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“Enough. Find the ramekins. We’ll give her some of everything.”
“The hell is a ramekin?”
“A small, oven-safe vessel. Perfect for crème brûlée.”
“You mean a fuckin’ bowl?”
“You need another etiquette lesson.”
“Hard pass. Wait. Does the sour cream smell funky? We can’t feed her this.”
“Toss it. I’ll go to the store.”
“Bring back a Spanish wine. Something that pairs well with beef.”
“I’ll ask Hank for the key to the wine cellar.” I can hear Jin roll his eyes. “It’s the bodega, Bish. Not Majorca.”
“Maybe we should take her to—”
Hypnotized by their easy conversation as much as their care, I crane forward too far. The battered floorboards groan.
Their cut-off silence is as pointed as their warmth.
I dart into Dany’s room.
The syringe case mocks me when I toss my pile on the bed. Doesn’t matter what the guys cook. I need another dose of lemon to leave the room, and I won’t be able to keep down food after the shot.
I wish I had a phone so I could check the news. I need to see if the SAS took my bait, or if Bridget already knows I axed her target. I’m so restless, my bones rattle.
I need to be on my way to a new identity before Bridget finds me or worse—finds out how much I care about the guys.
After a while of vibrating through my skin, a soft knock sounds.
“Made you a plate,” Jin’s voice is hushed, like he’s afraid to startle me. “We’re here if you need anything.”
I wait for his footsteps to fade, but I’m not startled.
I’m burning up inside.
When I press my ear to the door, the only sound is the drone of the living room TV. I open the door a crack, find a plate on the floor, and snatch it inside.
Tacos.
Their heat steams the plastic wrap that covers half a dozen tiny ramekins, filled with guac, salsa, and fresh sour cream. They’re made with so much care, my heart pushes up into my throat. I shake as I pluck off the stuck-on note.
We’ll wait for you.
My stomach eats my ribs, but the throb in my chest aches worse.
I can’t bring myself to crack the plastic.
Instead, I set the plate on someone else’s dresser, next to someone else’s gun, and the baseball hat I’m going to steal.
I’ve never really owned a thing.
Sometimes, I don’t even think I’m real.
I’m lies on lies on lies.
