45. Esperr #2
He swallows and then sighs. “I didn’t come down for dinner when you were here last. That was rude.” he turns his mug in his hands. “You came here to meet everyone, and I couldn’t be bothered to walk down a flight of stairs, and for that I’m sorry.”
I open my mouth and then close it. I’m not sure what I expected when meeting Rhys, but for some reason it wasn’t this.
“It’s okay?—”
“It’s not,” he cuts me off. “It’s inexcusable, and I know that; I just wanted to say it.”
I look at him for a second, not sure what to say and not sure what to do. Zyran hasn’t told me much about Rhys, and I don’t want to make him upset, but also I don’t think I’m really all that upset he didn’t show.
But before I can say anything, my stomach growls loudly, filling the entire kitchen.
I press a hand over it and close my eyes briefly.
Wishing that he hadn’t heard is a false hope because I know he definitely heard me, and when I open my eyes, he’s staring at me, head tilted, and amusement covering his face.
“You like eggs and bacon?” he asks.
“I would genuinely cry,” I tell him. And right now I’m not sure I’m lying, because it literally feels like I haven’t eaten in days, though it’s only been hours.
Something shifts in his expression, not quite a smile, but for him it probably is, and then he sets his cup down and moves to the cabinet, bending down.
I move over to the bar stool and settle into the stool at the island, wrapping both hands around my coffee. Watching Rhys move around the kitchen, he pulls a pan out and starts the stove before he moves to the fridge and grabs the eggs and bacon.
“You’re up early,” I say, catching the time on the stove—3:28am.
“Always am,” he says. He keeps his back to me and doesn’t elaborate, which somehow feels very on-brand for the brother who lives in his room since I’ve been here.
I take a sip of my coffee and nearly groan at the taste. Rhys wasn’t wrong; this is significantly better than anything Zyran has made me, though I’d never admit that. It’s something I’m taking to my grave—no one could waterboard that shit out of me.
“This is good,” I tell him, taking another drink.
“I know.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, though I still roll my eyes, mainly because his back is to me.
And thankfully he doesn’t say anything, and I don’t feel the need to fill the silence. I listen as the bacon pops in the pan and watch as he adjusts the heat without looking at it. He grabs a plate and some paper towels, and then he’s cracking a few eggs one-handed into a bowl.
The entire time I sit here I find myself feeling oddly comfortable, even if it’s with a brother I’ve never met and with the one that could probably kill me without thinking twice about it.
Though that’s not saying much, I’m pretty sure they all could.
“How do you take your eggs?” He asks.
I shrug, though he can’t see me. “Uh… however is easiest.”
He glances over his shoulder at me with an expression that leaves no room for argument. “That’s not an answer.”
“Scrambled, please.”
Rhys turns back around and pulls the last of the bacon off before pouring the eggs into the same pan. It doesn’t take long before he’s plating them in half and then sliding one over to me.
“Thank you,” I mutter and then shove a piece of bacon into my mouth.
Rhys doesn’t say anything as he slides in on the other side of the island, keeping the corner barstool between us. I eat another piece of bacon and find myself glancing up at him across the island, realizing that I actually know nothing about him.
“So,” I start, and then because I’m not exactly sure what to say, I shove a bite of eggs into my mouth. Only when I’ve eaten most of my food do I realize the burning question. “Are you also a hitman?”
Rhys looks up from his plate and… well, he just stares at me. And I quite can’t figure out that stare, but I imagine that’s the look he gives people to make them squirm. I don’t.
I do everything in my power to keep his gaze, and after what feels like thirty seconds, it’s not so bad.
And in a turn of events, he’s the first to look away, though it’s only for a second, while he leans back and grabs his coffee. “I know how to kill someone,” he mutters, taking a sip. “But I prefer computers.”
I blink and my head falls to the side a bit. “You prefer computers.”
“They’re more interesting.” Rhys shrugs and then goes back to his eggs like it’s that simple. Which maybe to him it is, but in a way he reminds me of Oliver—if Oliver were tall, dark, and brooding, that is.
“What do you do on the computer?” I ask, and even I hear how stupid it sounds coming out of my mouth.
He raises a brow for a second. “Whatever needs doing.”
“I think you and your brother have a problem with answering questions,” I mutter, biting into another piece of bacon.
“What do you mean?”
“I asked Zyran once about the stalking, about how much he actually knew about me before we ever spoke. And let’s just say he…” I gesture vaguely, “deflected. Very smoothly, and thinking about it now, he’s never fully answered me.”
Rhys is quiet for a second, and then he’s doing something I’ve never expected—he laughs. He’s not loud or even dramatic, more like a short, quiet, sudden sound that tells me it surprised him as much as it did me.
“Well,” he starts, setting his coffee down. “I suppose our baby brother had to learn something from each of us. Unfortunately, what he learned from me was how not to answer a question.”
I stare at him, blinking, and so not impressed. “So you taught him that.”
“I perfected it,” he says with a smile. “He’s just borrowing it.”
I shake my head, really not impressed.
“He asked me to find information on a girl named Esperr,” Rhys says, and the way he says it makes me roll my eyes. This isn’t a conversation about the damn weather, but to him, it might as well be. “Didn’t say much, just a name and the coffee shop she worked at.”
I go still, eyes narrowing. “So you’re the reason he knew where to find me. Where my apartment was and what room it was.”
Rhys looks at me and doesn’t even appear to be sorry about it.
“You’re really something else,” I mutter.
“So I’ve been told,” and he goes back to his breakfast.
I tear my last piece of bacon in half, shoving one into my mouth as I rest my elbows on the island. “So you know everything about everyone, don’t you?”
Rhys glances up, taking a slow sip of his coffee, and sets it down before taking a bite. He doesn’t confirm or deny my words, but the flicker that goes across his face, that small glimmer in his eyes, tells me everything I need to know.
“That’s sort of terrifying.”
“You’re sitting in a house full of men who kill people for living.” He shoots back.
“Yeah, but you’re just a different kind of terrifying.”
Something moves across his face that isn’t quite a smile but is close enough to one that I count it. And it makes me think back to when Sybil asked if Zyran was smiling; I really should have asked about Rhys because he’s the brother that needs to smile more.
“Fair enough,” he says, but I hear the hint of surprise in his voice. Almost like he doesn’t think he’s dangerous just because he sits behind a screen. And for some it might not be scary as those that would slit your throat or shoot you in the forehead.
For Rhys, he could ruin you before killing you, and that’s all around the worst kind of murdering.
I scrape the last of my eggs off the plate and lean back on the stool, wrapping both hands around my coffee. Looking at Rhys across the island, I can’t help but think about how I came downstairs expecting an empty kitchen and ended up here instead.
And it’s surprisingly easy.
Which for someone like Rhys, who apparently doesn’t talk to anyone, feels significant in a way that I don’t mind.