23. Chapter 23
Chapter 23
M eg sat at the counter eating her sandwich. She held one of the triangles she’d cut in one hand while the other played with the small giraffe, and she kept sneaking looks at Naz.
Those looks made him think she wanted to say something. It was odd for Meg not to say whatever was on her mind. She took a bite, catching the dripping grape jelly with her finger.
Peanut butter and jelly was not something Naz could force down.
He wore the clothes she’d washed, and she’d been right. It was a relief to be back in his own shirt and jeans.
His phone screen lit up, pulling his eyes to the picture of them together. He stared at that picture until the phone dimmed again before reaching for it.
Ramiro had sent him message after message, but Naz continued to ignore them. He’d told his boss as much as he wanted him to know. The double digits of unread messages had likely become threats by now.
The newest notification was the same as every week.
‘Proof of life.’
Diego had always cared whether he was alive.
Now Naz had one more person who cared.
He opened the message and hit the camera icon. A quick snap, and his weekly check-in was done.
“That Diego?” Meg asked.
Naz nodded, his gaze drawn back to her.
They’d spent the day together, just like they had before he’d killed everyone. Since they’d already been cuddling on the couch, Meg decided she’d like to watch TV. She’d found some rerun she liked. Naz barely paid attention. He was content to hold her, more than content to listen to her random giggles and commentary. Her fingers had played with his where they wrapped around her, and time had passed.
When she was around, time passed way too quickly.
“How did you and Diego meet?” Meg asked.
Voices, ones he hadn’t heard all day, swirled inside his mind at the question.
“You’re friends, right?” she continued, taking another bite of her sandwich. She watched him as she chewed and swallowed. “He obviously cares that you’re alive, and not in an I’m-gonna-get-something-out-of-you type of way. But do you think of him as a friend?”
Naz hesitated. Not because he was unsure but because the question made him think about Meg. He’d been sure they weren’t friends for a while, and even with how close they were now, he still wouldn’t call her that.
“Ignacio?” Meg asked. Her fingers gripped the giraffe tightly.
Naz nodded. Diego was a friend. He was more than that, but in a different way than Meg was.
“Oh, good,” Meg said, her grip easing. “For a second there, I thought I’d got it wrong.” She set down her sandwich and turned to face him on the stool. “I mean, with that Ramiro guy, it’s different. He’s got a soft spot for you, but he’s intimidating. You two fought. And he’s, I don’t know, not what I expected.”
Ramiro was complicated. Naz trusted him, but also knew there’d be a point when he considered Naz more trouble than he was worth. Maybe he’d already reached that point.
“Summer was nice. To me, anyway. She looked at you in that way.”
Naz lifted an eyebrow. Summer definitely didn’t have a thing for him. She always made him nervous as hell, but not because she was into him.
“No, not that way,” Meg said, rolling her eyes and letting out a snort. Her smile fell away as she met his eyes. Her body turned toward him more, and her gaze slipped down his body slowly. The hairs along his arms rose while she looked her fill, her gaze returning to his eyes. “You’d know if it was that kind of look,” she said, her husky voice acting like an additional caress.
Taunting filled his head, and he couldn’t even force out her name.
“We haven’t talked about it.” Meg searched his eyes. “About what we did last night.”
Thinking about how he came while his memories tried to drag him under made everything worse. Their sneers and excited expressions when they’d made him come flickered in place of Meg’s face.
She hadn’t seen him come. She’d already been asleep. Meg was thinking about what he’d done to her.
Remembering how she’d looked when he’d made her orgasm wiped out the voices, a sudden silence thrumming in his ears.
“I understand, you know,” Meg said.
He focused on her. All traces of her smile, of her joy, had been sucked away.
“I was in pain. You forced yourself to help, even though it wasn’t good for you. You’re like that, Ignacio, always putting me first.”
He hated the way she looked, like she felt bad about herself.
“So I don’t want you to worry. I want to give you what you’ve given me.” Her amber eyes caught the glow from the overhead light, and her smile formed. It was a small one, but a real one. “You’re safe with me, Ignacio.”
His throat closed. His pulse hammered in his skull.
“Don’t worry. That was a onetime thing. I’m not going to force a repeat.” She licked her lips, her smile trembling. “But I can’t tell you I’ll forget it. The way you touched me, getting to have you touch me.” Her breath shuddered out. “It isn’t something I want to forget.”
Naz didn’t think he’d ever forget it.
She swiveled back to face the counter, and not having her eyes on him left him somehow empty.
