I nod as my eyes trail up and down his body. “I really like.” He smirks, and my gaze catches on his mouth. My tongue darts out to lick my lower lip, wondering what it would be like to kiss him. He takes a step toward me, his eyes heating as he stares down at me.
“I was just about to explain to Wren how we escaped,” Sly says, jolting me out of the trance I seemed to be in.
“Oh, that’s a good story,” Pete says, jumping onto the bed and lying on his side behind me. He pats the spot in front of him. “Come join me for story time.” I lie back down on my side, and he scoots closer, wrapping his arm around me, his palm lying on my stomach.
“Once upon a time, there was a handsome, charming prince named Peter, and he was trapped in a dungeon with the three trolls, Sly, Jag, and Dex.” I laugh as Dex and Sly narrow their eyes at him.
“Be serious, Peter,” I say, patting his hand.
“Honestly, there isn’t much to tell. We heard our cellunlock in the middle of the night, so I tried the door, and it opened. We got lucky, all the doors seemed to be unlocked?—”
“And Dex somehow knew the codes for the gates,” Sly interrupts, stopping what he’s doing to frown in contemplation.
“Right, so we just carefully made our way out, watching for guards and running only where the coast was clear, until we hit the forest. Sly led us through there until we found the road.”
“And the SUV,” Sly says, pressing his lips together tightly in thought.
“So… you’re saying all the doors just happened to unlock? Why didn’t anyone else escape?”
“It seemed like everyone else was asleep, so maybe they didn’t notice? I guess someone in another wing could have escaped, or someone after us, we’d have no way of knowing,” Pete adds.
Sly shakes his head. “I’ve been checking the news; only the four of us are mentioned.”
I stay silent as I think about that. It doesn’t seem lucky that they escaped; it seems like it was planned. But not by them. Then by whom? And why? Who would help them escape and not tell them?
“Do any of you know anyone who would want to help you escape?”
They all shake their heads. “What about the car? Do you know who it belongs to?”
“No, there was no info in the glove box,” Sly tells me.
“Well, someone must be missing it. If it’s reported stolen, they could find us, couldn’t they?” I ask, tilting myhead to Sly.
“Only if the plate is picked up on camera or by a passing cop.” He sighs before continuing. “We have the money for a new vehicle, so we could find a place that would accept cash, but I’m not sure we’ll find something as nice as that SUV.”
“And the new vehicle could be tracked, too. The police are probably checking car lots and asking if they’ve seen us,” Pete adds.
“So we could be making it easier to get caught,” I surmise, and Sly nods.
Jagger comes out of the bathroom, and I sit up to admire the view. “Wow,” I whisper on an exhale, taking in his appearance. He’s shaved his brown hair down a bit shorter, pulling the focus to his stormy blue eyes.
He’s wearing green cargo pants and a matching utility vest. Underneath, he’s just wearing a sleeveless blue tank that leaves both his tattoo-covered, muscular arms on full display. He wears similar fingerless gloves to Pete on his hands and has knives strapped to both thighs. A simple chain hangs from his neck, tucked into his shirt.
I push to my feet and move over to him, circling slowly to take him in from all sides. He looks like a badass military man gone rogue.Which he basically is.
“You look really good, Jagger. Do you feel more like yourself now?” He nods, staring down at me, his eyes heated, making me bite my lip nervously as tension builds between us.
He breaks the moment by pressing his hand to my back and guiding me back to the bed, where I take a seat. Sly is no longer there, and I realize I was so distracted that I hadn’t even noticed him going into the bathroom.
“I guess it’s my turn next,” I say nervously. It's not that I wasn’t excited to put on some new clean clothes, but I hadnever worn anything other than a dress, and was afraid I wouldn’t feel like myself in it.
Looking up at Jagger, I see him watching me. I wish I could ask him, but when he needs to use the phone to communicate, it makes it harder to carry on a conversation.
I look at the scar on his neck as an idea comes to me. “Jagger, how old were you when you lost the ability to speak?”
Silently, he holds up his fingers, and I ask, “Thirteen?” He nods. “You must know sign language then?” He nods, and I turn to Dex and Pete. Frowning, I ask, “Why don’t you guys sign with him?”
“We don’t know how,” Pete says with a shrug.
