Neither of us bothers to ask how the person he’s so committed to would appreciate him feeling me up or forcing a kiss on me a few minutes ago, but I’m content to let that one go.
I don’t want to see Paul’s dick ever again, bloody or otherwise.
His fun spoiled, it doesn’t take long for Paul to grow bored of guarding us. When he opens the door to step outside, I hear feet shuffling and a voice. Antonio is outside the door. They must’ve put an extra guard on us, in case Paul wasn’t sufficient.
Good thinking.
Paul is a lot of things, but rarely sufficient.
“Why’d you come back?” Liam asks me, now that we’re alone.
I want to tell him I didn’t come alone, but I don’t know if they can hear us outside the door. I don’t know if there are cameras somewhere and I just don’t see them. I’m not willing to take that chance.
“They would’ve killed you,” I state.
“They’ll still kill me,” he points out. “Now they’ll kill you, too.”
“Maybe.”
“The drugs won’t keep us alive forever. I may’ve been able to cow Paul,” he says, so dismissively I have to smile, “but that’s not going to work on Pietro. He’s empty inside. He’ll hurt you to make me talk,
and as soon as I do, we’re both dead.”
“I know that,” I mutter, glancing down at the door.
“So why?”
I want to tell him so badly. I want Ryder to be the answer to our prayer, but I don’t even know if he is. I don’t even know if any of this will work. I could’ve very well walked into a situation I won’t walk out of, and Liam’s right—Pietro will inflict horrors on me in an attempt to get the information he wants, and once he realizes nothing will work, he’ll call it a loss and we’ll both die.
It was quite a gamble, I realize.
But it’s done now.
“If you’re going to die, at least you won’t be alone.” Then, pulse quickening, I look back at him and add, “The least I could do was make sure someone you trust was with you.”
His brows furrow together, then realization dawns on his face. His gaze sharpens, questioning.
I nod as much as I’m able, just a tiny motion, because I’m paranoid. It doesn’t seem like the kind of place you could put cameras, but they did bug my house.
Liam’s whole demeanor changes. He eases back as much as he can—poor guy, he’s gotta be so uncomfortable tied up like that—and takes a slow perusal of the room. His eyes move to the high ceilings, the windowless walls, the door with all the extra locks.
Not an ideal spot to break into, I imagine.
And that’s if Ryder even knows which building we’re in. I sure didn’t see him anywhere.
The door opens and Paul slinks back in. I listen as he closes the door and notice they don’t lock all the locks when he’s inside with us.
Maybe we want him to be inside.
“Do you have a blanket?” I ask, my voice small and delicate, the way Paul thinks he likes. (Really, he likes when I piss him off. But he thinks he likes me delicate.)
Paul snorts, pulling up a folding chair on the other side of the room and planting his ass in it. He pulls his phone out and starts playing around on it.
I sigh, injecting as much despondency as I can into it.
“Shoulda made a better fucking choice,” Paul mutters, not looking away from his phone. “You were at home in our bed, you wouldn’t be wanting for a fucking blanket, now would you?”
“No,” I murmur. “I suppose I wouldn’t.”