Fuck. Is she scared of them?
The mere thought spikes an anger inside me. She’s dauntless when it comes to the three of us, couldn’t give a flying fuck about us, buttheyscare her?
Blowing a breath through my nose, I straighten up. “Get out of the car.”
She looks up at me. “If it’s a simple exchange, why do I have to?”
“I’m going to give you five seconds to get out of this car before I drag you out of it.”
“Fiz.”
“Five.”
“Please.”
“Four.”
“Fuck, fine,fine!” She clambers out and I can see her whole body trembling.
It only makes me angrier.
I shove her against the car, hands on either side of her head. “What are you so scared of?”
“I’m not.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
An icy glare sweeps over her as she stares into my eyes. “I’m not scared, Fiz.”
I study her, waiting for any twitch of deceit. She holds strong.
I lift a hand between our chests, erecting my little finger. “Pinky promise?”
She stares down at it, then barks a disbelieving laugh. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for a pinky promiser.”
I look down at my finger, a distant memory flashes, too painful to allow to push any further forward in my brain. I raise my eyes to hers again. “It’s the most sacred act of honesty in the world. I take nothing more serious than a pinky promise.”
She continues to stare at it.
“So, you gonna swear it?”
She lifts her hand. I jerk mine away just before she links her finger with mine. “Remember, you can’t lie on this. You can’t break it, either.”
Her features set hard in resolve. “I am not scared.” Then she hooks her pinky around mine, rather aggressively.
I smile, that memory threatening to push forward once again as her finger squeezes mine. I shove it away. “Good.”
I grab the containers out of the boot and march towards the building, Bob trotting just ahead, Elodie’s pattering footsteps just behind me.
Why the hell would she be scared of them and not us? What the fuck could they possibly do that we can’t, or won’t?
They’re nothing.
I have to grit my teeth to keep my spiralling thoughts from bruising my ego further.
Wayne’s already waiting inside the lobby when we get there. He looks up from his phone as Bob approaches, tucks it away in his pocket, then stands up. He’s got his greasy golden hair slicked back into his usual bun at the back of his head, his sharp cheekbones pointing up to those hazel brown eyes that, on anyother man, would be endearing. On Wayne, they just look out of place. Too bright for his dull, punch-able face.
He nods once at me, then his eyes flicker behind me, and a devious smirk spreads across his lips.
