Page 49 of Thrown into the Mob

Oh my gods. I muffled my giggles against his shoulder and didn’t look up in case the man’s angry face was angled toward me again.

The previews started, and when an explosion filled the frame in one trailer, my mate made a small dismissive sound. I didn’t question him because something was probably inconsistent with something else.

I put the popcorn between us and his hand found it without looking. Our method of eating it was so different. I ate fistfuls because that was what you did, while my mate chewed one piece at a time.

The fisherman film started. It was shot in a gray light that made everything look cold and intriguing. The fisherman was alone on his boat, and once he’d caught enough fish, he returned home. The splashing of the oars was meditative, and I could have fallen asleep to the sound. There was no need to read the subtitles yet because there wasn't much dialogue.

Fifteen minutes in, I glanced at Conrad hoping he wasn’t bored. But he was completely still. His eyes were on the screen and his hand had stopped moving in the popcorn. He was mesmerized, watching this fisherman haul nets in the angry gray sea.

The fisherman was alone, as he had been for most of his life. He had his boat, the sea, and little else. But had a routine that he followed every day. He was disciplined even when he was tired or it was cold and raining. There was nobody waiting for him on the shore, so his existence was a solitary one.

And that was how my mate had lived. He was watching a version of his own life.

I clasped Conrad’s hand and kept my eyes on the screen.

Midway through the film the fisherman rescued a dog from the water. The animal was struggling, and the fisherman pulled it into the boat. He steered toward the shore and left the dog, as he had no other option, but the dog swam after him. This happened twice until the fisherman gave up and kept the dog.

He talked to it sometimes, but the animal ignored him. They ate together and slept in the same small cabin, and the fisherman's routine didn’t change, except it looked different because now there were two bowls, and if the dog stayed home, there was someone waiting when he came back from hauling nets.

My eyes were no longer on the screen but on my mate. He was absorbed in a story about a dog who wouldn’t leave. My eyes grew misty again as I ran my mind over why I was so emotional about this.

I loved this man, and even if we weren’t fated, I would have chosen this omega dragon shifter. If all the drama over me being captured by his father’s men never happened and we’d met somehow, maybe during a negotiation, I would have fallen for him.

I knew he was the one before you did. My wolf was so smug, and he’d hold it over me for the rest of our existence.

You picked up that we were fated, but would you have told me this man was the one for me if you didn’t scent the connection?

He told me he’d have to think about that.

The film ended with the fisherman sitting on the shore with the dog beside him, watching the sea.

“That was a good film. We should do it again.” My mate wiped a tear from his cheek.

I agreed and took his hand as we walked out.

“The dog kept swimming after the boat. He didn’t accept his fate, and by doing so, he changed his life.” Conrad was rubbing his chin with his free hand and his brow furrowed.

“Sounds like someone I know.” I kissed his cheek.

“Oh really? Who?”

“Some guy I share popcorn with.” I squeezed his hand.

TWENTY-FOUR

CONRAD

Madd and I walked to the laundromat holding hands as usual.

Being close to him comforted me, and with his hand nestled in mine, I could almost forget about my twin and the dragons looking for us. My heart and body ached when he was in another room.

Last night we’d watched a cooking show on TV, and we’d argued whether it was educational or a competition designed to create anxiety. We'd disagreed for twenty minutes, and I learned to love this kind of argument because it ended with him throwing a cushion at my head and me catching it and neither of us being angry.

As we waited outside the laundromat, the guy inside looked at us hopefully, but he’d get no money from us to take off for an hour.

The payphone rang at eleven, and I answered immediately.

“We have a problem.” Flint didn't waste time on greetings. His voice had the fierceness I'd heard in the warehouse, so even if he’d just spoken my name, I’d have understood this wasn’t a casual update.