Page 70 of Blood We Steal

Rubin

“Make sure the doors are locked,” I said.

Besnik slid the heavy door in place and engaged the manual lock.

We’d made it to B block on the third floor, and other than the corpses littering the common area, it seemed safe enough. The fourth floor, and the resources we’d stored there, were lost to us. I gave a fleeting thought to Simone’s suggestion that we spread out supplies. It had been smart, and I should tell her that, but all I could do was stare at Simone. Her neck was starting to bruise, a smattering of purple where Lorik’s fingers had been, mapping out how she’d almost died.

“Water,” I called over my shoulder.

Damian appeared in a moment with a bottle of water.

“Drink,” I said to Simone.

My eyes watered, but I didn’t blink as I handed her the bottle and watched her drink all of it. She coughed but then swallowed it down.

“How’s your throat?”

“Burns,” she croaked, “but I’m fine.”

She wiped at her tear-stained face and then looked at me, trying to convince me she was fine. Simone was a master of deception, but she failed this time.

She glanced away, then looked at me. “You are tradhtare. You deserve to die. He said that.”

“You do,” I said.

Her eyes went hard. “So why didn’t you just let him kill me?”

“I already told you, Simone. Your life is mine.”

She looked at me through red, swollen eyes. “You’re not gonna hold that over my head anymore, Rubin. I’ve had enough of it.”

“You think I care? You’re sad because you almost died. I lost a man, a good one, all because you are a liar. But the fact remains you die when I say, not a single second before,” I said.

I’d killed Lorik without a moment’s hesitation because of that truth. I’d watched him grow up. Had eaten at his mother’s table.

Took his life.

Because of her.

She stared at me, head shifted, defiant, as honest as I had seen her in years. Too bad it took a near-death experience to strip away the artifice, but it was gone now, at least for the moment. I watched as she carefully reconstructed it. The soft, yielding Simone.

She met my gaze. “Yes, krye. May I sit down?”

I turned, walked away from her, and refused to look back.

Simone

Rubin was worried. He would call it a useless emotion, but I could see it nonetheless. My eyes still burned and I fought to suppress a cough, but that barely held my attention. Instead, I watched Rubin. He sat stock-still in the office we’d taken over. It wasn’t as nice, if that word even applied, as the warden’s, but it had a bathroom too.

Rubin’s expression was hooded, giving nothing away, but he worried his thumb against his index finger. It was something he did all the time. I don’t think he even realized it, but it was a familiar motion to me. Except now there was an intent behind it.

A hilarious word for Rubin, who was the definition of intent. But this wasn’t his usual calculation. This was something more.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Drink some more water.”

“I’ve already had two bottles. We need to reserve what we can.”