Page 44 of Devil’s Promise

“Come on, blondie,” Gunner rumbles. “I’m hungry.”

I follow him as he turns back to the now empty press room. I take a seat in one of the chairs as he grabs a plate and piles it high. “You hungry?”

I shake my head. I couldn’t eat if I tried. Instead, I dip my chin closer to my chest, closing my eyes.

“Not a runner, huh?” he asks with his mouth stuffed full. “I ran away loads when I was kid. Never helps.”

I lift my head again, opening my eyes.

His hair is tied back in a ponytail, since he refused to let me cut it. And I know he doesn’t like being touched.

But the brothers seem so tight now, I wonder why he might run away?

I put my finger to my palm, signaling to write.

He grunts softly and then unlocks his phone, handing it to me. “I’ll tell Angel you need a phone of your own.”

Appreciation washes through me. I know better than to think I’ve found an ally, but anyone thinking of my needs, after what just happened, feels like a major victory.

Nipping at my lip, I try to formulate a question that won’t offend.

Did your brothers run away with you?

He grunts softly as he reads it, continuing to eat finger sandwiches in a single bite. “I didn’t live with them when I was in my running away phase.”

My brow furrows. He sees it and pops another sandwich in his mouth. He chews, taking his time before he answers. “We’re adopted. Me and my brothers.”

My mouths falls open, surprised, mostly that I didn’t realize it sooner. Besides the eyes, they don’t look that much alike.

Except…

You’re all so tall and athletic.

He shrugs. “My adopted father was looking for soldiers. He picked the biggest and baddest boys he could find.”

A wave of something heavy washes through me. Angel and his brothers each have pasts that are dark. I look forward again, as I try to decide what that means.

But I didn’t ask Gunner to learn about Angel. And so, I direct my next question to him.

Why did you run away?

He sets his plate on the chair next to him, scrubbing a hand over his hair. See? Nervous.

“My father was an abusive piece of shit. I’d run away when he beat up on my mom.”

My throat closes, because I know a thing or two about that. I look straight ahead, swallowing down the emotion that is so close to the surface. Because this story ended up with Gunner in foster care, not with his parents divorced and him living with his mom.

What happened to your mom?

“He killed her,” he answers matter-of-factly. “And then I killed him.” He picks up his plate and stuffs another sandwich in his mouth. “I was eleven.”

That makes my eyes bug out. I stare at him, words welling up inside me, fighting to get out. Words I haven’t wanted to say in ages. Secrets. Lies. Promises.

But I want to tell them to Gunner now.

Instead, I hand his phone back to him. And then I sit back in my chair. If Gunner could kill his father at eleven, then he must have been strong even then.

“Most people would be scared shitless to know they were sitting next to a murderer.”