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I brushed a hand over her hair. “I should hate you,” I said lowly. “You’re the enemy. I don’t care what you say. You think I don’t know that you’ll have to kill me if I fuck this up?”
She didn’t respond. She was passed out, too exhausted to be wary. I knew the feeling; I’d been there myself a few times.
I drew in her fresh, clean scent. I wanted to cuddle her, to whisper promises I probably couldn’t keep, like that if I got out of this alive, I’d help her find and slay the vampires who’d killed her mom.
She drew a soft breath. Her breasts rose and fell. They were small, but I’d seen enough of her to guess they were perfectly formed.
I enjoyed the view for a few moments, then moved my gaze from her chest—and to the backpack on the floor next to her head.
I tensed. Shot another look at Ridley.
She lay like a vampire in the day sleep—unmoving and almost impossible to wake.
I eased off the mattress, picked up the backpack and moved to the other side of the room. I slid the buckle out of the catch. Slowly, slowly. Keeping an eye on her the whole time.
Because even though her story had gutted me, we weren’t on the same side.
And this wasn’t just about me. My brothers’ lives were in danger, too.
The backpack held clothes and her wallet but no phone. Concealed in an inner pocket were a syringe and two vials of a clear liquid—probably the tranquilizer she’d used on me in Paris.
Insurance, I supposed. Well, fuck that. I set the vials aside.
A second pocket held three switchblades and my wallet. To my joy, the wallet hadn’t been touched—it contained my ID, credit cards, thirty-five euros and a hundred dollars. The cards could be traced, but the cash I could use.
Score.
Ridley’s wallet held about a thousand dollars, the MetroCards and a credit card in yet another alias. I kept a MetroCard, two hundred dollars and one of the switchblades and returned everything else to her pack. Then I scooped up my wallet, leather boots and the vials, and slipped out the door.
21
RIDLEY
Zaq had left the squat. I jolted awake, heart in my throat.
I turned over to make sure. His side of the bed was empty, the sheets cool, like he’d left a while ago.
Stupid, stupid, stupid to let myself fall asleep. To count on the fact that I was a light sleeper.
I knew I couldn’t trust him.
He was my prisoner, even if sometimes things between us felt…different. Like we were friends, or at least colleagues. Two people working together.
But I’d been getting by on three or four hours of sleep ever since we’d left Moreau’s lair, and it had finally caught up with me. On top of that, I’d eaten a big meal. The combination had taken me under like I’d been drugged.
I flipped to my other side. My backpack was still where I’d left it. Maybe I was wrong? Maybe he was still in the squat?
I sprinted down the hall to the bathroom and banged on the closed door. In my panic, I almost called Zaq’s real name but remembered in time.
“Kevin? You in there?”
“It’s me.” A woman I didn’t know responded. “Gigi.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
Damn damn damn.
I darted back to my room, where I pulled on socks and shoved my feet into my boots, then grabbed my backpack and scrambled down the ladder.
