13
ZIRA
“Your brother?” Bradley’s head tilts slightly and he rubs at his jaw, never once taking his eyes off me. “What has your brother got to do with this?”
Spilling my secrets to this man I shot, who then kidnapped me, saved my life, and then drugged me doesn’t seem like the smartest decision I’ll ever make, but the alternative is torture at the hands of an Irish family. A detail Bradley spoke about so casually that it almost seemed like a joke.
Almost.
“Fuck…” I whisper, mostly to myself.
“Are you hungry?” Bradley asks suddenly. “Thirsty?”
“I don’t trust anything from you,” I remark hotly. “You’ll try and drug me again.”
“Why would I do that when I’m trying to learn about you, Zira?” His tone, still soft, laces slightly with sarcasm and a warm, foolish sensation enters my chest.
He’s right, but I hate that he’s right. My chest is all twisted up, and I want to push his buttons until he yells at me, until we’re having a full-blown, ridiculous argument that will make me feel better. Instead, Bradley remains kind and calm, as if we’re discussing the weather.
“Not hungry,” I reply finally. “Little thirsty.”
Bradley stands and moves to the fridge. When he opens it, I glimpse bare shelves and a few bottles of water alongside a couple of ready meals. He takes one of the bottles and closes the fridge, but instead of handing it to me, he screws off the cap and takes a drink himself. I watch his throat squeeze and bob as he swallows and then grow transfixed on a single droplet of water that latches onto his lip as he pulls the bottle away. His tongue darts out and slowly licks it up, and a sudden heat lances through my chest as he hands the bottle to me.
“See? Perfectly fine.”
“Gross,” I mutter, making a show of wiping the rim as he hands the bottle to me. I won’t tell him that I actually appreciate the gesture. As I drink, Bradley returns to his seat and it creaks underneath his bulk.
“Tell me about your brother.”
There’s really no other option here, is there?
“My brother, Peter. He’s only twenty-six, a couple of years younger than me, but ever since I can remember, he’s always been caught up in something. He’s drunk so much that the last time I could afford the bills, I learned his liver is struggling, but he refuses to stop drinking because he’s an alcoholic. When he’s not drinking, he’s gambling with everything he has and most ofwhat I have.” Saying it out loud hardly paints the best picture, so I launch into my usual defense.
“But he’s my brother. He’s the only family I have left, and his alcoholism is a sickness. He can’t control it. Same with the gambling. He tries his best but he fails because he’s sick, y’know?”
Bradley doesn’t reply, but he’s watching me intently with his elbow on the table and fingers curled along his jaw and around his upper lip.
“Anyway, he got in some really bad gambling debt with Harris. Debt he couldn’t pay back or work back because he’s so sick, y’know? And I was doing everything I could to take care of him, but the debt got so huge that Harris kidnapped him, and I was so scared he was going to kill him that I told Harris I would do anything.”
Memories of our conversation flush through me, and a sickly heat twists in my gut. I’m scarcely able to suppress a shudder as I continue. “Anyway, that’s how he roped me into the heists. My compliance was supposed to keep Peter safe, and eventually, my real job became the key to Peter’s release. A last heist and my brother would be free. That’s when I met you.”
“And you shot me.”
I nod slowly. “I’m sorry. I really am. We’ve never taken a hostage before and never been caught by the cops so early, but Harris… he didn’t trust me. He wanted to make sure I couldn’t go to the cops and work out a deal so he…” My throat closes suddenly, and I fight to wash away the dryness with several gulps of water. “He told me to shoot you or he’d shoot Peter.”
“Harris was the one I shot?”
I nod. “Him and that stupid mask. I’m glad he’s dead, don’t get me wrong. He deserved that and so much more.” My eyes close briefly and Peter’s face flashes in my mind. “But when we left, Harris made us split up. I knew it was so he could force me to go along with his demands because he knew I’d do anything to keep Peter safe. Peter went in one car and I went with the other.”
“The other members of your group, who are they?”
“I’ve no idea. When I first met them, they always had their masks on, and Harris said it was so I couldn’t rat any of them out. Last night, we met at an abandoned gas station and everyone was there, I think. Harris handed out masks, gave me the fancy one and made my brother wear a Volto mask. I assume the other guy was there and had been helping Harris load the cars with the diamonds.”
Bradley nods slowly and his attention drifts down to his phone. He starts texting quickly. “Your brother is wearing a Volto mask?”
“He was, yeah.”
“Can you remember the address of the gas station?”
