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21
Cole
Decker volunteered to have one of the trackers implanted in her ankle, and the other inside her, the way I'd implanted to Annie's.
By dawn we understood they probably weren't working because, for one, it wasn't meant to be buried inside flesh. Apparently under the hood of a speeding automobile, yes, it would work, but inside a woman?
"What about her ankle?" I asked. The world tasted old and dirty. The air felt colder than autumn in Vegas should.
"Damaged, probably," Decker said. She held up one very shapely, very pretty leg. "Having it on the outside of the ankle like this I've already run mine into three things just since we put it in. Then there's showers and struggles. I'm guessing it got broken."
I ran a hand over my face. We were in the dining room, where the newest Cook had left platters of everything possible to attract me to eat. Salmon, bacon, kale smoothies, chocolate.
I couldn't eat. Everything reminded me of Annie. The salmon she found vile, the bacon she could probably live on with very little else (other than regular infusions of pizza). The kale smoothies which really were vile but good for her. There was nothing wrong with wanting her to et things that were good for her. Or using such things to punish her.
Dark chocolate. I'd never told her that was my secret weakness. I can't go a week without at least one square of good, very dark, very high cacao chocolate. Now I might never get to share that weakness with her. I swept my hair back from my forehead and paced. Waiting for some signal to try and break through again. Waiting for Decker who was trying to analyze where the last signal had come from. Trying everything but crystal ball magic to find out where they'd taken Annie.
I'd never told her about my secret weakness for dark chocolate.
That meant there were two weaknesses I'd never told her about.
