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I did get her the clothes, but I decide to not respond. Ace said she didn’t need them, and Blais suggested we leave her naked, but I didn’t agree. It’s really not that big of a deal, but the way she appreciated the small gesture tugs at something deep inside me. From the looks of it, she’s going to be here for a little while. I figured if she’s more comfortable, maybe she will open up and give us what we want.
It’s a long shot, but worth the try.
She’s trying to play us, so I’ll try to play her back.
“How long are you guys planning on keeping me alive?” She moves closer to the bed, sitting down on the edge, looking at me. Her brows are knitted together, trying to figure out our plan.
“Depends.” Honestly, I have no idea. None of us know. Something about her is alluring, captivating, and frustrating to the point where I want to pull her apart piece by piece and figure out everything that makes her Zamira Stone. The other part of me knows sooner or later, we’ve got to dispose of her because there’s only one end to this. Us going to prison or her dying.
“Always so chatty,” she teases.
After a moment of silence, she stares at me like she wants to say something else. “Spit it out,” I say, not wanting to attempt to read her mind.
She swallows before continuing, “You’re like me. You take in your surroundings and remember everything.” She cocks her head to the side and lowers her gaze down my body.
The way her eyes drink me in almost forces me to shift under her gaze. She’s able to get reactions out of me that I try my hardest to avoid.
She’s right though, it’s easier to assess the situation if you’re observant rather than coming in guns blazing and running your mouth.
“Giving me the silent treatment?” she taunts, trying to get me to talk to her.
“Don’t have anything to say.” My dismissive tone makes me pause before saying anything else.
“How about we play a game? I ask you a question and for every answer you give, you get to ask me a question. No lies, no avoiding the question either.” Her voice is playfully eager, hoping I’ll give in.
It could be a good way to get more information out of her, but I’d have to give her information in return, which I have no desire to do.
“No.” It’s not worth it.
“Scared of a little game, Theon?” My name seductively rolls off her tongue and the sweet sound goes straight to my cock. Fuck, she doesn’t even have to try that hard to make things sexy.
I know she’s trying to egg me on, but fuck it. I’ll get answers from her and I’ll give her as little as possible. If I lie, I have a feeling she’ll be able to pick up my tell easily, so I’ll be honest but vague.
“Fine. I’ll entertain you. Ask your question.”
Her face lights up like I just gave her the best gift she’s ever had. It would be adorable if I wasn’t slightly nervous about what the hell she’s going to ask me.
“How did you guys all meet?” she fires point-blank. That one is easy. It’s not a secret we try to hide from anyone because we aren’t ashamed of the place that brought us all together.
“You’ve already asked me that.” If I didn’t answer then, I’m not sure why she’s asking again.
“I know. I just really want to know how three psychos became friends. You have to answer if you want to ask me something.” Her eyes light up, knowing she has me in the palm of her hand.
“Foster home.” I give without expanding.
“How did you get put into foster care?” she genuinely asks. Now that’s something I’m not willing to give away.
“Nope, it’s my turn to ask you a question. What games are you playing with Blais?”
She looks at me puzzled, probably trying to figure out how to answer that question. “He’s fun, carefree, easygoing. If I’m going to be a captive here, I might as well have fun where I can get it.” She’s being honest in her response, but I know there’s more. Just as I go to ask her another question, she interrupts me.
“How did you get your scar?” Her hand raises, then drops it back down to her side. I can tell she wants to take it in, inspect it, analyze it, but I turn my face and look down.
“Mom!” I yell from the foyer, feeling frustrated. We were supposed to leave ten minutes ago, but these days it’s hard for her to even get out of bed. She’s always in her room, barely coming out. The only time I really see her is when Ben’s hosting some lame party where he parades her around like she’s a show horse.
“Mom, let’s go!” I yell again, but I still hear nothing. We’re supposed to meet with my school guidance counselor about how I’m adjusting to my new school. The truth is, I’m not adjusting well. I never adjust well.
Living on the streets sometimes seems easier than making new friends, especially ones that make me feel like I’m constantly dirty. I’ve had to steal before just to have shoes, dive in dumpsters scouring for any leftovers that were thrown out, and occasionally sleep in a homeless shelter. So the change from that to here with her husband hasn’t been going well at all.
