Page 29 of Pulse Zero
I’ve already missed out on my next job I was supposed to be on. I didn’t care at the time since this one paid so well, but now…
I’m furious at Cason’s prodding and poking.
And then he had to let out one of the most obscene moans I’ve ever heard in my life.
It’s still replaying in my head. That sound. The way it echoed off the concrete walls. The way it wrapped around my spine and dragged something ugly and primitive to the surface.
I’ve been in combat zones. I’ve been shot at. I’ve broken men with my bare hands.
Nothing has ever made me lose control like that.
And the second he started touching himself—showing off, taunting me, daring me to react—I needed that control back. I needed distance. A reminder of who we are.
Captor and captive.
Not whatever the hellthisis.
Except that line has been blurring for a while now.
There have been moments when I forget the rule. One hour of silence in exchange for a question. It was supposed to keep him manageable, under control. Predictable. Instead, there have been days when that stretch of silence is shorter. He keeps talking, and I keep answering.
Like the night he asked about my tattoos.
We were sitting there like usual, me at my desk and him chained against the wall. I kept time for the first hour while we ate dinner, but then I just…forgot.
Cason is the only one who’s ever been able to distract me.
“What’s that one?” he asked, pointing to the largest tattoo in the sleeve inked into my left arm. “The skull with the flowers. It’s pretty. Is it symbolic? Are you secretly a poet?”
“It’s a reminder.”
“Of?”
“That everything dies.”
He made a face, his facade cracking. Just a flicker for half a second. “That’s…intense.” He took a deep breath like he wasinhaling life back into his mask. “Do you also have one that saysLive, Laugh, Leave No Survivors,or are we saving that for the other arm?”
I’m not usually one to roll my eyes, but I did then. I think it was to keep from showing amusement.
He kept going, tracing the designs in the air, asking about each one like he had all the time in the world.
Eventually, without thinking, I asked, “What about yours?”
He lit up. Actually lit up.
“You mean Penelope?”
“Penelope the unicorn, sure.”
“She’s not just any unicorn,” he said, offended. “She’s a warrior. Very brave. Very noble. She once saved an entire village from—”
“Let me guess. A dragon.”
He looked at me as though that was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. “No. Tax fraud.”
I paused what I was doing at my computer and raised a brow. “Tax fraud.”
“It’s a real problem in the magical community. Nobody talks about it.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Governments are terrifying, man. Even for unicorns.”
