Rules of Survival(14)
He was right—I was staring. Shit. I took a step back and jingled the shackles in front of his face. “I thought I wasn’t the only one with a brain. Exactly how do you plan on getting the shirt off your right arm?”
He thought about it for a minute, then rolled his eyes. “It’s just a T-shirt. I can rip it.”
I gave him a good old-fashioned golf clap. “That’s brilliant…but how are you getting a new shirt on?”
He opened his mouth—then closed it with a snap. “Find pants. Our shirts will dry eventually. We’ll have to make do.”
We dug through the piles of clothing in search of something suitable and warm. Shaun managed to find a pair of jeans that fit perfectly. I turned toward the wall while he changed.
“You don’t—”
“If you make one crack about me peeking while your pants are around your ankles, I’m going to hurt you,” I warned.
There was a snicker, followed by the sound of rustling material and a grunt as my left arm wrenched sideways. A moment later, he announced, “Done.”
When I turned, he was fully clothed in normal-looking jeans—and I hated him for it. I hadn’t been that lucky. Everything in the pile was men’s clothing. When it was my turn, the best I could do was a pair of extra large black sweatpants with a small hole in the left thigh. I ended up knotting the string around my waist twice to keep them from falling off. But I couldn’t complain. At least they were clean, warm, and dry.
Shaun settled in the corner near one of the dryers and was blotting fistfuls of his T-shirt with a towel. I grabbed an extra fluffy hoodie from the pile and did the same.
We worked without talking for a while, but I couldn’t stand the quiet. The methodical hum from the running dryer in the corner wasn’t enough to stave off the silence, and even though he was annoying as hell, I decided to try to make small talk. Knowledge was power, Mom always said. If I got some dirt on the guy, who knew when it might come in handy.
“So why the bounty hunter gig?”
Shaun looked up from his towel. “As opposed to a brain surgeon?” he asked wryly.
Oops. I turned away, trying to look completely absorbed in the act of blotting my shirt.
“There are people out there who deserve to be behind bars. Monsters that prey on women and children… I’m interested in making sure that happens.” The tone of his voice made me look up. The expression on his face was dark and screamed of unspoken anger. There was definitely a story there. I would have kept digging, but he narrowed his eyes and asked, “What about you?”
“Me?”
“Why the criminal gig?”
“I’m not a criminal,” I said through clenched teeth. It was the second time he’d called me that. Three strikes and he was out.
At least he had the decency to look sorry. Sort of. “I mean, why not live on the straight and narrow? Take things on the up-and-up.”
“What the hell do you think—I go around stealing credit cards and hot-wiring cars for the hell of it?” I threw the hoodie down. It sloshed against the tile, soaked. He was making assumptions about things he had no information about. It pissed me off. “You think I’m one of those people who deserve to be behind bars? All I’m guilty of is trying to live my life.”
“Are you, or are you not, living the way your mom did? Pat says Mel raised you in the middle of a life of crime,” he challenged. “Taught you the ‘tricks of her trade’?”
“Tricks of her trade? You have no clue what you’re even talking about.” I cried, trying hard to focus on anything besides the way his eyes changed when he got angry, taking on a brighter hue of green. “We did what was needed to survive.”
“Survive? Survive what? Why not live an honest life? Why didn’t she do more to keep you safe?”
“She did keep me safe.”
His brows shot up. “You look real safe.”
“Of course I’m safe.” I jingled the chains—much harder than I needed to. “I’m shackled to a big strong assho—”
“Okay then. Message received,” he snarled, getting to his feet. He grabbed a large black hoodie and placed it over the chain to conceal the shackles, then threw his jacket at me. “Put it over your shoulders. I don’t feel like dragging your frozen corpse around.”
I took a deep breath. I wanted to hit him, but more than that, I wanted out of this situation. Jacket slung across my shoulders, I said, “Now what?”
“Phone. We need to call Pat.”
“Fantastic,” I said, blowing another stray hair from my face. It thrilled me to put my life in the hands of the man who’d been trying to haul Mom’s ass in since the day I was born.
Shaun mumbled under his breath as we headed for the door. I couldn’t quite catch it, but the word “bitch” played an important role.
Our truce was off to an epic start…
Chapter Six
“He’s not picking up.”
“What does that mean?” The sun was higher in the sky, and the temperature had warmed a little, but there was a definite bite to the air. With my shirt still damp, I was grateful for Shaun’s jacket draped around my shoulders.
I adjusted the jacket and tried not to inhale. It smelled nice. Like peppermint with the slightest hint of leather. It reminded me of the time Mom and I squatted overnight in a leather store in New York. It was right around New Year’s, and we’d spent the entire night trying things on.