Chapter Twenty-Five Larissa
Chapter Twenty-Five
LARISSA
PETER glares AT me from where he’s perched at the opening of the tent, Glock in his lap. A sure sign I’m not his favorite post, and he has no intention of being allies.
“We got off on the wrong foot,” I draw out, flipping a page of the book I’m close to finishing.
Unsurprisingly, I get no reply, and I glance up and over at him from where I sit cross-legged on my stacked blankets.
“Did you know your boss is utterly boring and has a major hard-on for the men we make statues of?” I state, flashing the cover of the book his way.
“They’re called Stoics,” he declares icily.
“I know what they’re called.”
“Then you know why he respects them.”
“Because they walked around with sticks up their asses?”
“You can’t be serious.” He nods toward the book in my hand.
“Wisdom, courage, justice, and temperance being their code while leading legions of men into battle. Bravely fighting alongside them while sacrificing every imaginable comfort. Enduring horrific conditions for months and years on end, all the while keeping their emotions in check. Writing memoirs which led to adapted meditation practices used by millions to this day.” He snorts in disgust. “Are you sure you’re reading that, or is it just another prop? ”
“Is that what you think of your boss? Is he a stoic man?”
“He’s the best of fucking men. The best I’ve ever known, and that you will ever come across in your lifetime.”
“That’s awfully high praise, but I think Alexander is his favorite.” I nod toward the stack of books about Alexander III. “And he wasn’t a Stoic.”
“Because Alexander the Great lived before the Stoics’ time.”
“Thanks for the history lesson … Do you know why he’s his favorite?”
Silence.
“Maybe it’s because Alexander swung both ways.” I double-tap my brows.
“If you hurt him, in any fucking way—”
“Uh-oh, Peter’s got some backbone,” I taunt. “And agree to disagree on the best man thing, but”—I lean forward—“do tell, did you volunteer today just for the chance to threaten me?”
He leers at me from feet away.
“Oof, don’t hurt yourself with that look.” I widen my eyes. “And try to remember, tiger, that you’re the one with the loaded Glock pointed at a helpless woman.”
He snorts derisively.
“Tough room. Tell me, why does everyone think I’m the big bad wolf?”
“If it walks like a dog and bites like one.” He shrugs.
While Peter is average looking, the scar marring his brow and his ability to toss a convincing side-eye somehow give him a slight edge.
Though his features are boyish, I can tell he’s got a little kick to him.
The kind born from something hidden. Something that festers.
“What did you do?” I tilt my head, studying him. “You … hurt someone.” I trace his posture as I speak. “Someone close to you. I’m right, aren’t I?”
The livid eyes holding mine flare, not in confirmation, but in warning, which is confirmation enough. “It’s odd to me that Tyler trusts you the same way he trusts Julien,” I say.
“I don’t see what’s so fucking odd about it,” he bites out. “Normal people have more than one friend they can trust.”
“Ah.” I feign hurt. “So I’m not normal?”
His inaudible reply is nothing less than scathing.
“Well, you’ve got me there, Peter Pan, but again, we got off on the wrong foot. We could remedy that if you’re up for it. I could always use one more friend.”
He shakes his head slightly in annoyance, his stance clear.
“You really do love him,” I deduce from the threat he’s trying so hard to convey.
“He deserves better than this,” he replies, glancing around the tent and then pointedly back at me, “so much better.”
“Well, try to keep in mind that I’m the one being held prisoner.” I scrutinize him until he barks again.
“What?”
“You truly are his favorite, but I can’t pinpoint why.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he dismisses.
“Pretty sure I do, and if I’m honest, I think I might like you, too. While it might be the norm in your club, true loyalty is rare in mine,” I admit with a sigh, standing. When he instantly stands with me, lifting his gun a little awkwardly, I can’t help but laugh.
“Jesus, if there was ever a time to make a run for it.” I bulge my eyes, flashing him an ironic smile.
“You won’t make it far,” he delivers with surprising venom.
“Damn, that was almost, almost”—I lift my fingers to display an inch—“believable. But don’t worry, I just need a quick trip to the ladies’ room.”
Slowly bending with one palm up in surrender, I retrieve the wet wipes from the side of the tent, holding them with both hands as I approach.
“You know, Peter, I think your boss might be starting to trust me, too.”
