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“Maybe?”
“I don’t really have one, but that’s his.”
He cocked his head to the side, studying her. “Whose?”
“My master’s.”
“What do you mean your master?”
“You know, my master where I came from.”
No, he didn’t know. “Where did you come from?”
“Blackburn. California, I think.”
“You think? Did you live there long?”
She nodded. “Until I came here.”
“And you’re not sure where it is?” He was stunned. “Did you hate the place or something?”
“Depends on what you mean by that.”
“Explain it to me.”
She sighed. “I didn’t like my master, but I had someone there who understood me.”
“What about here?”
“Here I have food to eat and clothes to wear.”
“But no one understands you?”
She shook her head. “My masters treat me nicely, though.”
“Whoa.” Masters? That rubbed him the wrong way. “Why the hell do you keep saying that? It sounds wrong, like you’re a servant or a slave or something.”
She peeked at him as he spoke. “Aren’t I?”
“How . . . ? What the fuck?”
“It isn’t bad here,” she quickly explained. “People like me wish for the kind of place where they don’t have to fear paying for someone else’s mistakes with their life.”
“And wherever you came from, you worried you’d be killed for no reason?”
“No, there’s always a reason,” she said. “Just not one you caused.”
Carmine was taken aback by how much he understood the strange girl. She may not have seen it, but Carmine knew what it was like to pay for others’ mistakes. He knew what it was like to live knowing your life could end because of something that had absolutely nothing to do with you.
But masters? That he didn’t get.
She finished folding her clothes in silence before making a move to leave, but Carmine remained in the doorway, blocking her only exit.
“Do you need anything else?” she asked.
“I need to know why you hate me.”
Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
