The Knight (Endgame #2)(9)
On the bus I consider where to go next. Uncle Landon’s office?
I know we need to talk. He has to explain how the house left my trust, something he promised wouldn’t happen. And even if we’re not on good terms, I need his help to get it back.
Except I’m too vulnerable, so soon after Gabriel’s lips made me come. I touch my cheeks as the bus rumbles through the city. Hot. Probably pink. Anyone who looks at me would know I’d been touched recently. Uncle Landon would know.
So when the stop comes for the motel, I pull the wire on the window.
The bus screeches to a halt.
There’s a bakery in the strip mall near the stop. The smell of yeast and sugar greets me inside. The sweet chocolate treats catch my eye, but I can’t afford them. Not when I need to make my money stretch.
It’s a huge relief to know that my father is taken care of—and well taken care of. The facility has both state-of-the-art medical care and luxury accommodations. In other words my father’s a lot better off than I am right now. I don’t begrudge him that. After the painful months of trial and the horrible beating, he deserves the kind of care I could never give him, even working to feed and bathe him from morning to night. And the truth is, I am grateful to Gabriel Miller for that. And maybe that’s the reason I gave in to him; maybe that’s the excuse for why my body still hums with lingering pleasure.
I buy two sausage kolaches, cheap and filling. The paper bag warms my hands on the short walk to the Rose and Crown, my mouth watering from the smell.
A large figure looms to the side of my door. My heart skips a beat before I recognize the man from this morning. Will. I’m not sure why that reassures me. He could be dangerous, but somehow I trust him.
He doesn’t move as I approach, but I know he’s aware of me. You’d have to be, to survive in this neighborhood. The fact that he’s built like a professional linebacker doesn’t hurt.
I stop in front of him. “Hi, Will.”
A grunt.
“I’m Avery.”
“I remember.”
“Now I remember who you remind me of. Snuffleupagus.”
There’s a beat of surprise, then slow incredulity. “I remind you of an elephant?”
“I think he’s a woolly mammoth. And yes.”
Another pause, emotion flickering behind his mask. Annoyance. And maybe reluctant amusement. “If I had to be anyone, I’m the green fucker in the trash can.”
“Oscar the Grouch, but I think you’re more hairy than grouchy.”
He shakes his head, disbelieving. “Well, this isn’t Sesame Street. It’s a long way from there, so what’s a girl like you doing here?”
“A girl like me?”
His gaze feels clinical as he takes me in, head to toe. “A nice girl.”
“Hey,” I say, mildly affronted. “The other girls here are probably nice.”
He snorts, looking sideways at the row of doors. “You’re defending Chastity? She’d knock out your teeth just to get rid of the competition.”
“You don’t know that. We could be friends.” But I make a mental note to err on the side of caution and avoid my neighbor. I’m pretty sure in a street fight I’d be on the losing side.
He glances at my bag, long lashes over dirt-darkened cheeks. “What you got?”
My stomach churns, scraping the sides for any trace of yesterday’s meal. “Pigs in a blanket.” My hand tightens on the waxy paper. “I got one for you.”
Blue eyes meet mine, narrowing. “No, you didn’t.”
“Do you want it or not?” Without waiting for him to answer, I open the door to my room.
I push inside, holding the door open without looking. After a beat I feel his large presence behind me, the weight of the door leaving my fingertips as he comes inside. My stomach pitches with uncertainty. What if I made a mistake inviting him in? But anyone who remembers Sesame Street can’t be all bad. Gabriel would probably mock me for being that naive, but I already have a lion after me. It can’t hurt to have a woolly mammoth on my side.
When he’s inside I realize that there’s only one chair at the small table. Will solves that problem by leaning against the wall, arms folded, chin down. I sit on the opposite side. I serve the pigs on a blanket on top of napkins from yesterday’s fast-food lunch. It’s a far cry from the Michelin-star restaurants my father took me to, but the spice and salt on my tongue couldn’t taste better.
I swallow the first bite, savoring the hint of smoke.
When I open my eyes, I see Will down his entire kolache in a single bite. Then it’s gone, and I realize how hungry he must get, how much food it must take to sustain his frame. He’s not fat; in fact I suspect he’s painfully lean under the layers of jackets. A man that tall and broad shouldered is meant to be hearty.
“Stop,” he snaps at me.
“Stop what?”
“Looking at me with those puppy-dog eyes. I’m not going to take your food too.”
I glance down at the rest of the kolache in my hand. He could use this more than me. And I do have some money to get more. Maybe there’s another way to make it stretch. Maybe—
“Christ,” he says, voice tinged with frustration. “I told you this wasn’t fucking Sesame Street. The people here will take as much as you give them, and then take more than that.”