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“I’m not going to hurt you.” Zach should’ve led with that, because right now those words were the most important ones. “I just have some questions.”
“Did you call the cops before you came down here?” the boy retorted.
“No. And I won’t as long as you answer my questions honestly.”
Zach truly had no intention of calling the cops about the kid. Now, if he discovered who’d used their fists on his face, he might reconsider.
“How old are you?”
The boy took a step back. “Old enough to defend myself.”
Zach muttered a curse. Brock was definitely a younger version of Zach, chip on his shoulder and all. And the fear in his tone was all too telling.
“Sixteen?” Zach guessed.
“Yeah,” he mumbled.
“You’ve been staying here a few days, haven’t you?” Putting all the thumps and creaks together, Zach had to assume this boy had been hiding for some time. “How have we not seen you?”
“I’m pretty good at hiding.”
Zach nodded toward his face. “Not too good. Who did that to you?”
“Car accident.”
Rolling his eyes, Zach snorted. “I’m not stupid, so don’t treat me like I am. You get in a fight with a friend?”
Brock kicked his worn sneaker against the cracked concrete floor. When he remained silent, Zach’s heart literally ached for the boy. Damn it, he didn’t want to have this conversation. He didn’t want to be in this situation. Brock didn’t want to be in this situation either.
If the Monroes hadn’t stepped in, Zach wouldn’t be where he was today, so there was no way in hell he could turn his back on this kid.
“Do you have parents who are wondering where you are?”
Brock merely snorted and shook his head. Okay, so clearly this boy was keeping his cards close to his chest, which was fine. Easier on Zach that way, but that wouldn’t prevent him from caring. Damn it, he instantly cared. Caring is what caused hurt to seep in. Caring for people is what made you vulnerable.
“You’re not hiding out here anymore.” Zach turned, heading toward the steps. “Follow me.”
Hitting the second step, Zach glanced over his shoulder to the boy, who remained still.
“That wasn’t a question.” Brock met his stare and Zach stared back into the depths of hurt and vulnerability. “I’m not going to hurt you. I plan on feeding you and letting you rest somewhere besides an old, dirty house.”
Brock’s eyes widened. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I don’t know you. Listen, man, just don’t call the cops and I’ll leave.”
“You’re leaving,” Zach confirmed before turning to mount the steps. “With me.”
Zach was surprised when he heard footfalls behind him on the steps. He figured he’d have to do more coercing. The boy was coming, but Zach hadn’t earned any type of trust, which was fine. That didn’t mean he was going to ignore Brock, and he sure as hell wanted to uncover what Brock knew about the fire . . . and who had put those marks all over his face.
When they reached the first floor, Zach headed toward the kitchen. “I need to lock the back door, then we’re heading to my house.”
“Dude, I’m not—”
“Listen.” Zach held up his hand. “You can take your chances that I’m not lying to you and come with me, or we can let the cops deal with you. Those are your options.”
Zach didn’t like scaring the boy, but there was no way he was just letting him go wander out to who knew where. Zach cringed at the thought of what could happen to Brock if he was truly out on his own.
Brock stormed around Zach and jerked the front door open. “Fine. But you touch me once and you’ll regret it.”
Those words told Zach more than he wanted to know, and everything he’d feared. There was no way in hell Brock was going anywhere for now, except to Zach’s home, where he could rest without worry and have a warm meal. After that . . .
