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He glanced up and caught me watching. A self-deprecating smile flashed across his face. “It’s been a while since I had a burger. Hell, it’s been a while since I had any meat. A few weeks at least. Where I was, food is at a premium.”
“In Syria.”
His left brow lifted. “You did your homework.”
I moved a shoulder. “Yeah.”
Actually, I’d studied him for weeks—whatever I could find online and learn from others. I’d even been in northwestern Syria for a few days under an alias.
I had to admit I hadn’t uncovered any evidence that he was one of the bad guys, the syndicate monsters who preyed on humans, treating them like weak, stupid cattle good only for blood and sex.
Maybe it had niggled at me, but I’d figured Zaq was just too smart to get caught.
Now those small doubts crowded into my head, clamoring to be addressed.
The biggest question was why Slayers, Inc. was involved in this at all.
The plan was to use Zaq as bait. SI wanted his father, and Karoly Kral was too powerful, too canny, to send a slayer after. And believe me, we’d tried.
So we’d taken Zaq prisoner in order to draw Karoly to Paris and away from Kral territory. When Karoly broke into Moreau’s lair to rescue Zaq, Moreau and his men would quietly stake him.
But since when did SI kidnap a man’s spawn to be used as bait?
My knee was jiggling. I stilled it and played with my switchblade instead, flipping it from hand to hand. The simple but challenging task soothed me, because while the handle was stainless steel, the blade was silver. Miss the handle and grab the blade instead, and I’d not only cut myself, I’d burn myself on the silver.
The alpha knows what she’s doing. She’s been at this for decades, a lot longer than you have.
Zaq finished his meal. He rested his head against the wall, eyelids drooping, the paper bag on his lap.
I crossed the room and shook his shoulder. “Get up.” I made my voice hard to cover my doubts.
He jerked and blinked up at me, his bright green eyes clouded with tiredness.
I shook him again. “Get. Up.”
He obeyed, his movements slow, like his limbs were weighted with weariness.
I pointed my switchblade at the silver cuffs. “Against the wall, arms up.”
Zaq put himself against the wall. His wrists were like raw meat where the cuffs had burned into them. I set my jaw and snapped the cuffs into place anyway.
This time he didn’t plead with me in any way. He didn’t have to.
His eyes met mine. I felt like he stared directly into my soul, where my darkest secrets lived.
That he saw me.
Not Reaper, not the slayer, but me. Ridley Crawford.
His mouth twisted in a smile that mocked me or himself or both of us. He looked away.
That’s when I realized I’d been standing there, rooted to the ground and staring into his eyes like an infatuated fool.
I blanked my face, gathered up the remains of his meal and left.
6
ZAQ
