Page 42 of Ricochet

“I’m not picky. I’m a pretty voracious reader. As long as it captures my attention. Classics are good, too.”

He paused, eyes tracking slightly to the side, and without a word, left the room.

Blue’s head perked up as he passed, as though even the dog didn’t understand the sudden exit.

Brow furrowed, I stared after him, replaying the last few seconds of conversation through my mind, wondering if I’d said something wrong.

Within minutes, he returned, carrying a book whose jacket looked dusty. Worn down. He handed it to me and stepped back, crossing his arms again.

The Grapes of Wrath. “Oh, my God, this is a first edition!” I turned it over in my hands, marveling the relic. “It was one of my favorites in school.”

“You like old books?”

“Yes,” I said, cracking it open, inhaling the aged pages.

“You always smell your books?” At my nod, he nudged his head in my direction. “What’s this one about?”

“You never had to read The Grapes of Wrath in school?”

Arms still crossed, he leaned against the doorframe. “I didn’t go to school for long. Dropped out when I was sixteen.”

“You dropped out? Why?”

He shrugged. “Wasn’t my thing.”

“Kidnapping just seemed like a more promising future for you, huh?” I clutched the book to my chest, waiting for his response.

“I liked computers. Games. Piecing puzzles. I worked on graphics and storylines for a game.”

“That sounds …” Weird. “… incredible.” He didn’t strike me as a black turtleneck, computer geek type. “What happened? Why didn’t you pursue it?”

“Shit happened.” He straightened his spine as if I’d dipped into sacred territory again.

Rather than risk his silence, I dropped my gaze to the book. “It’s about a family, the Joads, who lose everything and trek from Oklahoma to California, in search of a better life. Along the way, they face challenges, loss, suffering, pain. They find that what they’d hoped would be a better life, isn’t. Tom Joad ends up killing two police officers, who killed his friend, and goes into hiding. Bad things continue to happen to this family, and through it all, they fight to survive.”

Scratching the scruff on his cheek brought his chiseled jawline to my attention. He crossed his arms again, snapping me out of my musings. “Sounds depressing.”

“It’s about maintaining dignity in the face of tragedy and prejudice.”

“So, that’s what you believe?” He pushed himself off the wall and, with his boots set apart, took on a clearly defensive stance. “Those who suffer and face prejudice are supposed to prove themselves worthy and maintain their dignity in the presence of people like you who continue to oppress?”

I reared back at his words. Where the hell did that come from? “No … wait, what? People like me?” I frowned at the accusation. “Contrary to whatever preconceived ideas you may have about me, we’re on the same side, Nick.”

“No. We’re definitely not on the same side, Aubree. We’re so opposite of each other, it’s not even funny. You may have scars, but that doesn’t mean you know the kind of pain and loss that could make you give two shits about dignity and earning anyone’s approval.” Just like that, he strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Numbness crept over my body, threatening to penetrate my shield. Fuck him. Fuck him and whatever he thought he knew about me. He knew nothing. The stranger hadn’t walked in my shoes, had no idea what I’d been through and survived. My scars were the markers of my pain and loss.

I rubbed my finger across the scar on my wrist, pushing back the tears forming in my eyes. I’d been to the bottom. Been broken. Stomped on. I got back up. Scraped what little self-respect I had left inside of me, and picked myself up. He didn’t know that. And I didn’t have to tell him—the guy meant nothing to me.

He was right—I didn’t need his approval.

CHAPTER 19

Nick

Flashlight in hand, I descended the staircase into the bowels of the abandoned Michigan Central Train Station. While I should’ve been preparing myself for the next round of horror, images of Aubree’s naked ass under that dress had me about one thread from losing my mind.

The woman did things to my head. If not for the fact that I was forced to bring her meals, I should’ve stayed away from her room. I was certain I’d be plagued with nightmares after the trafficking bust, and yet, a drunken night with Alec had ended in dreams of Aubree waking me up and riding me in my bed as I lay half passed out.