Roman follows me and takes a seat at the counter. He looks around the room and furrows his brows. “How well do you know Mr. Holland?” He obviously is still digging for details, and he seems oddly interested in the estate attorney.
I turn the stove on and set a pot of water on it to cook noodles. At least Roman doesn’t give enough of a shit about anything to notice how pathetic my food situation is. I turn and lean back against the counter to look at him.
“Not at all. I was surprised he even knew how to contact me.”Considering I’ve been on the run and changed my name and number.HowdidMr. Holland find me? The thought never occurred to me, and now that I think about it, it’s rather unsettling. I shake my head—I’m sure there’s a reasonable answer, but no matter how long I think on it, I can’t remember having that conversation with Mr. Holland. My head throbs again.
Roman firms his lips like the entire idea of me even existing stumps him. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette. He doesn’t bother asking if he can smoke it in the house, and I don’t care enough to stop him.
A huge plume of smoke rolls from his lips as he exhales. I watch and hate how sexy he is. He’s the complete asshole version of what I would want in a guy. But Roman Syxx is likebrokenbroken. Some people fall under the shadows too deeply and they never come back out the same.
Funny, I wonder if he sees the same thing in me.
Callum killed every part of Chloe Thornton. I wouldn’t even recognize that girl. I’m just Briar. The girl no one gives a shit about, and that’s how I like it. The more someone cares about you, the more danger you’re always in.
I learned the hard way.
“I know it was you casing this house last night.” I break the silence. My arms are crossed over my chest, and the water is boiling in the pot beside me. Now that I’m not panicking, I remember where I saw the Mercedes. It’s the same one from last night.
Roman takes another deep pull from his cigarette before grinning. “And?” he says as he exhales effortlessly.
“What could you possibly want from this dump?” My mind goes straight to the flash drive, but how would Roman know about it? It sounded like even Mr. Holland didn’t know until he found the paperwork.
He leans up on his forearms before standing and walking over next to me. I stiffen but don’t budge. Roman grabs a handful of pasta and snaps it in half before throwing it in. He puts in way more than I can eat.
“I’m going to assume you don’t want to actually know.” His tone is a warning.
“That’s too much.” I frown as he adds another handful of noodles to the pot.
“I’m having some too.” His eyes flick to mine. I’m shocked for a split second before glowering. Great, now he’s eating my food too.
He’s not wrong, though. I don’t really want to know…especially if they are mixed up in some shady shit. Was my uncle tied up in all of this too? I never asked Mr. Holland how he died, but now I’m considering asking.
The noodles cook as Roman texts, I’m assuming his friends. I’m grateful for his questions to be staved off by something else. When the noodles are done, I grab the one sauce jar, I have, and to my surprise, Roman doesn’t say anything about it?, nor does he give me shit for having the cheapest, most bland brand. He pours half the bottle in the pot and looks to me for forks.
Okay, I guess I’m just casually eating with a dickhead tonight, concussed and wishing to forget everything that has anything to do with Bane Falls.
“Listen. I don’t trust anyone, so don’t take it personally. I don’t think you are a danger to my squad, but I won’t let even the slightest chance slip by. Got it? The only reason your tongue hasn’t been cut out is because I am a good judge of character, and you are the most plain Jane, helpless girl I’ve ever met.” Roman’s words punch me in the gut before he takes a huge bite of spaghetti.
I’m happy I get to keep my tongue,though I doubt he’d actually cut it out.Tough guy.He’s secretly soft somewhere in there behind all those threats.
“What’s the story there? Is it why you’re so messed up?” I gesture to his face with my hand. He has to know that I’m referring to all the self-inflicted scars.
His eyes widen, and he cracks a smirk. “Messed up?Me?This is called control, Squirt.”
I watch him take another big bite, and my appetite is already fading. I grab a small forkful and twirl it on my plate a few times.
“How so? And why are you calling me Squirt—I feel like you’re wanting me to ask, so I’m asking,” I press him. It’s weird that he smiles at insults and nothing else. God, he would’ve been a hell of a case study in college.
Roman licks his lips and pulls down his hoodie enough so that I can see his neck. My stomach turns as I take in what looks like brand marks of fire that wrap around his throat.
“Control in how I process whatever I want, how I want,” he says like a shell of a man. His eyes are empty and loathing for everything. It’s actually kind of sad, because I thought I was the most pitiful thing in the world. Yet here is Roman Syxx.
The mess of all messes.
I choke back the urge to ask him if he’s okay. Clearly he isn’t.
“I’m calling you Squirt because you look like you’d be a squirter.” He’s full of amusement as I choke on a sip of water.
I definitely thought he was going to say because I’m short,notbecause I’m a squirter. “Care to elaborate?” I say smoothly, forcing myself to take a bite of food.
