"So enlighten me."
He makes a turn, and then we're joining a merging line of cars headed for a bridge to the outer boroughs. "I wish it were that simple."
"It is," I say. "You open your mouth and start talking."
His gaze is incendiary. Burning with a glut of emotions too complex to comprehend. "If I gave you even a fraction of the truth about myself, Brys Bennet, you would jump out of this car and take your chances with the killers."
"That sounds like an exaggeration," I say.
Those dark eyes cut sideways, land on me, and then flick away, back to the slow-moving traffic. "It is not."
"You may as well just start talking," I say. "I'm not going to give up until you do."
He exhales softly, a short puff through pursed lips. "Brys…"
I lean an elbow on the console and stare at him. "Yes, Jakob?"
"This really is a situation where the less you know, the better."
"Bullshit. We were past the point of culpable deniability when you took me home to change clothes so we could go on the run. You owe me answers, mister." I pause for effect. "Plus, I simply do not believe that lacking information is ever a net positive."
We inch closer to the bridge—at this point, we'll get there sometime tomorrow.
Jakob says nothing for a long time, and I let him wallow in his silence. Every once in a while, he glances at me, but I can't parse his expression. Speculative? Considering? Wary? Scared?
I think there's a bit of fear in there, but I know a man like he seems to be would never admit to fear, even to himself. Or maybe especially for himself.
"I wouldn't know where to start, to be honest."
"Why are there men trying to kill you, and thus, by association, me?"
"I know something…incriminating…about someone who doesn't like to leave any loose ends lying about."
I huff. "If you're just going to be vague, you might as well not say anything at all."
He groans—either annoyed, regretting opening his mouth, or both. "The details would do you no good."
"But it would assuage my curiosity, which is starting to feel like an existential rash."
He eyes me, amused. "An existential rash?"
"Yeah, you know. Itchy and burny to the point of obsession."
"I suppose I do know a bit about obsession." Another sigh. "His name is Roberto Pugli. On paper, he's a high-level executive for Interpol."
"The international police force?"
"They're an investigative agency, not an enforcement one, but yes."
"And in reality?"
"He's one of the most violent, notorious, dangerous, and impossible to convict criminal kingpins on the planet. He's a drug trafficker, an arms dealer, a human trafficker, a murderer, and one of the most sociopathic and evil human beings to ever live."
"And he wants you dead?"
"He has for a long time."
"Because you possess incriminating evidence of his nefarious deeds?"
