I hoped he was right about getting out of here sooner than later.
I hoped… I hoped he would talk to me a little more too, just in case.
I pressed my hand flat against my stomach and tried to ignore how hungry I was.
Then I tried not to think about my parents, grandparents, or just how much worse things could get.
A loud bang scared the hell out of me. I hadn’t even realized I’d fallen asleep, and it took me a second to remember where I was.
Where we were.
I looked around to spot The Defender still lying flat on the ground, eyes closed.
But it was the multiple packets on the floor between us that had me squinting.
Crawling over and ignoring the way pain shot through my poor kneecaps, I picked up one bar and then the other. There were six of them, all the same. Granola bars. They were granola bars.
Were they poisoned?
Standing up with one in my hand, I ripped the wrapper off and took a sniff. It smelled like cranberries and some kind of nut butter. Breaking off a small part of an end, I smelled it again.
I still didn’t trust it. There were some poisons you couldn’t smell or detect—at least on TV there were.
I spit on the end I’d broken off, but nothing happened.
I went to the sink, dropped half the piece I’d broken off into it and ran water over it. Nothing.
Hmm.
Maybe their plan was to keep me alive, be decent, and politely worm their way into making me feel safe-ish so I would think they were doing me a favor by asking me about the money.
Or maybe they wanted me desperate and scared, and then they’d try and torture me into telling them things I didn’t know. It was a good plan. Fuckers.
“If you want to keep going with your science experiments, go for it, but there’s nothing in there but oats, almond butter, cashews, cranberries, and preservatives,” The Defender said, startling the shit out of me even more than the door banging had.
I’d thought he was asleep.
Turning around, I held it toward him to get a better sniff. “Are you sure?”
“No,” he replied sarcastically.
Good enough for me. I dropped the rest of the piece into my mouth and ate it with sheer glee. It was so bad it was good.
But would it be better to eat it all at once or split it up? Was this a one-time thing, or could we expect more? The fact I had no idea was answer enough.
Kneeling beside the small pile of nutritional bars, I eyed one of them and picked it up before stacking the other four in my other hand and making my way over to Mr. Crabby Pants. I set them down about a foot beside him, ignoring that incredible gaze until I pulled my arm back.
Those purple eyes were steady on my face, his expression leery. “What are you doing?”
“Bringing you some of the bars that someone threw in here?”
He narrowed his eyes.
Was he mad? “I’m sorry for taking a bite out of one, but I thought we’d share. I was planning on giving you the majority, no need to get pissed off.” But really?
He kept on staring at me.
“Do you want me to throw up what I just ate?” I asked in disbelief.
His features said he was skeptical. “You were trying… to share?”
Now it was my turn to not believe what the hell he was implying. “Did you think I wasn’t going to share with you? You need the calories more than I do. I’ve got more body fat to keep me going than you.” I sniffed, switching to Portuguese. “Here’s four of them, but I can give you one more if you’re going to throw a hissy fit. The faster you get better, the faster we get out of here.”
At least I hoped. Dreamed, more like it. Unless I could think of something, but I wasn’t holding my breath. Nothing was happening. I’d thought maybe there would be guards who would go on duty and have some kind of shift change, leaving an opening we could exploit, like in movies.
But there hadn’t been anyone or any kind of change other than this.
Had he been able to hear them coming? He hadn’t said anything or tried to take advantage of the opportunity, so more than likely, he still wasn’t in a position to get us the fuck out of here yet.
Dammit.
His eyes bounced from one of mine to the other before he reached toward the granola bars and pushed them over. “Take them,” he grumbled.
I pushed them back. “No, you need them.”
He shoved them again. “I don’t like… repeating myself. Take them.”
“I don’t like you telling me what to do. You need them. We need to get out of here, temporary friend,” I tried to remind him. And if we both couldn’t escape, then at least he needed to survive. I shivered. “Is it cold in here, or is it just me?”
“I don’t feel cold the way you do,” he muttered in Korean, looking at me sideways, almost warily.
Rubbing my arms up and down for a second, I met his gaze before scooting closer and timidly pressing my fingertip against the back of his hand.
He didn’t move.
I pressed the rest of my fingertips against the skin on the top of his hand and raised my eyebrows. It was second nature to switch to Portuguese. “Does your body regulate itself or—oh, forget it.” He wasn’t going to admit shit; I’d barely gotten his age. We weren’t on a first-name basis yet. What was the point in asking?
The Defender stared at me in a way that confirmed exactly what I thought.
I kept on eyeing him as I pressed my back against the wall, about a foot away from him, and waited to make sure he didn’t tell me to get away.
He must have decided to be in his version of a good mood again because he didn’t say a word. That, or he felt like shit and didn’t have the energy, which wasn’t a good thing either, but I’d deal with that concern later. He was talking more, so that had to mean something good.
Drawing my knees in to my chest, I tucked my arms in and set my chin on them.
A few minutes had to have passed before he said roughly, “Eat more of the bar. I want to rest… and can’t when your stomach… is making a racket.”
I nodded at him but didn’t move.
“Now,” the bossy bitch said.
I frowned at him. “I will in a second.”
“You will… when I tell you to.”
Really? “Do people usually do what you tell them to?”
He didn’t even think about it. “Yes.”
The snort that shot out of my nose surprised me, in pain and entertainment.
Just when I thought my life couldn’t get any more ridiculous, I was proven wrong. I was arguing with The Defender.
He gave me a long look before saying, “That’s not funny.”
“It kind of is.”
“It’s not.”
“It is, but it’s okay. Not everyone has a sense of humor. It’s no big deal.” I was doing this. My balls were regaining their size and shape, I guess.
His side-look would have killed me if he had lasers that could shoot out of his eyes. Luckily that was The Centurion. From the expression he was making, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was wishing he did.
“I have… a sense of humor,” he tried to claim, actually looking and sounding serious.
I pressed my lips together. “If you say so.”
“I do,” he insisted.
“O-kay.”