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Anyone else might question why he's asking me to do this but I can't help but want to find out on my own. I also can't help but trust it—and it feels so fucking good to feel safe around another person again. A breath of fresh air. “Your breathing, my tapping foot, and the slamming of a door.”
“You’re doing incredible. One last thing. Move three of your body parts.”
Once again, I don't ask what the fuck the point is because I like the idea of doing this all for him and I'm looking forward to another praise. Lifting my leg, I circle my foot in the air, wiggle my free hand, and roll my head on my shoulders. A weight lifts off me after I'm done and the loudness in my head is gone. All I hear now are the three sounds I pointed out and Antonio saying, “Good boy.”
I swallow back the satisfying hum threatening to escape my throat and he rubs my neck again. “How are you feeling now?”
Like I can breathe again.Like your good boy. “Better. How did—why—”
“Why did that help?”
“Yeah,” I say, sounding steadier than before.
“It’s another technique used to help anxiety. It's called the 3-3-3.”
“How do you know all this?”
His lips form into a thin line and he looks away before speaking. “I knew someone who had it almost as bad as you. He was able to take medicine though, so it became more manageable over time.” His eyes reach mine again and there's a shift in them. His hand falls from my neck, causing me to tense up from the cold air replacing his warmth. He went from confident and sure of himself to tormented in a matter of minutes.
Is my brother this someone he speaks of? I don't remember him having anxiety. Then again I don't remember a lot of things when it comes to Lucian. It would make sense though. All three of us had reason to be scared throughout our lives. The only difference is I'm still living in fear every day and my brothers aren't.
I survived. People called me the lucky one. But am I really? I lived so I could watch everyone around me die and have had to run or hide most of my life—not only from others but from my thoughts too. How lucky can I really be?
Antonio's large, warm fingers are back on my neck as if he could sense my distress, and my attention is back on him—on his dark eyes and furrowed brow. “You still with me, little one?”
My breath catches in my throat when his brown eyes lock on mine.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “I am.” I'm alive and still with him. Maybe in some ways I'm lucky after all.
Four
Antonio
Phillip finally calms down and Angel brings us dinner. Some pasta and meat. It's hard to focus on the taste of anything right now when my mind is all over the place. I promised Phillip we'd get out of here and everything would be okay, but what if I'm wrong?
A thought like this hasn't occurred to me in fifteen years. I've gone so long not experiencing fear, detaching my emotions from anything and everything around me. And it's not my life I'm worried about. It's his—a fucking stranger who means nothing to me. Except an unpleasant sensation takes hold of my chest every time I picture something happening to him. Why?
A voice inside my head other than Zacharias's and Enrico's says protect him—keep him safe. Then he looks at me with those puppy dog eyes and twitching bottom lip and I want to listen even more. I want to hold him close to me and rid him of all his worries. It's a strange familiarity he carries—one I don'tunderstand. When he's near me, I— No, that can't be right. He's nothing like Lucian, yet offers a similar comfort anyway.
Before today, all I concentrated on was my job and the target I was given. I wasn't hired on as a fucking bodyguard or babysitter until recently. I'm a hitman for fuck's sake. I hunt down people and kill them. I don't get stuck in bedrooms with cute little drug mules who can’t stop clinging to me every chance they get. I forgot how good it felt to be touched by another person after avoiding it for so long. With Phillip it's harder since he doesn't give me a choice, and I can't just shove him away.
“I don't think I can eat anymore,” he says, shoving his plate away, holding his stomach.
“What's wrong?”
“Too much excitement for me today. High stress levels kill my appetite.”
“Will you be able to swallow the drugs tomorrow when the time comes?”
His head bobs up and down and he scoots back against the headboard. “I always have before. My breathing exercises usually work, but after Jamie I… I guess I'm too caught up in my head. I'll feel better once we leave here.”
“Understandable. What about once we're in Florida at the customer's house?”
“I don't know. I'd rather not think about it right now if that's okay.”
“You're right. How about a movie? What's your favorite? I'll pull it up on my phone and we can watch it together.”
Sniffing, he rubs his face. “The Land Before Time.” He dips his head as if expecting me to laugh or disapprove. Sure, it's not what I was expecting, but people have liked stranger movies. It's kind of cute actually. I clear my throat, shaking the thought from my head. “The Land Before Timeit is.”
