Page 22 of Forbidden Fate

I lift a shoulder. “I’ve always been curious.”

“Yeah,” he huffs. “I can see that.”

I finish another piece of bread, forcing it down with a longer sip of water this time. My throat aches from the effort, but I don’t stop.

Eat. Drink. Stay alive.

Think later.

Except I don’t have the luxury of later.

I look around the cell again. No cameras that I can see, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any.

“Why the gun?” I ask casually. “Do you think I’m going to overpower you with stale bread?”

His lips twitch. “You’d be surprised what people try when they get desperate.”

“Am I desperate?” I ask.

“Not yet,” he says.

I look away, taking another bite of the apple to cover the flicker of something that tries to rise in my chest.

Fear.

I clear my throat. “I’m Robin.”

He scowls. “I know who the fuck you are. Eat your food.”

I nod as if he’s being reasonable and take another bite.

He lowers the gun a bit.

Good.

I keep eating. Keep sipping. Keep my breathing steady, even though my pulse is racing, my stomach churning.

I may have been cavalier with the other one, but I’m not stupid. And I’m definitely not helpless.

Not yet.

Until—

The man unlocks my cell. “Inspection time.”

I gulp. “No need. I’ve got nothing in here.”

“I have my orders.”

“Is that your favorite phrase?”

“Shut the fuck up, you cunt.”

That shuts me up, at least for a moment. I hate that word. But I hate this asshole more. And I learned long ago that you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Pedro. Pedro Zabala.”