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“Starving,” I admit.
He nods as if he approves. I have no doubt he thought I was going to deny it but what would be the point in wasted energy? My stomach has growled no less than a dozen times since we left the motel.
We step in line, Nash choosing a truck that’s selling breakfast tacos.
I watch in horror as the man in front of us smiles as the man selling the food hands him back less change than what he was owed. You don’t have to be abducted for others to take advantage. Hurting people isn’t always about forcing them into sex trafficking.
Nash steps up to the window and places our order. He doesn’t even attempt to speak the native language when the man reaches out for the money.
“I fucking dare you,” Nash growls before releasing the cash.
The man promptly hands back the correct change.
Nash is strong and a force to be reckoned with. I have to wonder if he was like this before or if this is part of the change I heard Angel refer to last night.
Nash doesn’t budge. He doesn’t step to the side as the cook makes our food. He’s ensuring that the man doesn’t tamper with it after being not so calmly called out on his thievery from others.
Nash locks eyes with the man as he reaches into the cooler at our feet, pulling out two ice cold bottles of water. The man doesn’t argue even though these items weren’t on our order.
“We didn’t pay for these,” I say as we sit down on a concrete ledge to eat, not feeling exactly okay with drinking the bottle of water he attempts to hand me.
“They were donated. An exchange for my silence,” he says, placing the water at my hip when I refuse to take it from his hand.
“You should’ve said something to the man he stole from rather than stealing yourself.”
Nash doesn’t make eye contact with me as he holds out the breakfast burrito.
“See that?” He nods, and I trace his attention to a man, clearly American. “Watch.”
It only takes a couple of seconds before the guy bumps into another American who’s leisurely strolling down the sidewalk.
My mouth hangs open as the second man apologizes to the first when he wasn’t the one who caused the collision. The first man says something to him before walking away. I watch in shock as the man shoves the other’s wallet into the inside pocket of his jacket.
I look back to Nash, but he doesn’t seem surprised as he takes a bite of his food.
“We should say something.”
Nash shakes his head. “We’d be here all damn day if we were going to let everyone know they’ve been conned. Plus, how do you think I got the money for this food?”
My hands freeze, the burrito smelling amazing a mere two inches from my mouth.
A smile I’ve never seen before tugs up both corners of his mouth, and he’s no less handsome with red sauce from the burrito on his bottom lip.
“Just kidding, Ayla. Eat.”
“Where did you get the money?”
He tilts his head as he considers my question.
“Does it matter? Will you starve if I told you I robbed some tourist?”
I look from him down to my food, answering him as I take a bite before he answers my question.
“Angel gave me money.”
I don’t think he’s lying just to placate me.
“The point is to keep an eye out. Anyone can be a victim and anyone can be the perp.”
I nod as I chew, my eyes once again finding the man who was robbed. I feel bad for the poor fucker as he pats every part on his body at one of the food trucks, his eyes darting down the street when he realizes what happened to him.
The person behind him steps up to order the second he gets out of line, unconcerned that the man probably lost every means for him to continue his vacation.
“He’ll have a hell of a time getting home. But as much as that sucks, he’s not tied up in some sick fuck’s dungeon, forced to fuck people to keep someone he cares for safe.”
I refuse to look at him, unsure if he’s saying that shit to make me feel better or worse. His words don’t help, and I can’t understand the purpose of them. Maybe he’s just always so crude and inconsiderate.
“Helping draws attention we don’t need,” he continues around another bite of food. “Do you know if there was a mini fridge in the room?”
I snap my eyes in his direction, my brain incapable of keeping up with his train of thought.
“What?”
“A small refrigerator?”
I narrow my eyes at him, trying to focus too much on the zing of electricity I feel when the corner of his lip twitches in amusement. The guy’s sudden change in moods is making my head spin.
