Later I wake up on the sofa, a blanket over me. And the strange guy sitting on the end.
“Hi.” He waves.
“I told you not to fucking bother her.”
Tristan is standing in the kitchen, next to Tyler.
This is why Tristan’s been so adamant I wear pajama shorts. I didn’t care if I flashed Jane, but the men’s appearance has meblinking.
“Who are you?” I ask, my hands getting caught in the blanket as I push myself up.
“Name’s Ian.” He’s got striking hazel green eyes and a near constant smirk. “Well, done with the Spider then.”
“Knock it off,” Tristan orders.
“Why were you there?” I ask. The TV is playing some late night talk show, but it’s muted.
“Oh, to save your life,” he says with all seriousness.
“Yeah, cause you just knew I’d be fighting with the Spider.”
“I’m psychic.”
“More like full of shit.”
His smile grows, the cheeky bastard. “That’s not what you said when I showed up to save your life.”
“I’d already killed him.”
“Yeah, but you weren’t fucking going anywhere considering the state of ya.”
“He’ll just talk you in circles, Iz.” Tristan opens the fridge, handing a beer to Tyler. Have we had those the whole time?
“He is full of shit,” Tyler agrees. “But how about you? You doing all right?”
“Grand.” I’m in a safe house for fun. “So what the fuck do you want?” I ask Ian. He didn’t pop up here for no reason.
He’s got nothing but a shit eating grin on his face at all times. “I’m so glad you asked.”
Tristan slams the fridge shut. “I’ve already told you no.”
Tyler begins mumbling under his breath. The doctor looks more tired than I am, but at least he’s able to go and do something useful when he’s awake.
Ian ignores whatever Tristan is trying to tell him. “I’d like a word with your girl. Ren Callahan.”
“She’d fucking eat you alive.” I might be off the deep end, but I stillknow that much.
“What makes you say that?” He leans into the arm of the sofa, his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.
“You’re trying to make it as a triggerman.”
“What makes you assume that?” he asks.
“Why doesn’t Tris want you around Fujimori’s?”
“Apparently my dad’s pissed off Boris Akatov.”
My mind slowly whirls, but I remember. “You’re Cain Murray’s son.”
