Page 98 of Wayward

“What family?”

“Me,” Gale said flatly. “And Misha, of course. There might be more by then as well. He’s not going to be alone anymore.”

No. I was not.

After breakfast, which Gale and I both drank in the form of protein shakes—anything heavier and we’d pass out—I got calls from all the people who couldn’t get onto the property because of the stupid gate.

“That gate,” Gale said, clearing his throat. “Whose idea was that?”

“Zip it,” I snapped at him, still on the phone with the gate guy.

Once he got there and opened the stupid thing, I told him to leave it like that until further notice. I was tired, so my patience was nonexistent, but I tried to be nice to everyone I spoke to as I answered questions. Byers, who had taken a nap in one of the bedrooms, suggested we both try and get some shut-eye. But sleeping during the day was a bad idea if I ever wanted my schedule to return to normal. Gale agreed with me. So while Ada woke up around noon, ready for lunch, appearing refreshed, he and I looked like extras from The Walking Dead.

“Just a small nap?” Ada suggested to us as she sliced apples.

I glared at her.

Gale shook his head and went back to watching TV next to the fireplace.

“You’re going to fall asleep over there,” I warned him.

“Mind your own business,” he retorted.

I couldn’t help laughing, and when he looked at me and saw me smiling, it only took him a second to smile back.

“I’m in a bad mood, Maks. Let me be in a bad mood.”

“You want some ice cream instead?”

He agreed to my terms.

Later, we were sitting at the table playing mahjong, which surprisingly, we all knew.

“Who taught you to play?” I asked Gale.

“My roommate in college.” He yawned.

“You?” I asked Ada.

“My grandmother. She learned when she traveled through China as a young woman. And you?”

“Head of one of the triads we did business with.”

“I find that very exciting,” she told me.

“Especially if you knew we played for people,” I said, waggling my eyebrows.

She shook her head at me. “I don’t believe you. You’re hardly a Bond villain, my darling.”

“I could be.”

Gale found our conversation hysterical.

“Isn’t it interesting,” she said as we were all picking tiles, “that had you not come to us, Maks, Gale might have been killed by the confused young man with the vendetta.”

Gale stopped moving and looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“Well, whether Maks was there or not, Mr. Wells was going to show up when he did. But because you, Gale, were in the bungalow, not in your home, you weren’t at the front of the property where he could have just picked you off.”