“You think wrong,” he says as he opens the flap before ushering me toward the woods with his gun.
“Not true, if he thought me a threat, he wouldn’t have left me with you.”
“There was—”
When I cock a brow, he clamps his mouth shut.
“Hmm, so very loyal.”
“Just hurry up.”
Stalking toward the bushes for privacy, my mind races with scenarios about Tyler’s choice of babysitter.
Something’s going down or has already, and I can only hope it has nothing to do with Ciro.
But if Peter was his choice to sit with me, that means Tyler needed all his capable birds close by tonight.
The question is, for what? Despite my panic, I decide it can’t be Ciro.
Not yet. I’m still holding a few things Tyler needs to properly see any successful takedown through.
After taking care of business, I pull my borrowed sweats up, sans the useless underwear I finally tossed.
It’s when I turn back toward camp that I sense a clear shift in the air.
Cocking my head, only the rustle of the wind through the trees comes back to me.
Slowly stalking back toward camp, I shiver against the icy gust of wind that sweeps through, more awareness pricking up my spine with each step.
Cognizant of the feeling that I’m being watched.
The instant I emerge from the woods, I freeze … noting the campfire has been snuffed out and the tent light is off. The recognition of the darkness surrounding me threatens to bring me to my knees, but I shake it off, intent on calming my racing heart and controlling the threatening fear.
Think, Larissa.
Seconds or minutes pass as my heartbeat starts to sound in my ears.
Opting out of calling Peter’s name, which would idiotically give away my location, I scan the camp for him and come up empty.
Fear again threatens, and I shake it free, reminding myself of my truth—no one is coming. It’s all up to you.
I take in a few calming breaths, but even those feel too loud as I crouch down, swiveling my head in every direction, searching frantically with what little light the rising moon provides.
The rising orb gives me no edge, currently bracketed between thick branches of the nearby trees.
With so little light, I’m barely able to make out the shadows of the camp.
The surrounding grounds are pitch dark. My racing heart begins to thump harder as I try to come up with a plan, an idea of what might be happening.
Expecting the butt of a gun at my temple or the telltale cocking any second, and … nothing.
It’s when the darkness begins to stretch out in front of me as I rack my brain for an idea of what to do that the threat finally makes itself known.
“Who are they?”
The words cut through the piercing dark as I crane my neck to place the direction the voice is coming from. My relief cut short when it finally registers, as does his tone and delivery.
“What …” I stand and stumble forward a little, spinning in a circle as nausea threatens. Because it was definitely Tyler’s voice I heard, but … not.
“Tyler, where is Peter?” I ask as fear sluices an icy shiver down my spine. The wind again kicks up, this time gusting through the camp and lifting my hair as I search for his shadow and find none. “What happened?”
“You know exactly what’s fucking happening,” he spits venomously, his words biting my skin as gooseflesh erupts along it.
Batting my terror down, I tense at the clear threat in his voice.
On instinct, I start to coil up, readying myself for whatever fight I have coming.
It’s then that my senses become slightly sharper, and I’m able to acclimate more to the lack of light.
Scanning my surroundings again, and still unable to make out his shadow anywhere in the camp or behind me, I bite out my barb.
“I know you’re rusty in this department, but if this is your idea of foreplay, it’s a little creepy.
” Not at all feeling the humor in my words or delivery, I take a few steps toward the last whispers of faint smoke rising from the pit, grasping for some sense of direction.
“I’ll admit, I’m a little sore from last night, but—”
“Who are they?!” he roars, his voice unmistakably lethal, his threat delivering in the way Peter’s failed. “I’m done playing.”
“Uh, I doubt that, considering the packaging of this little convo.” I swallow, hating that my gulp sounds so damn loud, even with the wind kicking up.
Bracing myself, I call back out into the dark, not only hearing the intent and threat in his words but feeling the danger clouding the space as I again try to reason with him. “For the last fucking time, Tyler. I’m here to help you.”
The trees sway around me, a sign that a storm is brewing, but I try to convince myself it’s just my imagination.
My fucking fear. Trapped in a moment of weakness, I close my eyes, terror threatening to consume me when I can’t detect which direction his voice is coming from.
Fed up, and refuting the emotion I’ve spent half my adult life trying to master, I finally make a demand of my demented stalker.
“If you’re going to threaten me, face me like a fucking man! ”