Page 45 of Hell Breaks Loose

My mouth snaps shut when I realize I’m gaping at him.

“And folk music.”

“W-wha? Wait, like 70s Cat Stevens type stuff or more like country?”

One eyebrow flicks up. “Yes.”

“That wasn’t a yes or no question…”

He shrugs.

“I can’t imagine you liking country.”

Blank stare.

“Fine, I can’t imagine anything about you.”

“That’s on purpose.”

Which explains why he’s avoided one on ones, waiting just out of conversation range most of the time. Not that I haven’t tried to engage him.

Or figure out where the hell he goes at night.

It’s like he vanishes as soon as I close my door. And I’d know, because I’ve tried to sneak out to follow him three times, now.

“Do you know when Marco is coming back?” I say suddenly, trying to maintain the momentum of what qualifies as an extensive conversation with him.

Sing shakes his head, looking away, out into the gardens. He raises three fingers, then four.

“Hmm. Three or four more days? Interesting,” I muse, leaning back.

This is the longest Vice has been gone so far.

And he took the three stooges, Grico, Vance, and Lonnie, with him.

Leaving who in charge? Sing?

I need to figure out the hierarchy in the guards.

But Sing isn’t the best place to start.

“Where are you from? California?”

“Sure.”

“Liar.”

“It’s where I lived longest.”

“After…”

A long sigh.

“Thailand,” he says finally. But the snappy way he says it is a slap in the face, a clear indication that I shouldn’t press on the issue.

Besides, teasing him reminds me of Evan and Tell, teasing and bickering over one of Gavin’s meals around our table at the safe house, at my dad’s house…

All thoughts of food or coffee fade.

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