Page 40 of Trust

“Oh, come on,” he drawls playfully as I take the rest of the stairs and stop at the bottom, holding on to the rail. “You can’t be mad at me for saving your life.”

Saving my life. That’s one way to describe dragging me back to my kidnapper. I peek past him to Chris framed in the kitchen doorway. “Don’t worry,” he says, motioning toward Cash. “He won’t bite. Just invited himself over for breakfast.”

Cash shrugs, completely unbothered. “Wasn’t gonna miss out on real food and coffee.”

I don’t fall for the charm tactic he’s running and turn to Chris again. “We’re not going for a walk?”

Before he can answer, Cash straightens and steps in. “I’ll take you. Unless,” he glances back at Chris, mock serious, “you desperately need my expert assistance in the kitchen.”

Chris snorts. “God, no. You’d burn water.”

“I’ve got other talents.” Cash fires off the jab, unoffended. “Returning cute fugitives is my specialty.” He has the audacity to wink at me.

I gape at Chris, fully expecting him to shut that down, although there’s no good reason for him to do so. There’s no emotion in his expression. He doesn’t so much as blink. The comment might as well have drifted past him unheard.

“Your choice, Sara. Want that walk?”

Cash cocks his head. “You’re not scared of me, are you?”

Scared. Yeah, right. I huff and cross my arms, irritated now. “Fine. Whatever.”

Chris’s gaze fixes on Cash. “Don’t let her talk you into anything stupid.”

I give him a fake pout. Was he actually trying to be funny? That’s a first.

“I’ll do my worst,” Cash chuckles as he heads outside.

Instinct screams this is a terrible idea. But why would he take advantage of me? He didn’t when I was helpless on the road. The smugness in his expression, the challenge in it, dares me to go, and putting distance between Chris and me is exactly what I need, so I follow.

A brisk chill nips at my cheeks as we step onto the path. The trees burn copper now, the lake a pane of undisturbed steel. Leaves crunch underfoot, and the scent of earth clings to the forest.

I keep out of reach. Cash doesn’t come closer. “I should do this more often,” he says after a while. “Last time I went for a walk, it was all sand and gunfire. Technically more of a mission, but hey, outdoors is outdoors, right?”

I glance at him. “You were in the Army?” I aim for an insult that doesn’t quite land.

“Navy.” Unfazed by my attitude, he acts as if it’s nothing. “Joined at eighteen. Mostly to piss off my parents.”

My head jerks up. “Seriously?”

“Oh yeah. My dad didn’t speak to me for two years. My mom cried for a week, not because she was worried, more from the disappointment. Huge success.”

A laugh bubbles up before I can stop it. “That’s... awful.”

“Awfully effective,” he corrects.

My heart aches a tiny bit at that. I know the chaos of turning your life into a middle finger and hoping someone notices.

He must see it in my face because his voice softens. “Eventually, it stops working. The rebellion thing. You get tired of trying to hurt people who don’t care.”

I drop my gaze to the trail, to the crumpled leaves and muddy puddles. “Did you want to get revenge on them for naming you Cash?” I say, redirecting the conversation. Anything to blur how close he just got. I don’t bother playing nice. He can take it, and he does. He laughs out loud. I can’t tell if he finds me funny or if he’s making fun of my poor attempt to offend him.

“I could add naming me Carter Lexington III to the ‘why I hate my parents’ list, or I could thank my squadmates for the callsign they gave me. You’re not supposed to like it, but let’s be honest. Anything’s better than Carter Lexington III, right?”

Sounds like some rich fuckboy’s name. Figures. Isn’t he worried I might pass it on once I’m out of here? Or does he just not think that far ahead? I file that away.

“Does Chris have a name like that?” Now I’m curious.

“You call him Chris, huh?” He shakes his head with a disbelieving show of teeth. “Yeah, he’s got one. He broke some guy’s collarbone during training. So he became ‘Stix’, the other guy became ‘Bones’. You know, from the nursery rhyme, sticks and stones may break your bones. He hates it.”