I set down a can of soup. I’m not sure how Tristan is supposed to say Cade’s name, but there’s something in his voice that I can’t decipher. Why does he say the name in such a familiar way? Like he’s started to do his research.
He’s being paid to protect you, I remind myself.
I ignore the drumming that begins to pound against my skin. “Cade’s not going to take me out while I’m doing my shopping.”
He tucks his hands into his pockets, crossing his ankle as he continues to lean casually. “Matheson, I’m here whether you like it or not.”
“And that means I can’t do my own shopping?”
Ren ranted about how Tristan didn’t believe in online shopping. We can’t send off Luis all the time.
And I’m not going to cower. Cade won’t get that from me.
Besides. . . “I have to go on my morning walk.”
He snorts. Actually, snorts like I’ve said something funny. “Seriously, Matheson?”
I point at the fridge.
Goals for keeping a healthy life:
Walk daily
Keep the place clean
Eat vegetables
At least the kale smoothie is pulling its weight. Unlike someone I know.
“You can stay here,” I mutter as I walk back into the living room. “And Luis and I will do the shopping.”
Tris has no response to my tantrum. But he does have questions. “Matheson, who is he?”
Thoughts fly through my mind, going out just as quickly as they come in.
A piece of shit guy. Someone who deserves to die. I bet it would feel good to strangle him to death.
For a second, I worry my smoothie is about to drop out of my hand. I squeeze my fingers around the glass tighter.
Talking to the Ghost about death should be easy. We are, after all, well-versed in it.
I can tell him the truth. That when it comes to Cade and me—one of us is going to die.
I think he would even help me. If only because there’s begrudging respect between us now that he’s hung out at Fujimori’s.
But my mouth doesn’t open. The thoughts and feelings swirl around, battling for airtime. In the end, I bat it all away, because like always, it feels too hard to explain.
A knock on the door helps me out.
Tristan straightens, ducking around me before I can even move. I don’t even squabble with him about how he thinks I can no longer answer my own front door.
His hand slides to the back of his waistband because, of course, he’s got his gun on him. His shoulders relax a moment later when he peeks through the peephole.
CHAPTER 5
Isolde
“I’ve got muffins!” Ren holds up a brown kraft box as she walks inside. She flings her high heels off and then shimmies over, proudly displaying her offering.
