Page 79 of Hidden But Not Safe

He shook his head. “Not…safe.”

Meg crossed her arms. “I don’t give a shit.”

“Meg.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t do that. I like my name when you say it, but I’m more stubborn than you are. Unless you can go in there and find something to eat, we’re going out. You can pick where we go, make it as safe as possible, but you’re damn well getting something you can eat.”

They stared at each other. She was right about one thing. She was more stubborn than he was.

Her gaze softened. “What happened in the warehouse, it was a lot. I don’t just mean a lot, like overwhelming. I mean, you were fighting for your life. For both our lives.” She reached out, her hand hovering over the tear in his shirt. “And you were shot. Your body needs fuel, Ignacio.” Her voice lowered, no longer demanding but soft. “You know I’m right.”

He made his way to the pantry. The fridge had been mostly cleaned out, but Diego usually kept things that wouldn’t go bad. It was easiest when you were trying to keep a low profile.

The pantry was full. Whoever’s furniture and things were scattered around, they couldn’t have been gone for long. Most of the cans and boxes he found weren’t even expired.

The soup wasn’t ideal. It wasn’t the red can, but something fancier, with bigger chunks of meat and vegetables. He could choke down things without chewing, but his gag reflex was a nightmare.

The men had liked to make him gag.

He shut off the thought by grabbing one of the cans anyway, setting it on the counter as he searched through the cabinets. Glass cups filled them—clear and clinky and breakable. He kept searching, finding something better in one of the lower ones. It was a coffee thermos, with a plastic lid that had a slide to open the mouthpiece. Not perfect, the chunks wouldn’t fit through, and he’d dribble down his chin, but it was the best he’d likely find.

Except he couldn’t live long on broth.

He pushed the thought away. This was to settle Meg, so she wouldn’t convince him to leave the house and get them both killed.

The rundown quality of the neighborhood had been a relief with how fucked up he’d looked driving through it, but there’d been drugs in the house he’d set up cameras in before. There were people around, people linked to the business. No one had shown up yet, but no one had known to look for them yesterday when they were driving through.

The bodies at the warehouse wouldn’t remain undiscovered for long. Hell, Seb could have told someone to save his skin. He’d said he was going to disappear, but Naz barely knew him.

Meg had been right. He regretted not killing him.

It didn’t matter. They’d gotten a huge pile of drugs in the latest delivery. Bigger than ever. The cartel would care if it didn’t end up where they expected.

Naz’s nerves skittered as he opened the can of soup, using the tab on top. No one would think he’d killed his crew over a woman. But for a stash that big? There’d been money in that warehouse.

Money that he’d left behind. Naz wasn’t a thief. He was a killer.

But no one had been left around to protect it. Except for Seb. Shit, would Seb have taken the drugs?

“Here, let me help,” Meg said, dragging down a bowl.

Naz tried to wave her off, but she was already dumping the contents of the can in. She blinked down at the chunky soup.

“You can eat this?”

Naz shrugged, reaching for it.

She slapped his hand away. “You’re such a man sometimes,” she muttered, knocking into him with her hip to edge him away from the drawer. She grabbed a fork and knife from inside.

And then she started cutting up his food.

Vague memories rose to the surface of his mind. Ones from when his father had been alive.

His father had cut up his food. It was strange how clearly he remembered that while watching Meg.

He should have hated it. He wasn’t a child. He didn’t need to be taken care of.

The warmth filling his chest wasn’t anger.

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