Page 16 of Hidden But Not Safe

When they returned to the warehouse, Julio asked Miguel what happened to his face. Miguel mumbled something about it being his fault and headed out to one of the trailers. He didn’t even look at Naz or Meg.

Julio’s gaze was on Naz when he asked Meg for an explanation.

She just shrugged and told him she didn’t know, that she was getting changed at the time. Then she showed off her jeans and tank top combo, which left some of her midriff bare.

Naz stared at the striped shoes on her feet. They were as ugly as when he’d bought them. That she still wore them probably meant she hadn’t had any other shoes at the apartment. Which made sense. Why else would she have been barefoot the day she arrived?

He stayed out of the way that afternoon. A few perimeter checks finally brought the silence to his head that he craved.

Rocks stepped in front of him when he circled around to the side of the warehouse, and Naz focused on the massive man.

“You bust up Miguel’s face?” Rocks didn’t know how to speak in anything but a bellow.

Naz’s knuckles ached. He doubted Rocks was looking for an answer and didn’t bother giving him one.

Rocks scowled and punched him in the gut.

Naz went down without a sound, refusing to let his body curl as he breathed through the pain that was making him want to vomit. Vomiting was no good. He’d choke on it before he got his mouth to open properly.

“Hey, stop that!”

The voice was Miguel’s, and at the sound of him approaching, Naz managed to get his feet under him, trying to hold it together enough to fight back. Being on the ground wouldn’t work. They could kick in his ribs. He shoved to a stand but checked his lunge toward the large man when Rocks just glared at him instead of following up on his sucker punch.

Miguel grabbed Rocks’s arm anyway. “For fuck’s sake,” he wheezed. “I told you, I started it.” His nose had stopped bleeding but had a discoloration to it. Naz wondered if it was broken.

He took a step back so he could see both men’s movement better. Letting that big-ass fist hit him again wouldn’t keep him in the fight long.

Rocks spat on the ground. “One of us always comes before some cunt.” He turned, stomping toward the warehouse.

Miguel’s gaze twitched toward Naz. “We good?” he asked, uncertainty in his tone.

Naz shrugged, then headed toward the spigot. He stuck his head under it to try to cool off instead of stalking after Rocks. His rapid pulse and uneven breaths were a steady chant telling him to take Rocks out. His brain jabbered about the threat.

When the beat of his heart slowed back to normal, he turned off the water, sluicing away the excess with his stinging hand. His scalp wasn’t completely smooth. He’d have to shave the stubble away later.

The water dripped on his shirt and splashed his jeans. At least his work boots were water proof.

The edge of exhaustion pulled at him, and he made his way to one of the trailers. It was empty. He settled down against the wall, staring at the grody couch across the way but not really seeing it.

He should text Ramiro about the new episode at the apartment, but if he did, Ramiro would pull him off the job.

With how quiet the trailer was, it would have been a good time to eat one of his protein drinks. No one would be around to watch him struggle to pour it down his throat. Eating was a pain in the ass.

His still-aching stomach said not to bother with the attempt. Diego always warned Naz away from not eating. You had to consume or be consumed, he’d say; you can’t defend yourself without the energy to back it up.

Naz continued to stare, letting his thoughts drift. They filled with other memories of Diego. For such a scrawny guy, he’d been obsessed with teaching Naz how to work out. He said building muscle built a defense so he wouldn’t be shit on again. That would have been laughable—while Diego’s arms were toned, he was in no way bulked out—except Diego had more than held his own the first time Naz had seen him, brutal in the way he dispatched the men Naz had always wanted to kill.

The trailer door clicked open, the sound preventing his mind from sinking down into the memory it had been drifting toward.

Meg jumped up the last step, the backpack she still had on thumping with the movement. She smiled at him when she saw him there, but the smile faded when they continued to stare at each other.

“Hey,” she said, her voice high, and then she headed toward the back bedroom.

Naz rubbed a hand over his stomach. Rocks had boulders for hands. Naz was likely going to bruise. Before he could gather himself to leave, Meg returned, sliding down the wall near him, though not as near as the times she’d sat with him before. She’d ditched the backpack.

She shouldn’t be sitting with him. He should go.

Her hand extended into the space between them, one of her Post-its stuck to her finger.

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