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“What? Do I have something on my face?” he jokes, wiping his palm over his mouth. I like how he actually plays around, unlike the other two.
I laugh. “No, just getting a good look at the perfect view before I die.” I might be trying to mess with his emotions right now, but that statement was true. Even if I do talk, they won’t let me out of here alive. Might as well appreciate the view I have even if it’s my last.
Blais’ eyebrows furrow and he uncomfortably clears his throat. “Just keep giving us what we want.” I’ve seen it over the past two weeks and I see it now. Deep in the dark recesses of his eyes, he doesn’t agree with the others' plan, but he also won’t go against them.
I need him to open up about how he disagrees with what they’re doing. I need him to give me something useful.“Either way, I’m not making it out of here alive. Ace has made that clear.” I tear off a piece of biscuit, shoving it into my mouth.
“He might surprise you,” he whispers almost so quietly I barely hear it.
A small spark of hope shoots through me, but I quickly push it down. Hope is what really kills you in the end. It’s better to plan for the worst, than to have high spirits.
I don’t know what he means, but I don’t want to go head-first into the complicated world of Ace’s brain right now. My time is better spent trying to wiggle my way into Blais’ heart.
“Well, since it doesn’t look like I’m going anywhere, tell me something about you, Blais.”
He sits there quietly, trying to decide if he’s going to say anything. The way he tilts his head back and forth lets me know he’s debating what exactly he wants to give up.
Come on, Blais.
“I love killing. Watching someone take their last breath, gives me life. Ace likes to control the kills—and he participates sometimes—but Theon and I usually do the actual killing.”
How often do they kill?He’s making this sound like a common occurrence.
This doesn’t completely surprise me based on what I saw last night. My heart speeds up at the thought of how good it would feel watching the life drain out of someone’s eyes again.
“When did it start?” I ask, genuinely wondering what happened to the broken man in front of me that makes him love killing so much.
Blais shakes his head. “I told you something. Now eat.”
I scoot closer to him, my thigh almost touching his. He stills, staring down at our legs as if he’s waiting for something terrible to happen.
“Tell me something else then. Is Blais your real name?” I need to get him talking so I can weasel my way in.
He chuckles, running his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, apparently my mom wanted us to be unique.”
“Us? You have siblings?”
“Yep. A younger brother.” Wiping his hand on his sweats, his eyes don’t move from my thigh. It’s like he’s watching to make sure it doesn’t touch him. “His name is Jett.”
“What’s he like?”
Blais’ brows turn down in a frown. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since CPS took us and split us up.”
“Shit. How old were you?”
“I was nine and he was six. All the families wanted the cute little one, but none of them would take both of us, so we were split up.” His voice cracks as he recounts the memory.
“Where did he go?”
“To some rich family. He got the good life while I got what seemed like fifty different families and eventually a grungy, rundown group home where they dumped the kids that no one wants.” My heart aches at the pain in Blais’ eyes.
“You haven’t talked to him?” I ask.
“No, I tried once when I was old enough, but he wanted nothing to do with me.” The amount of sadness in his eyes threatens to peel back a layer of my hardened heart. His own brother rejected him. I’d do anything to have my sister back, and his own brother acts like he’s dead.
A deep desire pulls inside me, making mewant to get out of here just so I can hunt him down and hurt him.
I set the tray across my lap, turning slightly toward Blais, causing his gaze to lock in on my thigh again. “What about your mom?” I watch his nostrils flare at the mention of his mom.
