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He doesn’t flinch. Not in relief. Not in anxious anticipation of a worse pain to come. Not at all. He is dark marble—cold, hard…and numb.
It’s all too clear he’s used to being in positions like this, even though he shouldn’t be. People like us—the sons and daughters of the criminals who run the world—shouldn’t be accustomed to having their own bones shattered and their own flesh scarred. It’s our job to orchestrate that kind of pain from our ebony towers, not endure it.
Organized crime may not be a safe lifestyle, but it certainly has its perks up until the moment a stray bullet finds you or the half of the system that hasn’t been paid off puts you in prison.
“Do you have any idea what happened to your parents?” I ask.
His narrow eyes give nothing away. “Good riddance.”
“Am I to take that as a ‘no’?”
He drops his attention to Cupcake as she skims up his chest, heading for his neck. “Do you bring your pet to all your interrogations?”
“Cupcake isn’t my pet. She’s family. You’re my pet, and you’re evading a straight answer.” I let my smile fall. “You weren’t the only one whose parents disappeared, Rowan. I didn’t go through all the trouble of dragging you here to be your therapist. Regardless of whether or not you want your parents back, I respect your leadership skills enough to know you wouldn’t let their disappearance go unaddressed, in case you’re next. Tell me what you know.”
He watches me. Several long moments pass, ticking away in time with the grandfather clock beside the dormant fireplace across from my bed. Finally, he says, “This is no way to ask for a favor.”
My brows rise.
“You could at least use your manners and say please.”
I blink as Cupcake explores behind the thick column of Rowan’s throat. It takes two quiet seconds for me to realize he’s dead serious. Resting my elbow against his shoulder in order to deter Cupcake from circling his neck like a tree trunk, I murmur, “We’ve only just formally met. Aren’t you being a touch forward?”
“What are you talking about?” he grumbles, glancing at Cupcake when she slithers down his other arm. “Since when are manners forward?”
He’s not serious.
He is serious?
Oh my word. He is dead serious.
I scooch a little closer, putting our faces mere inches apart. The warmth of his exhale grazes my lips, and I wet them as his eyes dart to the slim space between us, separated only by a few coils of scratchy rope. “Are you usually this oblivious when women flirt with you, Rowan?”
His mouth opens, then every processor in him perishes. Gaping, he sits—frozen. The blank gleam in his dark eyes makes it horribly difficult to keep from laughing.
Nevertheless, I manage, and, finally, Internet Explorer comes back online. He says, “How…old are you?”
“Twenty-four.”
He curses, closes his eyes. “Listen, princess—”
“I like the way you call me princess.”
“—you’re two thirds my age and—”
“Well, not for long if we give it another year.”
“I was rounding up. We’d have to give it several years.”
“Ooh.” I get cozy. “A maths guy. Cute. Sounds like a plan to me. If you’re game, I am.”
His voice rises. “—I really don’t think this is appropriate—”
“Since when do people like us worry about something boring like that?”
“Ma’am.”
The iron-hard tone in his chastise makes me giggle. Covering my mouth, I angle my body away from him and battle to contain myself. “Ah, crap.” I whisper a curse as I wipe a tear from the corner of my eye. I knew Rowan Veleno wasn’t just another monster in human clothing, living vampirically off the misfortune of others, but somehow I didn’t expect him to be a decent person at quite this fundamental of a level.
