Precarious
Page 27
I give him a weak smile. “Well, thanks.”
“You trust me, don’t you?”
I blink at him. “Pardon?”
“You trust me. I can tell you do. You’re not scared, and you’ve only tried to run once.”
I shrug. “I saw you in there; I never thought you would hurt me. I won’t lie and say I wasn’t terrified when your guys shot and killed the guards, but it didn’t take me long to realize I was not in any immediate danger.”
“You’re in danger, though; you do know that, right?”
“How so?”
“There is a war brewin’, and while you’re with us you’re right in the middle of it.”
“It would seem I wasn’t really that safe where I was, anyway.”
“No. You were bein’ used.”
“Do you really think they were using me?” I ask, turning towards him and crossing my legs.
“Did you get asked constant questions about me? Did they ask you what I’d told you? What you’d learned?”
I gasp. Tristan asked me every day if I’d gotten new information out of Krypt. He was setting me up because he knew I had a connection with the prisoners? He was trying to use that connection to get information. Then he went out of his way to put me in that truck for the transfer. My chest seizes at the realization that someone I cared about had been using me and because of that, I was nearly killed.
“You okay?” Krypt asks.
“I’m fine,” I say quickly, standing. “I’m going to shower.”
“Ash,” he calls out, but I’m already halfway down the hall.
The minute I get into my room, I press my hands to my head. I trusted Tristan; I’d considered him a friend, and all along he was just using me to feed information to a club on the outside. It was all a damned big set-up. Was any of it genuine? Did he care about me at all, or was he pretending with that, too?
I spend longer than needed in the shower. I wash my hair, shave my legs, soap my skin, and then spend an hour brushing my brown locks out. I pull on some of the clothes left for me: a pair of short shorts and a turtle-neck sweater. I don’t even want to think about the fact that these could be some club-whore’s clothes.
I head back out to Beau, and find him on the phone at the kitchen counter. My eyes widen when I take him in, and I stop, unable to take another step. He’s standing with his back to me, phone pressed to his ear. He’s not wearing a shirt, and all I can see is one hell of a muscled back and a massive—no, scratch that—gigantic tattoo.
I squint, trying not to take in the way his jeans hang low on his hips, or the tiny dimples on his lower back. Instead, I focus on the tattoo. It’s a gorgeous piece of artwork of a girl. She’s only young in the picture, maybe ten. She’s got long, golden hair and a gorgeous, dimpled smile. Underneath the tattoo, there is one word: Lace.
Like on his knuckles?
Interesting.
He must hear me, because he turns his body, taking me off-guard. I straighten and quickly force my eyes up to his. He narrows his, studying me. His body distracts me, far too quickly. Holy mother of God, it’s like he was built to be a statue. Rippled abs, a broad chest with a light scattering of hair that’s just barely there, biceps to make your mouth water and a V that you want to lick all the way down to his . . . oh God . . . I’m staring at his cock. I jerk my head up to meet his smirk. Shit; he caught me. I flush and turn my gaze away, staring at the painting on the wall.
“Yeah, got it,” he mutters into the phone.
Silence.
“I said I fuckin’ got it, Maddox. I’ll sort it out as soon as I can.”
He grunts.
“Yeah, bye.”
He hangs up the phone and takes a step towards me. I quickly focus back on him, and gasp when I realize just how close he is. He reaches out, taking a lock of my damp hair. He twirls it about, staring down at me like he wants to eat me alive.
“Did you enjoy the view?”
I snort. “What view?”
He chuckles and tugs me closer. “I saw you starin’ at my cock. How long has it been since you’ve been fucked, sweetheart?”
I shove him back. “You already know that answer,” I huff. “Go and jerk yourself. It’s clear you’re struggling.”
He grins and winks at me, before stepping back and throwing his phone and wallet onto the counter. “I’m showerin’. Stay here. Don’t try and run or you’ll get eaten alive by some wild creature.”
“You’re an asshole,” I say, leaning my hip against the counter.
“Never said I wasn’t, babe,” he scoffs, turning and walking down the hall.
I watch him go, and the minute I hear the shower start, I breathe a sigh of relief and turn, taking hold of his phone. Honestly . . . he just left it here. Maybe it’s a test? I don’t really care; I’m taking the bait. I unlock it and my heart flutters when I see it has no passcode. Silly, silly man.
I dial Claire’s number.
“Hello?” she answers after three rings.
“Claire, it’s me.”
“Ash!” she cries. “Oh my God, Ash!”
“It’s me, I’m okay.”
“We didn’t know,” she says, her voice shaky. “We’ve been looking for you. They found dead bodies and . . .” Her voice croaks before breaking off.
