realizing he might take the stew away again if Tristan took too long, he picked up the spoon from the bowl and started eating. It was gross—nothing like the food Jason made—but it was warm and he needed it because, if this guy was telling the truth, rescue wasn’t going to arrive in time. He was going to have to rescue himself. Starting now.
“What’s your name?” he asked between spoonfuls. He recognized him from last night. He was the one Nico had wrapped himself around, all possessive confidence while the guy had stayed motionless.
“Colby Williams.”
He studied Colby as he chewed on a piece of gristle and determinedly swallowed it. Colby’s hair was short, sun-streaked blond, his jaw was strong and square, and his lips full enough to be enticing. If he’d seen him in any other circumstances, Tristan would definitely have checked him out. He was almost as big as Nico—broad, tall and muscular. But unlike Nico, whose meanness seeped out of his very pores, there was no threat in his stance. He was ready to move swiftly if Tristan tried anything, that muchwas clear, but he was keeping his distance, obviously trying not to intimidate him.
And his eyes… The sadness and resignation in those gray eyes had Tristan shivering. Something in them made him think of the moon on a winter’s night—beautiful, but burning with cold and so lonely.
He couldn’t tell how this guy fitted in with a pack that had the likes of Nico and Weasel Face, with their violence and meanness. If he didn’t belong here, maybe he’d be an ally. Tristan needed to play this smart.
“Thanks for this, Colby,” he said, gesturing toward the bowl. “Didn’t exactly expect room service.”
Colby shrugged, looking uncomfortable.
He blew on the stew, mainly to put off having to taste it again, and risked another glance at Colby. “Do you have to eat this stuff, too?”
