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I needed to be near him.
I was dangerously intrigued by this wild and feral boy.
Tensing, Trigger cast a quick glance in my direction before loosely hooking his tanned arms around his knees and turning back to glower at the door of the building on the other side of the courtyard.
He'd been locked away in the underground cages for the past twenty-three days. Ever since he dismembered his brother and placed that dagger into my hands. When the doctors were unable to save Vasily, I presumed Trigger’s punishment intensified.
He had missed Vasily's funeral – and several meals by the look of his much leaner frame. His face was barely recognizable, so bloodied and beaten, matching the rest of him. He was sitting under the heat of the midday sun in nothing but a pair of black shorts. His feet were bare, the soles filthy and blood encrusted. His chest, back, arms, and neck were all heavily marked and scarred from the abuse he had been subjected to at the hands of his father's thugs.
"Hola," he finally replied in that deep voice of his. "Ashton."
My belly did flip-flops when he said my name like that.
Not Ashton, but Ash-teen.
Shivering, I mirrored his actions and hugged my knees. "You saved me, Trigger Laperro." He glanced at me, watching me with dark, curious eyes as I spoke. "From your brothers," I added. "I'm in your debt." He turned back to stare at the door and I continued to speak. "I heard them talking. I'm to be yours."
Mesmerized by his strange ways – and by the sheer lack of interest he seemed to have in hurting me – I watched him carefully.
"I think I'm okay with that?" I let my shoulders shrug. "I think I'm going to be okay with you."
Turning back to me, he stared hard at my face for the longest moment before blowing out a breath and shaking his head. "No comprendo."
"I know you can't understand me, and that's okay," I replied, keeping my eyes on his. "Because I think I understand you anyway."
Another deep frown creased his forehead. "Ashton."
My heart flip-flopped again.
He turned away, eyes retrained on the door once more.
More than just curious about him, my eyes took in every inch of the bastard, from his shaggy black hair to the tips of his bloodied toes. I couldn’t seem to help myself. He was very beautiful for a boy.
Shifting closer, I leaned in close and inhaled the smell of him.
Different, I noted.
Real.
Human.
Trigger didn’t look at me in return even though I could tell that he knew I was staring. He just continued to watch the door, knuckles turning white from the force he was using to clasp his knees.
"You're so sad," I whispered, flicking my gaze to my notes, but not finding the sentence I needed in Spanish. "So lonely." Sighing wistfully, I longed to reach over and cover his dirty hand with mine and comfort him. "Just like me."
"No hablo inglés," he replied, flicking his dark eyes to mine for the briefest of moments before turning his attention back to the door."¿Estás atrapado aquí como yo?"
"Are you trapped here like me?" I whispered, more to myself than him, knowing he couldn’t understand me. "Are you a prisoner, too?"
"Mi madre esta detras de esa puerta," he replied in his own language, voice deep, tone thick with emotion, as he nodded towards the door. "Eran despiadados."
I looked to the door and then turned back him, seeing tears in his dark eyes.
My breath hitched in my throat and he didn’t look away, showing me his heartbreak.
I didn’t have the words to communicate with him, but that didn’t stop me from reaching up and brushing the lone tear that was trickling down his cheek away.
"Shh," I whispered, shifting closer so that our legs were brushing. "Shh."
