Page 38 of Necessary Cruelty

I don’t realize how long I’ve been staring until Zaya drums her fingers on the dirty countertop and makes a hurrying motion with her hand.

It takes all my self-control not to take that hand and shove it down the waistband of my jeans.

“I have a business proposition for you,” I tell her, meeting her watchful gaze with a penetrating one of my own. It only makes sense to offer the carrot before I use the stick. “I’m willing to call a moratorium on the forced mutism and all the other shit. Do one thing for me, and you’ll never have a problem with me, or anyone else, ever again.”

Her interest is obviously piqued even as she tries to hide the subtle reaction of her body, catching herself when she shifts forward slightly across the counter. Stepping back, Zaya leans against the shelf of charger cords and vape pens behind her as she continues to stare at me.

The girl isn’t going to give an inch.

And if her recalcitrance were standing in anyone else’s way, I might feel a little proud of her, but this is my life about to be screwed six ways to Sunday.

“You aren’t going to ask me what the favor is?”

She taps her mouth with the tip of one finger and raises an eyebrow. Stubborn brat is going to act like answering me is a violation, when she usually has no problem telling me what’s on her mind if we’re alone, even when she knows it’s not anything I want to hear.

“Speak, damnit.”

Her stony-faced expression gives nothing away as she glares at me from behind the counter. But she twists her fingers at the corner of her lips and then flicks her hand as if locking them and throwing away the key.

Little bitch.

“I’m also offering you fifty thousand dollars, free and clear, when the thing is done.”

Her gaze bores into mine, but the wariness hasn’t left her eyes. If anything, Zaya seems even more alert to danger than she was when I walked in. Her need for money won’t ever trump her ability to recognize a devil’s bargain when she hears one.

Unlike everyone else in this town, Zaya isn’t for sale.

She takes the barest second to consider it. Then she just shakes her head and gestures toward the door, obviously a request for me to leave.

But I’m not going anywhere until I have what I need.

“Let’s make it one hundred thousand then,” I tell her, voice casual as if I’m throwing out numbers that are barely more than pocket change. They will be, as long as I get to keep my inheritance. “And I’ll make sure your grandfather and that delinquent brother of yours are taken care of for as long as they live in Deception. That old rickety house won’t ever fall down around their ears if you agree to help me.”

It’s mentioning her family that makes Zaya hesitate. Her loyalty to them has always been absolute, even when they didn’t deserve it. But I can’t think about that right now, because then the old familiar anger will get the best of me.

And I need her to say yes.

Her mouth opens and closes, as if she has to practice forming the words when she has gotten so used to other methods of communicating.

“What would I have to do?”

The sound of her voice sends a shock of awareness over my skin.

Relief shoots through me when I realize I’ve finally convinced her to speak. Forcing her to be silent had started as an angry pronouncement that then morphed into a way of life. I pushed a boulder downhill and then got surprised when it flew off without me.

Sometimes what’s done can’t be undone.

Her voice is like liquid sugar: thick, sweet, and addictive. I hadn’t taken it away just as a punishment but because it was something I didn’t want shared with the rest of the world when it was being withheld from me.

Surprise, I’m a selfish asshole.

Nice to meet you, and what rock have you been hiding under until now?

The look she casts me is expectant as she waits for an answer, an explanation for why I decided to drive all the way out here and confront her at work. Not that she has insisted on an explanation for anything I’ve done.

Maybe part of her realizes she deserves it.

“I need you to marry me.” My voice is airy, like I’m asking her to help me move or pick up groceries. “And soon, next week maybe.”

---