Page 26 of Loathe Me (Touch of Death 1)
“The Art of Happiness?” I say, trying to start a conversation.
He lifts his gaze to me briefly before dropping it again. Silence sits awkwardly between us.
“Have I done something to offend you?” I blurt, immediately wishing I hadn’t.
His silence shouldn’t bother me, but we’re trapped here, and I think solitude would be better than this.
“No.” He turns a page, still not looking up.
“Then why do you hate me so much?” I know I sound like a whiny child, but I’m past caring.
“I am indifferent to you.”
I narrow my eyes. “Clearly you haven’t read much of that book.”
He stares at me blankly.
“Be kind wherever possible. It is always possible.”
He releases a long sigh and snaps his book closed. “You wish for us to be friends.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I said no.”
“If that were true, you would not be plaguing me with your conversation.”
“I don’t want to be your friend, but we are stuck together for the foreseeable future.” Hopefully not for too long. If I can just get him to drop his guard a little…
Confusion blankets his features. “Yes.”
Jesus, this is like pulling teeth. “So you like being locked in this apartment, talking to no one?”
He looks even more confused. “I do not need trivial companionship.”
“We all need someone.” I shrug one shoulder, and he drops his gaze to his lap, brows knitted together so tightly they almost touch.
“I need nothing.”
Pushing to his feet, he places the book on the coffee table and drops to the floor, starting his daily fitness routine. Two hundred push ups, sit ups, and squats. He falls into silence, and I drift away into the bedroom.
My God, he’s infuriating. I find myself trying to read him, but it’s like a blind person trying to decipher text on a page. Pointless.
“Adelina.”
I groan and open my eyes, wincing against the bright light. Blinking a few times, I see Sasha staring down at me. I’m suddenly wide awake, and I sit up, scrambling away from him.
One brow arches. “Get dressed and pack. We’re leaving.”
He walks out, and I glance at the alarm clock. It’s three in the morning. There has to be a reason we’re leaving in the middle of the night. Maybe Bianchi’s men found us. My heart rate ticks up, and for a second at the thought, and I panic. But then it all clears. This could be good.
I grab my bag and throw in my meager collection of clothes: a couple of pairs of jeans and tanks, a hoody…
“Where are we going?” I ask as I meet Sasha at the front door. A backpack is slung over his shoulder, his gun in hand. I don’t really expect him to answer me, but for once, he does.
“Sicily.”
I still. “What?”
This time he does ignore me, opening the door and looking both ways up and down the corridor. “Stay close.”
He closes and locks the door behind us. I’m so elated to be outside of the apartment, the danger doesn’t really register. This is a win-win. Either the Bianchi’s get me, or we’ll make it to Sicily where I have a greater chance of getting away from Sasha and making it to Gabi.
Sasha moves through the streets like a ghost, and I wince at how loud my footsteps sound in the wake of his utter silence. My breaths rasp past my lips in a harsh exchange for oxygen. He doesn’t say anything though, and for once, I’m grateful for his standard lack of interaction.
The streets are black and silent. The darkness should bring with it a sense of anonymity, but it doesn’t. The shadows just seem ominous, as though a bad guy hides in each and every corner. Adrenaline floods my veins as flight instincts take hold.
Sasha leads me to the same harbor we initially docked in, but this time we move farther along, away from the commercial shipping areas. The harbor side gives way to little jetties. They branch off like fingers from a hand, stretching out over the black water, and gentle waves slap against the hulls of small boats, making them bob and dip against the side of the floating wood.
I follow him, although the slight rocking motion of the boardwalk disorients me in the darkness. I try to keep up, but soon find myself lagging behind. A few lights dot the front of the harbor, barely enough to see by. They glisten off the water’s surface, making it hard to distinguish where wooden boards end and the water begins.
Something brushes my arm, and I jump, a small squeak slipping past my lips. “Come on,” Sasha hisses. Grabbing my wrist, he tugs me along until we’re at the end of the jetty.
He jumps down, and I hear his feet thud against the bottom of a boat. I can just about make out the silhouette, and it’s tiny.
“Is that safe?”
“Yes. Come here.”
I step closer to the edge of the jetty, debating how I’m going to get into the glorified dingy and not topple over the side. I shuffle forward, but he grabs me around the waist, pulling me clean off my feet. I land, falling forward. My hands slam against his chest as I lose balance. I instantly right myself and scramble to get away from him. A small huff slips past his lips that almost sounds like laughter, but it’s more likely a frustrated sigh.
