“I’m using you as punctuation.”
“That sounds like something stupid people say when they want kidnapping to feel literary.”
The man on my left makes a tiny choking sound that might be a laugh.
Ron’s eyes cut to him, and the sound dies.
“I’m not stupid,” Ron says quietly.
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You did.”
“I strongly implied it.”
His fingers tighten around the bloody cloth. “My father thinks I’m stupid. He says reckless. Undisciplined. Theatrical.”
“Maybe listen to the crime lord who knows theater when he sees it.”
He leans forward. “You think he’s impressive?”
“I think he’s dangerous.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Then ask better questions.”
The back of his hand catches me across the face.
Pain flashes hot across my cheek, and for half a second, I see nothing but white sparks. The men beside me go stiff. Ron breathes hard, staring at his own hand like he surprised himself.
I turn my head back slowly and taste blood at the corner of my mouth.
“You done?” I ask.
His eyes widen with something like admiration and hatred twisted together. “You really don’t shut up.”
“I run a bakery. Talking is included.”
“You scared?”
“Yes.”
That honesty makes him blink.
“I’m terrified,” I say. “But not of what you want me to be terrified of.”
He narrows his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m afraid of Kauss seeing me hurt. I’m afraid of Darlene being injured because of me. I’m afraid this is going to set off something you’re too arrogant to understand. But you?” I shake my head carefully, cheek throbbing. “You don’t scare me as much as you disappoint me.”
The vehicle falls silent.
Ron’s face twists. “You sound like him.”
“Your father?”
“Don’t call him that.”
