Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN_
HAZARD
How long am I going to punish Decaf for? I can’t be sure. My sentence was twenty-three years, and that was for something I didn’t even do.
Maybe I’ll see how I feel in twenty-two years. He’ll be in his sixties then. Maybe on his deathbed. If I time it right, I could suck up to him just before he dies so I can inherit his estate. I’m assuming he’s got properties and money. Everyone else who works for Mike Bravo does.
Who knew black ops and secret government contracts were so lucrative? Though that begs the question, what will happen to everyone’s possessions now that Trav is no longer taking on those contracts?
I’m still not convinced anyone is coming for us, but if Trav’s going to continue to pay my salary for me to hang out by a pool and not go out, who am I to tell him otherwise? These next few days are going to fly by.
At least, that’s what I think until it becomes abundantly clear that one day with Decaf feels like eleventy years. An entire week? Eleventy billion years.
Decaf sits there all day, drinking coffee, looking hot, and mostly ignoring me unless it’s to ask if I want something to eat or drink.
I continue to try to poke the bear, but he’s been able to hold his composure. It sucks. It’s not fun if I’m not getting a rise out of him. What else isn’t fun is how easy he can get a rise out of me. And not my emotions. Physically.
How can my body be so attracted to the man I’ve vowed to resent for the foreseeable future?
How long will it take for my body to get on board with my brain?
I’d argue it would be easier to forgive Decaf and give in to the man downstairs, but it’s obvious there’s no way he’s ever going to see me as a man or anyone other than Jesse’s kid.
I just want this whole partnering-up, living situation to be over with. There’s been nothing. No threats. No danger.
We’re waiting for an attack that isn’t coming, and I’m so bored, I’m starting to want it to happen so I have the opportunity to get some energy out. To get adrenaline pumping. To feel alive.
There’s no real point in getting out of bed today.
I have no idea what time it is. The sun is shining through the windows, but the room is still the kind of silent that only comes in those early hours where everyone’s still sleeping.
Decaf must be because he’s not waking me with the sound of coffee beans being murdered.
The door to the guesthouse creaks open a few minutes later, though, so I guess he must’ve been inside the main house. I remain on my stomach, eyes closed. Maybe if he thinks I’m still asleep, he’ll be quiet.
Out of nowhere, a large body lands on top of me, and a hand covers my mouth. My eyes fly open, and I try to scream, but I can’t.
My heart leaps into my throat, that adrenaline I was craving mere seconds ago hitting me and reminding me that it’s all fun and games until kidnapping is involved.
It really is happening. Trav wasn’t being paranoid. I really thought he was wrong on this one. Holy fuck, we’re all going to die. We’re all—
“I’m going to pillage your face and plunder your booty.”
—Uh, what? My tense muscles relax as I realize who it is.
I shove Iris off me, and he laughs, while Saint stands at the foot of the bed, shaking his head.
“No more butt pirate stuff. We have a list of shit to get done.”
“What shit?” I ask.
“Wedding shit!” Iris bounces on the bed in excitement.
“Wait, we’re allowed out? We’re free?”
Iris and Saint glance at each other in the way couples do when they’re having a silent conversation.
“Allowed is a strong word …” Iris says.
“No, we’re still supposed to be keeping a low profile,” Saint says. “But Iris is like a puppy. If he doesn’t get outside to expel all his energy, he drives me crazy. So I’m giving him this.”
“And you’re taking me with you, why?”
“Are you saying you’d rather stay here with Decaf?” Iris asks.
I stand. “Good point.”
“We figured if you’re as similar to Iris and Zeus as they say, you are probably going stir-crazy, too, with cabin fever.”
“You would be right.” Even if I don’t totally agree with the constant Iris and Zeus comparisons.
Can I do stuff without thinking? Yes. But isn’t that what your early twenties are for?
Impulsivity now, lessons learned in the future.
Or some shit like that. “Just get me out of here before Decaf—actually, where is Decaf?” Not that I care. I don’t.
“Inside with Atlas, talking to Trav about plans and protocols and risk assessment, blah, blah, blah,” Iris says.
“Hurry up and get dressed. We don’t know when Decaf will be back, and as much as I love the guy, I don’t want him to decide he wants to come wedding shopping too.
Could you imagine grumpy Decaf picking out reception décor? ”
“His color scheme would be shades of coffee,” Saint says.
I pull clothes out of my duffel bag and throw them on. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”
Anything that will get me out of here and away from Decaf for an hour or two.