“So, about Diego,” she said, lifting her sandwich again. “How hard do I have to try to edge him out as your best friend?”
Naz walked toward her. The shirt he’d found for her was a little tight on her. It rode up, showing a strip of skin at the small of her back.
He wanted to touch that skin.
He didn’t do it. Not with the voices only recently silenced.
Naz wrapped his arms around her instead, hugging her.
She let out a gasp of breath, dropping her sandwich again. She leaned into him, and her head found its place on his shoulder.
“Meg,” Naz said, trying to fill her name with everything he wanted to say.
He wasn’t sure any of it got across.
Meg turned her head, brushing her lips against his chin. “I won’t force anything. I want to be true to that.” Her fingers traced over his arm, making his skin twitch as she slid toward his hand. “But you can touch me any time you want, in any way.” Her fingers linked with his, and he tightened his hold on her. “I love your touch, Ignacio. It’s not that I don’t want it, but I only want what you want to give.”
He nodded, the movement shifting their cheeks against each other.
Her breath trembled out. She laughed, but it was her forced one. “I can’t eat this way, though, and I’m hungry.”
When he released her, she frowned down at her sandwich.
“You haven’t eaten anything today,” Meg said.
His stomach knotted.
“Yesterday, so much happened, and we left so quickly.” Meg’s eyes flew to his. “Oh, shit. Do you need that powder?” She scrambled off the stool. “We should go back. Or go to the store. The bread is stale anyway, I just can eat anything. But you—”
Naz pulled her against him.
She pushed away.
“Don’t try that.” Meg glared up at him. “You can’t just shut me up. And I won’t let you starve yourself to keep me safe. You’re important, too! If you need something, we’re going to go get it.”
Naz stared at her. He was used to hiding his eating habits. Letting people see only made it harder.
Ramiro solved things for him, but any conversations were one-sided. Ramiro told him how it was going to be, and he was hard to ignore.
If left to his own devices, Naz preferred not to eat. The powder was better. It tasted like shit, but it was easy and filling. And he’d gotten used to his cup. It had been perfect, spilling less than usual.
But there was no way in hell they were going back to the warehouse.
“No,” Naz told Meg.
Her chin tilted up. “Yes, Ignacio. If you need it, then yes.”
He shook his head. “Not…safe.”
Meg crossed her arms. “I don’t give a shit.”
“Meg.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t do that. I like my name when you say it, but I’m more stubborn than you are. Unless you can go in there and find something to eat, we’re going out. You can pick where we go, make it as safe as possible, but you’re damn well getting something you can eat.”
They stared at each other. She was right about one thing. She was more stubborn than he was.
Her gaze softened. “What happened in the warehouse, it was a lot. I don’t just mean a lot, like overwhelming. I mean, you were fighting for your life. For both our lives.” She reached out, her hand hovering over the tear in his shirt. “And you were shot. Your body needs fuel, Ignacio.” Her voice lowered, no longer demanding but soft. “You know I’m right.”
He made his way to the pantry. The fridge had been mostly cleaned out, but Diego usually kept things that wouldn’t go bad. It was easiest when you were trying to keep a low profile.
The pantry was full. Whoever’s furniture and things were scattered around, they couldn’t have been gone for long. Most of the cans and boxes he found weren’t even expired.
The soup wasn’t ideal. It wasn’t the red can, but something fancier, with bigger chunks of meat and vegetables. He could choke down things without chewing, but his gag reflex was a nightmare.
The men had liked to make him gag.
He shut off the thought by grabbing one of the cans anyway, setting it on the counter as he searched through the cabinets. Glass cups filled them—clear and clinky and breakable. He kept searching, finding something better in one of the lower ones. It was a coffee thermos, with a plastic lid that had a slide to open the mouthpiece. Not perfect, the chunks wouldn’t fit through, and he’d dribble down his chin, but it was the best he’d likely find.
Except he couldn’t live long on broth.
He pushed the thought away. This was to settle Meg, so she wouldn’t convince him to leave the house and get them both killed.
The rundown quality of the neighborhood had been a relief with how fucked up he’d looked driving through it, but there’d been drugs in the house he’d set up cameras in before. There were people around, people linked to the business. No one had shown up yet, but no one had known to look for them yesterday when they were driving through.
The bodies at the warehouse wouldn’t remain undiscovered for long. Hell, Seb could have told someone to save his skin. He’d said he was going to disappear, but Naz barely knew him.
Meg had been right. He regretted not killing him.
It didn’t matter. They’d gotten a huge pile of drugs in the latest delivery. Bigger than ever. The cartel would care if it didn’t end up where they expected.
