Page 54 of Niccolaio Andretti (The Five Syndicates)
“It didn’t sound like nothing.”
“Don’t,” I say, but she’s already heading towards the stairwell.
And honestly, other than that halfhearted “don’t,” I don’t bother stopping her. Because she’ll figure it out eventually when she sees me bringing food and water down to him. It would be exhausting hiding him from her for the duration of her entire stay.
Plus, maybe she can help me change out his pissing bucket every now and then.
Then again, probably not.
I eye her and roll my eyes at the way she walks. She has her chin held up and her back prim and straight, walking like she’s the Queen of fucking England or some shit. I don’t know where she learned to do that, but it’s at odds with what she insinuated to me about her upbringing.
Her “poverty,” as she called it.
When we round the corner to where I’m holding Jax, I study her, waiting to see how she reacts, knowing that I’ll be learning a lot about her from her reaction. And damn, if I’m not a little curious to learn more about her.
And at the last second, I force myself to turn away.
Because what the Hell kind of thought is that?
She’s not here for me to learn more about her, like we’re on a fucking dating show or whatever. She’s here because she threatened to call the cops on me, and I’m not shitty enough of a person to kill an innocent civilian just to keep them quiet.
That’s all.
A gasp leaves her lips, and I see her stopping beside me from my peripherals.
“Why is he here?” she asks, her voice calm and not even a little incensed.
And honestly, that takes me by surprise, because it’s a far tamer reaction than I expected.
This girl’s got spunk. Any other girl, and I can guarantee there would have been screaming. Maybe even some crying. Because Jax’s face is a fucking mess, caked in dried blood and ugly green and purple bruises.
Both of his bullet wounds were clean shots, through and through, so I sewed him up, and that’s about all the upkeep he’s gotten from me since.
He hasn’t even showered.
In my defense, I spray some Febreeze on his skin every now and then when the stink gets to be too much.
Good as new.
I turn to her. “You’re not angry? Disgusted?”
She shrugs. “He shot at me.”
“Fair enough,” I say, but my mind is reeling.
Because this chick is badass.
“He’s here because I’ve still got questions for him,” I continue, answering her earlier question. I kick at his feet, ignoring his whimpers that are loud despite the tape on his mouth. “Jax, here, is a liar.” I turn towards him and look him in the eye. “Aren’t you?”
He mumbles something unintelligibly through the tape, and I tear it from his mouth, unfazed by his screams at the tape ripping from his skin. He has got to be the biggest baby I have ever met. If I even step in his direction, he’ll shriek. I’m almost offended that he thought he could kill me.
I’ve seen ex-girlfriends sit through Brazilian waxes with sultry smiles and bedroom eyes on their faces.
In fact, the girl beside me seems like someone who can take pain like a champ.
At that thought, the part of me that hasn’t gotten laid in too long wonders ho
w rough she likes sex.
