Gabe stood by the window, then faced Raph. “I need to leave. I can’t stay here.”
Raph pulled a face, spreading some jam on his toast. “Find Mister Rich Guy? But he’s already gotten over you, little sparrow.”
“No. You don’t know him…”
“I know his kind. And he hasn’t called, right?”
Gabe’s heart iced over. “No… but he might be busy… and his number wrong?”
Raph grinned, biting his toast. “Sure…”
“I need to get on a flight today.”
“Well… you still have some meetings at Qantico, and with the lawyer. You’re dead, Gabe. You can’t get a plane ticket. We can fly you back when we’re done here. I’ll take you to headquarters and get you some cash.”
“And a room.”
Raph met his hard eyes. “Alright… if you can manage being on your own.”
“Better than with you.”
He stood, walking close, and brushed the back of his hand down Gabe’s cheek. “Are you sure? Mhm… I still seem to stir something in you… you’re all flushed…”
Gabe swatted his hand away and stepped back. “Fuck off.”
Raph’s lips curled up. “You’ll come around. When you’re rich guy dumps you like a sack of shit.”
A private room in that posh restaurant where they had met countless times, some classy music playing in the background. Black leather seats and red velvet walls. Loud talking and bantering from people who used to be his friends. A foreign word. Damian just sat, barely eating, all the tastes seeming wrong, a vague stomach ache there from that rich food eaten over the days. He had to wave several glasses of wine away, but they kept offering. The waiter too, the maître d’ who knew him and brought more bottles out, thinking he didn’t like what he’d offered. Fuck.Nursing a tall glass of water, trying to make sense of all that blabbering. Eyes going to him, hands toasting.
“To Damian, our miracle survivor. You have to tell us… how it was.”
“You ate coconuts, right? That’s what they said on those TV shows, coconuts are the best, right?”
He was not sure he wanted to reply, but forced a word out. “Yeah…”
George looked at Wayne. “See, I told you.” Turning back to him. “And what else? Fish? You fished? But maybe there are no fish? What else? I can’t imagine how you managed.”
“You eat what you can find, and you hunt.”
Robert grinned. “Hunt? Wow! With what?”
“Knife, spears. You can make weapons.” Twirling his napkin, his eyes calm, almost a focus there, watching them. His eyes drifted to that large carving knife next to the roast.
“Fuck, man. I can’t even imagine. You mean killing animals? How?”
It was a split second, a movement almost too fast, that knife in his hand, flying to that velvet wall. It wedged into it next to Robert’s head. Missing it by a hair width.
Eyes wide.
Harold shot to his feet. “What the fuck!”
Damian held his palm out. “Care to hand it back?”
Robert couldn’t move, so Harold took the knife out but didn’t give it back. “Fuck you.”
Damian’s lips curled up. “Want to know more?”
Wayne’s face darkened. “Yeah… about that other guy.”
