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“You really don’t need to.”
“But Iwantto.”
I was beginning to worry about what I’d let myself in for.
* * *
Luckily,after his excitement of the first day of having me at his place, Sylvester chilled out and became much less intense company.
Mainly, he would sit around playing his guitar while I sat in moody thought. At one point, he started playing the gloomiest arrangement of chords on his guitar I’d ever heard, and I looked up to find him squinting intensely in my direction.
“What are you doing?”
He stopped playing and looked guilty. “Oh, sorry. It’s just you looked so devastated that I thought it’d be quite something if I could capture that feeling in music.”
I rolled my eyes. “Gee. Thanks.”
He smiled goofily. “You don’t like having your thoughts soundtracked?”
Obviously, no. “Not really. Feels invasive.”
“No problem. Your wish is my command.”
Unfortunately, he took that to mean he should play cheerful country tunes, until I told him therewasa middle ground between horribly upbeat and devastatingly sad.
He cooked me three meals a day quite cheerfully. Any complaints he made I could tell were just in jest. I could tell he liked the company too. Though we were close, the four of us, we lived quite separate lives in general, only coming together once a week or so. It was unusual, and nice, to spend an extended amount of time together.
But after a week of this, he seemed to decide I’d sulked enough and it was time to talk.
He sprang onto the sofa next to me, startling me out of my latest self-loathing thought train. “Alright, buddy. I’ve invited Winston over. Time for you to tell us what’s going on. M’kay?”
I was in the spot on his couch that I’d been wearing a dent into the entire week. “What if I don’t want to?”
He put a consoling arm around my shoulders. “You mightneedto. You been getting anywhere just thinking gloomy thoughts for a whole week?”
I folded my arms. “...No.”
“Do you think you can just do this forever? Sit around scowling and staring at the wall?”
I sighed. “No.”
“So...”
“Fine. I’ll tell you both. Get us some drinks ready though, would you?”
Sylvester, ever the perfect host, spread his arms wide. “It would be my pleasure.”
RIA
Another week in the safe house and I continued to stew on the idea of selling Forest out to Apollo, despite my best efforts to not consider it.
The thing is, I was starting to think I had some intel that might interest the evil Brock brother.
The thing I’d realized about Apollo was that he fundamentally didn’t understand the psyche of any of his brothers. He could get under their skin just by virtue of being slimy, and being their brother, and embodying everything they stood against. But in terms of the individual brothers, Apollo just didn’t know their quirks, their insecurities, their fears. He couldn’t. Because if he did, he’d have been able to do a much, much better job ofreallypushing them to their limits.
I, on the other hand, had gotten to know Forest quite well. He had weak spots that I was sure Apollo wouldwriggle in delightto be told about.
And I was a businesswoman. I only had to pitch it to him well enough and I’d be buying back my family’s freedom in no time.
