Page 21 of Blood We Steal

“I’m sure you’d be all broken up,” I muttered at Rubin’s broad back, the only thing I allowed myself to focus on.

He turned to face me, his grip on his knife tightening. His jaw ticked a beat.

“We made a deal, Simone. My word still means something.”

He started moving just as abruptly as he’d stopped, and I followed him step for step, holding the plastic spoon and toilet paper weapon up like I could actually do something with it.

Not Rubin, though. I may have been holding the shiv like it would come to life and attack me, but Rubin held his with ease, loosely, with comfortable familiarity and certainty that he was ready for whatever.

It was the way he did everything, and reminded me of one of my most embarrassing pastimes.

Watching the man sign his name had been one of the highlights of my job. The smooth, bold, confident strokes of pen against paper. Rubin did that simple activity with such command and such containment it made me jealous—among other things.

I’d never be that confident or sure of myself, but I’d have to pretend now.

I’d stopped praying as much after Nana died, and when Aaron got arrested, I’d given it up completely. I prayed now, even though I wasn’t exactly sure what I was praying for.

Click.

I almost screamed when the sound reverberated through the dim, hollow hallway. I swallowed it back, but almost released it again when the lights flashed on.

Rubin was still calm as ever and taking advantage of the new lighting to look around. “Someone’s in the control tower. They shifted the system to manual override,” he said.

“Is that good?” I asked.

He looked at me, then shrugged. “Depends on who is in the tower.”

I said nothing, gripping my spoon even tighter, but forced my hand to relax when the plastic warped.

“The catwalk is coming up. You go across first,” he said.

Fuck no, I thought, but what I actually said was “Um…”

Shockingly, Rubin was unconvinced by my protest, and his expression dared me to argue. This was fantastic. Walk across the same spot where I’d nearly fallen to my death, or argue with the Albanian mob boss who’d all but threatened to feed me to the monsters below?

Definitely a plan C decision, but no plan C was forthcoming. I shook my head.

I could do this. I would.

Through sheer force of will, I kept my eyes open as I walked the plank. I used that same will not to give in to the hysteria that I wanted to cover with laughter. After all, I was walking the literal plank.

Why not think of pirates and sailors and spinach and the ocean and literally everything except the fact that I was ten feet over the floor with a pit of literal fucking zombies waiting to eat me?

I made it, and let my fingers slacken so much I almost dropped the spoon. I tightened my grip, and then turned to watch Rubin.

Yeah, he wasn’t having the same trouble as me, which was no surprise at all. But still, it was a marvel to have him make that look easy. But he did. And in the next moment, he was in front of me.

“Shyqyr! They turned on the fucking air conditioner,” he said.

My back was damp with sweat, but I barely noticed the heat.

He’d grown up in the Accursed Mountains and thought thirty degrees—he refused to use Fahrenheit—was like being on the surface of the sun. I’d gently suggested that perhaps a wool suit in Georgia in July was not the best idea, but he’d brushed me off.

“Still not accustomed to Hotlanta, Mr. Marku?” I tittered a nervous laugh and kept focused on him. “I used that abominable nickname and now one of your olive trees just died.” Maybe teasing the always-serious Rubin about his precious olive groves wasn’t the best play, but lobbing terrible jokes at a humorless crime lord was a nice change of pace.

His face was frozen, as still as a corpse’s, not that that saying had any meaning anymore. I laughed louder, sounding unhinged even to my own ears. Rubin didn’t move a millimeter.

I dropped the attempt at humor and focused on the matter at hand. “I don’t know if that’s smart. If the system is running on generators, who knows how long the fuel will last.”