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He laughs, but it turns into a cough, making him wince from the pain. I grin smugly. Good, it serves him right.
“Are you letting him win?” Alaric asks. He checks his watch. “By my calculation, you’ve spent over twelve hours with him, and the best you’ve got out of him is a drawing of a cock.”
Jonathon snickers. He should be careful, or I’ll play with his medication and slip arsenic into his drip.
“It’s hard to interrogate someone from behind a door,” I remind them, “and he can’t speak, remember?”
“This is a new challenge for you, Ivy,” Alaric says. “You’ve got something to prove.”
“Can’t I open the door?” I ask. “It’ll be easier to read his facial expression.”
“Under no circumstances should you open the door, understood?” He uses his authoritative voice that tells me no amount of arguing will change his mind. “Bram’s strong.”
I scoff, flicking my hair over my shoulder. “You think he could hurt me?”
“Look at me.” Jonathon pipes up. “Let that be a warning.”
“But I’m a better fighter,” I counter, adding with a sweet smile, “No offence.”
Jonathon smirks. “When I get out of this bed, I’ll show you—”
“I’ve seen Bram in the field,” Alaric interrupts. “He’s strong, and he doesn’t know his own strength. You will not open that door. That’s an order.”
“Fine!” I blow a loose strand of hair out of my face. “But I’m not a psychic. If you want information, why don’t you recruit Mystic fucking Meg?”
“I never thought I’d see you giving up.” Alaric reclines in his chair. “Has being around royalty gone to your head, and you think you’re too good for this job now?”
His teasing infuriates me.
“No one beats me,” I spit.
I grab my bag, filled with a big stack of paper, and march away. I’m returning to the cells. Bram will talk to me. He has to.
“That’s my girl,” Alaric calls after me. “Don’t give up.”
“Fuck you,” I grumble. “I didn’t ask for a motivational speech.”
I contemplate the best way to open the conversation as I walk down. How can I get inside Bram’s head? How can I make him open up? Alaric must think he has some valuable information to warrant me wasting my time with him.
I take the lift down to HQ's lowest level and hang a right to the dungeon. I open the heavy steel door to the corridor.
Bram’s cell is right at the end of the empty rows. He hears me coming and pushes a piece of paper under the door for my arrival.
I thought you weren’t coming back.
I snap open the hatch. He stands against the back wall of his cell, and I take a few steps back. Alaric told me not to open the door. But, if my back is against the corridor wall and Bram stays in the same spot, we can see each other from the shoulders up when Bram slouches.
I study him. Could he beat me in a fight? He’s six foot seven, towering over me, and although he’s lost weight since being imprisoned, he hasn’t lost any muscle. He must be working out in his cell. He grins and raises his hand in a sarcastic wave. A giant hand that could wrap right around my throat.
“I changed my mind,” I say. “What can I say? I like talking to someone who doesn’t talk back.”
His grin widens. It doesn’t seem forced, a genuine smile that makes crinkles appear at the side of those magical cat-like eyes. In another life, he is someone I’d check out in a club, but his hotness can’t distract me from my mission.
He bends to pick up a sheet of paper, giving me the perfect view of his back muscles and broad shoulders. He turns, leaning against the wall to write, then holds the paper in front of him for me to read.
I’m sorry about what I said.
I blink and re-read.
