Chapter 11 Small Talk
ELEVEN
SMALL TALK
JACOB
Of course she’s going to make this harder than it should be.
Her good eye locks on to mine, sharp, aware. Tough. Smart. Calculating. She’s the kind of person who doesn’t just survive—she fights, adapts, refuses to yield. And man, is that hot as hell. The tension. The challenge.
Leon’s gaze flicks between us, cool and detached, taking in every detail like the silent observer he is. I can feel the judgment radiating off of him.
Do not show you’re enjoying this. Do not show you’re enjoying this.
I exhale, schooling my features into something neutral, unbothered, like this is just a friendly conversation and not a battle of wills.
“All right, Lyla,” I say, keeping my tone casual, unhurried. “Why don’t you tell me what you were thinking, going into that prison alone?”
Her smile spreads even more—dangerous, full of mischief. My pulse spikes before I even realize why.
“I don’t even know your name,” she says, tilting her head, voice smooth as silk, laced with defiance. “So why should I answer any of your questions?”
This woman is going to be the death of me.
I take a breath, ignoring the very real and very inconvenient reaction happening below my belt. If she’s going to be a brat—which I apparently like more than I should—then fine. I’ll be a smartass right back.
I plaster on a mockingly polite smile. “Where are my manners?” Sarcasm drips from every word. “I’m Jacob.” I jerk my chin toward Leon. “That’s Leon.”
Her gaze shifts to him, curiosity flashing in her eyes.
Leon, ever the enigma, gives a single, brief nod.
“Does he ever talk?” Lyla asks.
“No. Car accident when he was thirteen left him mute.”
She winces. “Shit. Sorry.”
Leon shrugs.
She gestures toward him with a lazy flick of her thumb. “Is he supposed to be the bad cop?”
“Yes,” I say flatly. “And I’m the one trying to help you out. So, I’m going to ask you again—why did you go into that prison alone?”
She shrugs, casual as ever. “I wanted to save some people and kill some bad men in the process,” she states like it’s just another day in the apocalypse.
I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest, mirroring her nonchalant expression.
“See, we’re not used to people going out of their way to save strangers,” Pause.
“Not anymore.” My gaze locks on to hers, searching, pressing.
“Around here, we like to know who’s running into the fire and why. Nowadays, the why matters most.”
For the briefest second, her smirk falters—a pause just long enough to tell me she’s weighing her next move. Her eyes dart toward Leon, her expression sharpening, assessing. Trying to piece him together.
Leon doesn’t give her an inch. Just watches, silent, unreadable.
“He isn’t going to give you anything,” I tell her, voice cool. “I suggest you keep your focus on me.”
Her gaze snaps back, and I catch it—the glint of annoyance in her eyes.
“Why’d you do it?” I ask, my voice dropping lower, more serious now.
The room feels heavier, the air thick with expectation.
“Clearly you and Joanie had something planned by the way she stormed in with a bright-ass yellow metallic steed. You had planned to get on that bus no matter who was on it. So, why did you need to get into that prison?”
Her expression shifts, the faintest crack in her armor before she smooths it over. Her eyes grow guarded, her tone breezy, almost dismissive. “Let’s just say I was overdue for a visit with a certain individual who deserved to die.”
I narrow my eyes. Her gaze avoids mine. There’s subtle tension in her shoulders, the way she leans just slightly away, like she’s trying to keep the truth at arm’s length. Why won’t she tell me who she needed to see?
Leaning forward, I press her, my voice sharper now. “So you thought the only way to get to this person was by taking on an entire compound of psychos with nothing but a knife, a fourteen-year-old in a souped-up Hummer, a blaring Ramones soundtrack, and a horde of the undead?”
Her lips twitch. “Well, when you put it that way . . .” she drawls, her unbruised eye locking on to mine, challenge sparking in the blue depths.
Before I can retort, a voice cuts through the tension from the doorway.
“Personally, I like her sense of humor better than yours, Jacob,” Trish quips, leaning against the frame, her eyes alight with amusement, clearly enjoying the show.
I shoot her a look, patience thinning. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping Earl? Not her?”
She shrugs, a grin spreading across her face. “This is more fun.”
Figures. I turn back to Lyla. “The problem I have with your plan, Lyla, is that you used my people to help you settle your score. Which tells me you’re reckless with others as long as you can get what you want.”
The shift is instant. It’s like watching steel slam into place behind her eyes. The teasing, the amusement—it’s all gone, replaced by something chillier, something lethal. Deadly.
“Look, asshole,” she says, “I am reckless. But that doesn’t mean I don’t give a shit about people.
” She leans forward, eyes darkening, her entire body coiled tight despite her injuries.
“Yes, I got on that bus so I could get to a man who deserved to die. However,” she pauses, her glare searing into me, “I fought to save your people. I didn’t leave them there so I could go finish what he started.
I got them out first. I gave them a fighting chance.
Which, by the way, you would’ve been too damn late to do. ”
The words land hard, and I know she’s right. She saved them. If she hadn’t been inside that prison when she was, I’d be digging graves right now.
