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I lift my shoulders. “I'm not fussy. I'll eat anything.”
“I didn't ask if you're fussy. I said what do you like other than eggs. What would you usually eat at home?”
I definitely want to punch him, especially when he speaks to me like this. I'm not a fucking child.
I don't find his gaze again. I eat the rest of my eggs, keeping my eyes down. “I don't know... chicken... vegetables... potatoes...”
Nothing more is said about what food I like. Charlie sits with me until I finish off my breakfast, then he stands and takes the tray from my lap. I look up at him, and of course he's staring at me. He's always staring at me, intrigued or something.
“Meet me downstairs in ten minutes,” he gestures with the tray, “I'll clean this up and then we'll head off.”
I nod, glad that he's taking me with him. Someone has to look out for Maksim because I doubt Charlie is. He has other intentions. I know it.
13
Charlie and I shrug into our jackets by the double front doors. He's wearing a brown leather jacket, and I have to admit, he looks good in it, especially with his black hair curling around his features. He looks dangerous and rugged.
“Here, let me get that.” He helps me into my jacket, slipping it up my arms.
I want to stop him but why bother? Unless I want him making my life hell for the next three months, I need to find some common ground with him.
He pulls out my hair and drapes it down my back.
“I want my gun before we leave,” I say, zipping up my jacket and facing him.
“Yeah, all right.” He chuckles, grabbing a set of car keys from a cupboard on the wall by the doors.
“I'm serious.” I stare at him without blinking. “I want my gun.”
He's quietly looking at me, his eyes flittering between mine, then he snaps, “You're mad if you actually believe I'll let you loose around me with a pistol.”
It seems he wants to control everything about me—even my safety.
“Charlie,” I sigh out his name, running my fingers through my hair, “I can't live like this for three months. You're too intense-”
His eyebrows shoot up.
“-There has to be some kind of mutual respect between us, otherwise, I'd rather you and Maksim fall out and I go back to my old life.” I shrug. “It's your choice.”
“You can't decide that.”
Slowly and softly, I say, “I can. I'll just pay for it.”
He grinds his jaw, and now he's glaring at me. “You'll put a bullet in my head while I sleep if I give you back your gun—why'd you think I took it from you in the first place, hm? I don't trust you.”
Like I give a shit if he trusts me or not.
I reach past him for the door handle. “I don't need you to be asleep to shoot you.” I tug the door open, allowing in a rush of cold air. “I'll be waiting outside. Bring my gun. I don't feel safe without it.”
When I walk past him, I barge him with my shoulder. He huffs, as if he wants to say something, but he doesn't.
Exiting the house, I jog down the porch steps, immediately noticing Charlie has a fetish—for cars I mean. There's a black Mercedes, a red Ferrari, two Range Rovers—one in black and the other in white—and an old red sports car. They're all parked on the right side of the stony driveway, under a wall of climbing white flowers.
Who needs this many cars?
“I must be crazy giving this back to you,” Charlie says from behind.
Pivoting, I take my gun from him. It's cold and heavy. It's my safety blanket.
