Page 39 of Fight

Nine

Ioan

“Are you finished?” I asked P.

She nodded but didn’t look up from the barely eaten burger on her plate.

“Then let’s go,” I said.

She nodded again and stood, waiting patiently as I tossed a few bills on the table and then meekly following me to the car.

It freaked me the fuck out.

P was a lot of things, but she wasn’t meek, so her acting this way was alarming. I felt my face twisting into a grimace that I tried to tame.

Maybe that was the issue. After meeting with Markov, I hadn’t exactly been rainbows; her own withdrawn mood could have simply been a reflection of mine.

When we got into the car and onto the road, I glanced at her. She didn’t look over.

“Did the stores have everything you needed?” I asked.

She’d been waiting in the spot where I’d left her, but she had far fewer bags than I’d thought she would have.

“Yeah,” she said. “Everything was fine.”

I looked at her again, but said nothing. I didn’t like this at all, this quiet, sullen P, and I felt the pressing urge to make her smile. I stayed quiet, though. This wasn’t about making P smile, it was about keeping her alive and free from Markov, about hopefully getting back in Vasile’s good graces.

Still…

I glanced at P yet again, saw when she frowned, and braced myself for some censure. There was none, and my mood darkened. I kept my eyes firmly on the road, deciding I should ignore her and focus on what was up ahead. Yes, I’d gotten Markov’s approval, but I still had to fight and manage my other responsibilities, little that they were, as well.

But my thoughts kept turning to P, the nagging question of what had gotten her down, and what I could do to make her feel better.

The ride to my house was silent but not exactly tense. When I parked, P got out ahead of me, waiting at the door patiently, so unlike P, as I opened it. She walked inside, seeming intent on making a beeline toward the room I’d given her.

I reached out before I thought, and she looked back at me, shocked at first and then frowning. I let her go, but she stayed still, and I stepped in front of her, trapping her between my body and the wall. For a moment, I wondered if she was afraid, but she looked up at me, irritated but not scared, the first glimpse of the real P I’d seen since she’d gotten into the car.

“What’s wrong, jefe?” I asked.

She snorted and then stepped to the left, but I smoothly edged left as well, blocking her way.

She looked like she wanted to punch me, and I almost cheered at the sight.

“Why do you call me that?” she grumbled, her face twisted in a pout.

“What, jefe?”

She nodded quickly.

“You act like you’re in charge even when you don’t have a leg to stand on. So it fits.”

“It’s stupid,” she said, though I didn’t miss the little smile that ghosted across her lips and then dropped. “You should stop calling me that and end this conversation.”

I didn’t move, and grinned for a moment when she glared at me, almost incredulous because I didn’t do as she said. I stayed still, waiting, certain she was getting my point.

“What makes you think something’s wrong?” she finally asked, sounding huffy but not quite right.

It was an excellent question. I shouldn’t know her so well, but I could read her. Not that doing so was hard. She was one of the most easy-to-read people I’d ever met, her emotions animating her face and body.

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