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“What do you want me to do?” I asked, walking outside and leaning against the side of the building. Staring at the rundown motel across the street, I lit a cigarette. Just looking at it made my skin crawl. I’d lived in worse, but it was close enough to resurrect memories of flea bites and freezing cold — all shit I purposely chose to forget.
“Are you sure you grabbed the right kid?” he asked.
I ripped the cigarette out of my mouth and blew out a sharp steam of smoke. “Are you fucking kidding me? I’ve never failed you.”
“His father hasn’t answered our demands.”
“His father is a fucking prick,” I muttered.
“Well, I’ll give this prick until the end of the week. Then we will see,” he said before disconnecting.
I smothered my groan by sucking more nicotine into my lungs before flicking the butt out into the parking lot with the rest of the trash. Shoving the phone back in my pocket, I went inside to pick up my order.
Food in hand, I returned to the room at a snail’s pace. Just a few more days. No problem. Other than eating, I’d keep Roan’s mouth taped shut and we’d be fine.
When the door opened, Roan looked like he was asleep. His head was tipped back against the headboard exposing the smooth whiteness of his throat. I was able to get three steps into the room before he stirred, blinking against the sudden light.
Once the door was secured, I tossed a bottle of water in his lap and set the pizza on the bed next to him before unlocking one of the handcuffs. Flipping open the lid, I grabbed a slice for myself and hooked the second chair from the table. I dragged it away from the window and across the room, where I could watch him, the door, and the window all at once.
Roan picked at the tape on his mouth and pulled it off slowly, questioningly, watching as I settled into my chair. Unholstering the gun from the small of my back, I couldn’t help the sigh that escaped as the pressure lifted from my spine. Balancing the gun on my thigh, I took a bite of pizza, acutely aware Roan was still watching me.
“You arenotwelcome,” I said, between chewing. There. Pain in the ass. Beat you to it this time.
The little shit smirked, picking up his own slice. He dropped his food suddenly and spun the box, squinting at something on the lid. “Sasha?”
Without even thinking, I looked up at the sound of my name.
He blinked at me, a smile spreading across his face as he put two and two together. “Your name is Sasha?”
Fuck me!
Why did that girl have to ask what my name was? And why the fuck did I answer with the real one? Because I was on the phone with Viktor, paying more attention to his hemming and hawing than the teenager batting her lashes at me behind the counter.
“Aleksandr,” I corrected with a growl, tearing off another bite.
“But you go by Sasha.” I grabbed my gun and was halfway out of my chair when he held up his free hand and dropped his gaze. “I’m just saying, it’s better than ‘Mr. Black.’”
Easing back into my chair, I kept glaring at him. He peeked up after a minute, meeting my gaze once more — boldly, stupidly, and unafraid as usual. His smirk was back as he retrieved the piece he dropped, but at least he kept his mouth shut this time.
We ate in silence, explosions and gunfire in the movie filling the quiet.
Roan only had one piece and a few sips of water before he slid down the mattress and rolled onto his side, the side that was still handcuffed.
“I’m not starving you. Eat,” I said, inexplicably irritated by his timidity.
“I just want to sleep,” he murmured, closing his eyes and nestling into the pillow. His nose twitched and he swiped at the silver hoop in his right nostril before settling again. It was the first time I realized he had changed it from the stud he usually wore.
Whydid I know that?
I gave myself a mental slap. I didn’t exactly believe he wasn’t hungry, but I wasn’t going to argue, either. At least he’d be quiet for a change without having to resort to duct tape.
Finishing the movie and my dinner, I stood, accompanied by a series of pops and crackles as I stretched my back.
Once he assumed his position, Roan didn’t move. His breathing deepened and his fingers twitched, the first signs of falling into a deeper sleep.
I should have made him roll over so I could restrain his other hand. For some reason, I didn’t. Maybe it was because he was curled up into himself, with his free hand tucked tightly against his chest. Or maybe it was sheer confusion at how well he was sleeping given his situation. Then again, I’d learned to fall asleep whenever and wherever I could. Apparently being held against your will gave you that capability.
Grabbing the edge of the blanket, I tugged it up over his shoulder. He still didn’t move.
