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He drops back, eyes falling closed. "The pillows, Aelia. What happened to the pillow trench?"
"A trench is a channel dug down, not one built up. It's a pillow wall."
His hand waves lazily before his arm drops over his face. I didn't expect this to be what he wanted to talk about. Keeping my mouth shut is probably the best course of action. I glance at his bare chest and my breath hitches. Grant tossing me in a dark hole overshadowed what happened at the underground fight, but now I'm here. Alone. In this room with only Dante. All the memories of what we did in that supply closet come rushing back. Fuck.
I hurry to the bathroom, catching the door before it can slam. There's no lock, because of course there's not. Dante hasn't busted in when I've been in here, thankfully. I wonder where he learned actual manners.
When he talked about the mafia, especially those running Synd, I assumed that meant he was a part of that world. But mafia men do not have manners. They have guns and no boundaries. They're usually not much different when it comes to women than the ones who frequent the Guild's events. There's several who run the satellite operations in other cities.
They both run on fear, but within the mafia there's a sense of loyalty. The Guild doesn't inspire allegiance. Jenkins has had more attempts on his life than a normal person should. The council members are constantly trying to undermine each other. It's why most of the meetings are anonymous.
I start the shower, mostly because I have no idea what else to do. I need to find my apathy again. It's the only way I'll be able to survive when shit goes south. Stripping out of my clothes, I step into the spray, hot water running down my battered body. My muscles ache, though the heat helps, just like Dante said it would last night. My eyes dart to the door every few seconds. It's a nervous habit I doubt I'll ever overcome, even if I get out of here.
The others hated I have regular showers instead of using a cold bucket of water like they are forced to. At least they were afforded the privacy within their makeshift rooms. Grant leers at my body, licking his lips the entire time. Even Jenkins has come to watch me shower sometimes. I learned long ago to keep my showers as quick as possible.
Now, I stand under the hot water for an extra minute. Dante's pants and shirt are sopping wet again, a pile in the corner of the massive space. After I dry off and slip back into the clothes from last night, I gather his up and wring them out. I'm on my knees still attempting to get them as dry as possible when the door eases open.
"We need to talk," Dante says from the crack he's made.
"I'll be right out," I call, wondering how long I can put this off. Not long since he pushes the door open and strides inside.
"You can leave those. I'm going to throw them away."
"I'll get you new ones," I murmur, slipping into the bedroom.
Staring at his clothes hanging in neat rows in the closet, my mind blanks. I don't know how I got here. This room isn't meant for me. None of the other VIPs stay more than a couple nights at headquarters. They usually have wives or other places to stay, yet Dante is here all the time. Why would Jenkins allow him to house me? Why wouldn't my father push back more? I shouldn't question it, but it's suspicious. There's no rhyme or reason to Jenkins's decisions as of late.
"Are you okay?" Dante asks softly. I jump anyway, startled out of my thoughts.
"I'm fine. Just thinking. I don't know where I'm supposed to be tonight. I need to go upstairs."
I grab the outfit I wore the first day I met Dante, gripping the gray skirt tightly in my fist. It's ripped from my grasp, and I whip my head around. Dante chucks the clothes into the corner, snarling at me. Stumbling back, I track the emotions rippling across his face before he runs his hand through his hair.
"You're not going anywhere. We have shit to discuss," he snaps.
"Okay," I breathe, following him as he stalks into the bedroom.
Thankfully, he grabbed pants and a shirt on his way out. I doubt I could have this conversation with him in just underwear.
"Sit down," he says, collapsing on the edge of the bed.
I sink onto an uncomfortable wooden chair. Metal rings are attached to several spots on it, and I hop up again.
"What's wrong?"
"Who knows what the hell is on that? It's fine, I'll stand," I say.
I try to tuck my hands in my pockets before I remember I'm not wearing any pants. I end up twisting my fingers in my shirt as my thoughts jumble together.
"Then sit here next to me. I'm not going to talk to you while you awkwardly shuffle around."
He leans against the headboard, patting the space next to him. When I hesitate, he tucks a pillow next to his hip, presenting the space he's created. I wasn't worried about being next to him. This man watched me come. I could handle sitting on a bed next to him, especially one we'd been sleeping in for several weeks now.
"Do you know how I got the job? Is it still called a job if you don't get paid?" I ask, throwing the comforter over my legs.
"Probably not. How did you end up working for him?"
"Well, I told you my father sold me. I should have been sent to the Pit or the Auction. Instead, I was set up in the office. I knew how to work with computers and I was always good at math. Nothing amazing, though. I couldn't understand why Jenkins would insist I work for him. I assumed it was because he would claim me, rape me—" I swallow hard, remembering how terrified I was. "But he never did. He just wanted me to deal with the accounts. Move money around, make sure no one was shorting headquarters, things like that."
