Page 64 of Vendetta

I clasped my hands in front of myself, trying for my best impression of innocence. “Nico.”

He probably wasn’t buying this innocent act, but I needed him to leave me alone in here for a little longer. There had to be a way out of this place. I doubted my chances of being able to hot-wire a car, especially with how new the ones in the driveway looked, but if I could get outside unsupervised, maybe there was a chance.

“You’re up to something.” His eyes narrowed on me.

My shoulders went up in a shrug. “Maybe.”

Chapter 42

Rosalina

Nico held the door open and stepped aside. “Now that you’re awake, come out to the pool.”

The pool didn’t interest me as much as being on the other side of that locked door. Outside was halfway to escape.

I tried not to look excited as I meandered casually across the kitchen to the back door. “If you insist.”

“Don’t try anything. We’re on private land. There’s nothing for miles. You won’t make it out of here on foot, and no one will hear you scream.”

I brushed past him and stepped into the cool evening air, the chill of the stone steps kissing my bare feet and sending a shiver zipping across my skin. “Noted.”

Fuck him.

I’d find a way. Even if I’d rather stay here, warm and cozy in Oliver’s nest, I had shit to do, captivity to escape.

In the distance, I spied the roof of a barn with a stone path leading in that direction. That must have been where Ollie and Cruz had disappeared to.

Hmmm. What were they up to?

“Come sit if you want. Or swim. No need for a suit, no one’s around to see you,” Nico pulled out a chair next to where he’d been sitting in the amber glow of sunset.

Punching him would be better than sitting with him, but I wasn’t going anywhere while he watched me, so I relented. Maybe he’d give up something useful in the meantime.

“You should hydrate.” He motioned to the pitcher and glasses on the table next to half-assembled gun guts, oil, brushes, and rags.

I crossed my arms over my chest, tucking my hands into the sleeves of the oversized hoodie, muttering under my breath. “I’d rather die of thirst.”

He coughed out a half-chuckle and went on reassembling the Glock that was in front of him. He looked at me from the corner of his eye as he shifted his attention to the big ass revolver.

Silence stretched between us, and soon annoyance got the better of me. “That finger was a nice trick, but next time don’t try to bluff when manicures are in question.” I looked down at my own red fingernails, pretending to be bored, and that the heat from his gaze wasn’t warming my skin.

“Bluff? Interesting.” He picked up the revolver, emptying it in a rain of jingling bullets onto the table, with nothing else to add.

He was insufferable, just sitting there pretending as if I wasn’t even there. “I know who you are.”

“Do you now? I’d wondered if you’d figured it out.” His eyes were on the weapon in his hand, looking down the barrel, but never at me.

“You may have helped with my heat, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he said with zero inflection. “Just like I can’t hate you for what your father did.” He kept cleaning his stupid gun with an unreadable expression.

My heart twisted in my chest. I had to know. “You killed my brother.”

“Did I? What did he look like? There have been so many, it’s hard to keep track.”

Heat rushed up my neck to my cheeks, scorching my skin like lava and indignation. “It was seven years ago. The warehouse on the south side. You slaughtered everyone.”

Methodically, he set the reassembled gun on the table in front of him, taking his time before answering. “I can assure you, I did not.”