“It’s okay,” I soothe. “I’m okay.”
“You trust me, don’t you?”
I blink at him. “Pardon?”
“You trust me. I can tell you do. You’re not scared, and you’ve only tried to run once.”
I shrug. “I saw you in there; I never thought you would hurt me. I won’t lie and say I wasn’t terrified when your guys shot and killed the guards, but it didn’t take me long to realize I was not in any immediate danger.”
“You’re in danger, though; you do know that, right?”
“How so?”
“There is a war brewin’, and while you’re with us you’re right in the middle of it.”
“It would seem I wasn’t really that safe where I was, anyway.”
“No. You were bein’ used.”
“Do you really think they were using me?” I ask, turning towards him and crossing my legs.
“Did you get asked constant questions about me? Did they ask you what I’d told you? What you’d learned?”
I gasp. Tristan asked me every day if I’d gotten new information out of Krypt. He was setting me up because he knew I had a connection with the prisoners? He was trying to use that connection to get information. Then he went out of his way to put me in that truck for the transfer. My chest seizes at the realization that someone I cared about had been using me and because of that, I was nearly killed.
“You okay?” Krypt asks.
“I’m fine,” I say quickly, standing. “I’m going to shower.”
“Ash,” he calls out, but I’m already halfway down the hall.
The minute I get into my room, I press my hands to my head. I trusted Tristan; I’d considered him a friend, and all along he was just using me to feed information to a club on the outside. It was all a damned big set-up. Was any of it genuine? Did he care about me at all, or was he pretending with that, too?
I spend longer than needed in the shower. I wash my hair, shave my legs, soap my skin, and then spend an hour brushing my brown locks out. I pull on some of the clothes left for me: a pair of short shorts and a turtle-neck sweater. I don’t even want to think about the fact that these could be some club-whore’s clothes.
I head back out to Beau, and find him on the phone at the kitchen counter. My eyes widen when I take him in, and I stop, unable to take another step. He’s standing with his back to me, phone pressed to his ear. He’s not wearing a shirt, and all I can see is one hell of a muscled back and a massive—no, scratch that—gigantic tattoo.
I squint, trying not to take in the way his jeans hang low on his hips, or the tiny dimples on his lower back. Instead, I focus on the tattoo. It’s a gorgeous piece of artwork of a girl. She’s only young in the picture, maybe ten. She’s got long, golden hair and a gorgeous, dimpled smile. Underneath the tattoo, there is one word: Lace.
Like on his knuckles?
Interesting.
He must hear me, because he turns his body, taking me off-guard. I straighten and quickly force my eyes up to his. He narrows his, studying me. His body distracts me, far too quickly. Holy mother of God, it’s like he was built to be a statue. Rippled abs, a broad chest with a light scattering of hair that’s just barely there, biceps to make your mouth water and a V that you want to lick all the way down to his . . . oh God . . . I’m staring at his cock. I jerk my head up to meet his smirk. Shit; he caught me. I flush and turn my gaze away, staring at the painting on the wall.
“Yeah, got it,” he mutters into the phone.
Silence.
“I said I fuckin’ got it, Maddox. I’ll sort it out as soon as I can.”
He grunts.
“Yeah, bye.”
He hangs up the phone and takes a step towards me. I quickly focus back on him, and gasp when I realize just how close he is. He reaches out, taking a lock of my damp hair. He twirls it about, staring down at me like he wants to eat me alive.
“Did you enjoy the view?”
I snort. “What view?”
He chuckles and tugs me closer. “I saw you starin’ at my cock. How long has it been since you’ve been fucked, sweetheart?”
I shove him back. “You already know that answer,” I huff. “Go and jerk yourself. It’s clear you’re struggling.”
He grins and winks at me, before stepping back and throwing his phone and wallet onto the counter. “I’m showerin’. Stay here. Don’t try and run or you’ll get eaten alive by some wild creature.”
“You’re an asshole,” I say, leaning my hip against the counter.
“Never said I wasn’t, babe,” he scoffs, turning and walking down the hall.
I watch him go, and the minute I hear the shower start, I breathe a sigh of relief and turn, taking hold of his phone. Honestly . . . he just left it here. Maybe it’s a test? I don’t really care; I’m taking the bait. I unlock it and my heart flutters when I see it has no passcode. Silly, silly man.
I dial Claire’s number.
“Hello?” she answers after three rings.
“Claire, it’s me.”
“Ash!” she cries. “Oh my God, Ash!”
“It’s me, I’m okay.”
“We didn’t know,” she says, her voice shaky. “We’ve been looking for you. They found dead bodies and . . .” Her voice croaks before breaking off.
“It’s okay,” I soothe. “I’m okay.”