She leans back into the pillow, but her gaze stays locked on mine, burning with the fury of a raging bull. Then, just to twist the knife, she adds, “And I don’t owe you any more details as to why I went in there. So, with all due respect—since you did help save my life—kindly fuck off.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and unyielding.
Leon shifts in the corner, his hands moving. “I think you met your match, brother.”
I exhale through my nose, rubbing a hand over my jaw, pushing down the laugh that’s dangerously close to breaking free. My focus stays on Lyla, but I give Leon the smallest nod, a silent concession.
She doesn’t miss it. Her eyes narrow. “What’d he say?” she demands, voice edged with warning.
Yeah, I’m not about to tell her the truth.
I shrug. “He says you’re a pain in the ass. I happen to agree with him.”
Lyla’s glare shifts to Leon, eyes burning with the kind of challenge that makes men rethink their life choices. But Leon? He doesn’t so much as blink. Instead, his lips quirk at the corner.
Holy Mary and Moses. I can count on one hand the number of people that can make Leon smirk. I guess I’m going to have to add another finger. Dirty.
He holds her stare, daring her to make a move.
Trish snorts from the doorway.
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. Fantastic. Now they’re all feeding off each other.
Lyla’s lips twitch, just enough to show that spark of amusement creeping back in. She locks on to me again, and I already know what’s coming before she even opens her mouth.
“Are you done being an ass?”
Behind me, Trish lets out a low chuckle. “I take it back,” she mutters, and I don’t even have to turn to know she’s grinning at Leon. “She’s Ripley.”
Lyla’s gaze flicks to Trish, amusement behind those sharp blue eyes. Just for a second. Then she snaps back to me, waiting.
I stand, taking a step back, sliding the chair against the wall as I put some space between us.
“We’re grateful for what you did,” I say, letting some of the tension ease from my tone.
“You and Joanie can stay with us—if you want. But understand this.” I pause, letting the words settle, making sure she hears me.
“No more reckless plans. We work as a unit. We trust each other to have each other’s backs. Can you do that?”
Her good eye gleams with something entirely too mischievous.
“Yes, sir,” she replies, throwing in a mock salute.
“Of course that’s if we decide to stay. We’re not looking for a handout.
I’ve got supplies—good ones. You can take half as thanks for pulling me out.
” Her eyes narrow. “But I need time to think about the rest.”
I roll my eyes, biting back a grin as I turn on my heel, heading for the door. Behind me, Trish steps aside, mirroring Lyla’s salute with an exaggerated flourish. She gives Lyla a wink over my shoulder before striding down the hall.
Leon steps forward and pulls a key from his pocket. The faint metallic click echoes in the quiet room as he unlocks the cuff around Lyla’s wrist. She rubs her wrist absently, watching him with a guarded mixture of curiosity and appreciation.
He pockets the cuffs, his face unreadable as he turns toward the door. His boots make soft thuds against the wooden floor as he heads after Trish, his broad shoulders almost disappearing through the doorway.
But then he stops.
Pausing just inside the frame, he turns back to Lyla, his posture relaxed, his expression calm. For a moment, his dark eyes meet hers, and then he places his fingers over his chin and pulls them away, palm up.
A simple phrase.
Lyla’s gaze follows the motion of his hand, her brow furrowing.
She looks at me, silently asking for an explanation.
I nod. “He said thank you.”
A small, almost reluctant smile touches her lips. She nods, the tension in her shoulders loosening ever so slightly. “You’re welcome, dickhead,” she says, her tone light but carrying an undertone of sincerity.
Leon snorts, before turning and stepping out the door, leaving just the two of us.
“Look, Lyla,” I say, my voice quieter now, more measured. Her gaze sharpens, meeting mine head-on as I take a step closer. “You may have a death wish, but thank you for what you did for the others. I don’t want to think about what would’ve happened to them if you hadn’t stepped in.”
My mom’s bruised face flashes in my mind. I swallow hard. “For that, I owe you.”
That’s all I’m willing to give, and I turn toward the door, ready to leave it at that. But just as I step over the threshold, her voice stops me.
“Jacob.”
I glance over my shoulder. She’s propped herself up more, her expression fierce despite the bruises.
“Now was that so hard to say?” A coy smile tugs at her lips.
Yep, a challenging woman is definitely my kink. “Not at all, Trouble.”
Her brow furrows. “Trouble?”
I tilt my head, leaning against the doorframe. “You don’t remember our first meeting?”
She shakes her head slowly. “Noooo.”
I press a hand to my chest. “You wound me.” My lips curl. “You don’t remember calling me gorgeous, pinching my ass, or asking me out?”
Her eyes widen, mouth opening and closing as she tries to piece together my words. “I thought that was a dream.”
Oh, this is going to be fun.
“No, Trouble. It was very much real.”
Before she can fire back, I turn away, throwing a wink over my shoulder.
“Don’t worry. I’ll give you my answer in due time.”