Naz’s nerves skittered as he opened the can of soup, using the tab on top. No one would think he’d killed his crew over a woman. But for a stash that big? There’d been money in that warehouse.
Money that he’d left behind. Naz wasn’t a thief. He was a killer.
But no one had been left around to protect it. Except for Seb. Shit, would Seb have taken the drugs?
“Here, let me help,” Meg said, dragging down a bowl.
Naz tried to wave her off, but she was already dumping the contents of the can in. She blinked down at the chunky soup.
“You can eat this?”
Naz shrugged, reaching for it.
She slapped his hand away. “You’re such a man sometimes,” she muttered, knocking into him with her hip to edge him away from the drawer. She grabbed a fork and knife from inside.
And then she started cutting up his food.
Vague memories rose to the surface of his mind. Ones from when his father had been alive.
His father had cut up his food. It was strange how clearly he remembered that while watching Meg.
He should have hated it. He wasn’t a child. He didn’t need to be taken care of.
The warmth filling his chest wasn’t anger.
Meg’s tongue poked out as she concentrated on stabbing the already smaller chunks of chicken she was making. She looked adorable, with that little flash of pink escaping her lips.
“There!” she declared when she was done, a pleased smile filling her face. “That’ll be easier. Let me just heat it up.”
He shook his head, but she wasn’t looking at him. The way he was feeling, the soup could burn the shit out of his throat, and he wouldn’t care. He’d choke down every bit he could.
Meg didn’t set the microwave for long, though. Slightly less than a minute. And when she pulled it out, she stirred and blew.
Naz leaned against the fridge and watched her. She was more beautiful than ever with her thoughts full of him.
“You never said how you and Diego met.” She continued to stir. “Maybe you can’t. I don’t want you to break any secrets or anything. What about how long ago it was? I’m guessing two years.”
Naz shook his head, pointing up.
“More than that? Three, then.”
He shifted his finger, pointing it higher.
“It couldn’t have been more than four.”
Naz kept his finger pointed.
Meg stopped stirring. “Five?”
He hesitated. He’d gotten used to thinking about it as five, but another year had passed.
“Shit, six?” Meg sighed, staring down at the bowl again. “Six is a lot of years to beat.” She took the spoon out, clinking it against the side. “I can do it. I’ve got tits you like to look at.”
His huff of a laugh mixed with her giggle when she looked up and winked at him.
“I like making you laugh.” She grabbed the plastic coffee thermos, holding it over the sink to pour into. Her hands were steady, and she only lost a little to the drain. “I think I’m going to like feeding you, too.” She handed the capped cup of soup to him.
The hole in the plastic lid looked smaller than he’d thought. He was going to make a mess like a goddamn baby.
“Did I ever tell you why giraffes are my favorite?” Meg asked, the question distracting him.
While he drank, focusing on each movement of his mouth and throat, he listened to her talk about a trip to the zoo as a kid. She’d stolen the money from her father and forged his signature. She’d been young at the time, in elementary school, younger than the age when Naz had been snatched up.
There was a wistfulness when Meg talked about watching the other kids paying to feed the giraffes. She talked about the animals’ long tongues, how they grasped the branches and tugged so hard at the leaves. She’d been fascinated by their tall legs, even the young ones, and how they didn’t wobble or fall at all. One giraffe had looked right at her, ignoring the kid who had paid to feed him but tried to hold on to the branch as long as he could.
Meg had wanted the giraffe to headbutt the little jerk with its small horns. The boy had always been a bully.
The giraffe’s eyes had been a deep brown, darker than the patches all over its skin. She’d felt special, the way he’d looked at her.
Meg’s eyes smiled into Naz’s as he realized he’d been watching her the whole time he’d choked down his soup.
His thermos was empty. He’d been hungrier than he’d wanted to admit. Moisture tickled down his chin.
Meg moved forward, drying his chin with a napkin. She slid it down after, and Naz lifted his head to give her more room to rub over his neck. He hadn’t felt anything there, but sometimes his food dripped that far.
Her finger brushing over his Adam’s apple caused a ripple of sensation to shiver through him.
“Your neck isn’t half bad,” Meg murmured, pulling away. “It’s pretty long, but you’re no giraffe.” She snort-laughed as she moved to throw out the empty can and the napkin. “That polo shirt made your neck look ridiculous. Your normal black one is better.”
She made eating seem so easy.
Naz turned toward the sink, rinsing out the cup as his eyes burned in a way he didn’t know how to deal with.