Page 8 of Shai

I licked my parched lips, his gaze following the action. “Elijah.”

“Full name.”

“Elijah Page. Do you want my fucking middle name as well?”

His eyebrow arched at the curse that slipped from my lips, but that was

the only reaction I got. I mentally kicked myself. There I went again, letting my attitude get me into trouble. Had I learned nothing from my time with McIntyre?

“Not necessary. Where are you from, Elijah Page?” I hesitated. But what did it matter? There was nothing I could say that

would make my situation any worse. Therefore, I may as well tell the truth. “A small town in the west by the name of Thronby. I doubt you’ve ever heard of it.”

He didn’t bother to either confirm or deny my assumption. “And what

brought you to Deadwood?”

Sheer fucking insanity! “What do most people come here for?” It

probably wasn’t the best idea to answer a question with a question, but it was done now. It wasn’t like I could take it back.

“They don’t.”

Fair point. “I thought I could make more money.”

“Doing what?”

“This and that.”

Shai tipped his head to one side, the cobra winding its way more

securely around his neck, the man not even seeming to notice its movements. I did, though. I was watching it like a hawk, ready to test out whether my legs still worked if it came any closer.

“And how did you come to be in McIntyre’s possession?” My lip curled automatically at the casual use of the word “possession.”

“He caught me dealing in his territory. He wasn’t happy about it.”

Shai’s predatory gaze traveled slowly over my bare chest, lingering on

the remains of the bruising around my ribcage. “He beat you?”

There was no emotion in the question, no way of knowing what his

feelings were on the subject. For all I knew, Shai ran his operation in exactly the same way. There was certainly nothing about the man that suggested he was softer than McIntyre. For one, McIntyre hadn’t paraded around with a fucking deadly snake. “His men mostly. He likes to give out the orders, more than he likes to get his hands dirty.”

I tried to swallow, the pain of the action reminding me that I really

needed that water. They had to have given me some while I’d been unconscious, but it must have been a while ago to feel this parched. “Can I have some water?”

“I haven’t finished.” The statement was as sharp as a whipcrack, something sparking in the depths of Shai’s dark eyes, the snake stirring as if it too sensed the threat. “You need to answer all of my questions.” He lifted the bottle, unscrewing the lid and draining half of its contents in a series of swallows, the tanned column of his throat working overtime. It was painful to watch. I could almost taste the cool, clear perfection of it. He paused, the bottle still held loosely in his hand, the lid being off a clear threat that should he wish, he could just as easily drink it all. “Tell me about McIntyre’s compound.”

Shit! There wasn’t a lot to tell. I searched for something useful, something he would deem worthy of relinquishing the prize for. “It’s a shit hole.” I gestured around the room, hoping flattery might earn some points in my favor. “Nothing like here.”

Shai’s eyes narrowed. “Of course it is. The man’s a tasteless cretin who doesn’t deserve a penny to his name. Tell me something useful.”

I plumbed my subconscious, desperately trying to think of something that might not have registered at the time. “I didn’t see much of it. What I did see was heavily guarded, men at every entry point, a long-range sniper positioned on the roof. McIntyre liked to joke about letting me go as sport for the sniper.” I doubted I was telling him anything he didn’t already know, but at least I was saying something.

There was a long silence as Shai digested my words. “And what, pray, did you do to earn being dumped in the river?”