Page 72 of Sanctuary

My only solace is that my physical reaction will help solidify my cover as a captive. Even if I end up puking on Aidan’s boots, it won’t affect our plan.

We walk straight through the courtyard and approach the four additional guards at the front door of the main building.

At least one of them knows Aidan too. He barks out, “What the hell, man? You said that was it for you.”

“I found a new stash. Is Weasel around?”

“He’s supposed to be back this afternoon. You’ll have to wait.”

“What about Nyack?”

“He got himself shot.”

“Dead?”

“Yep.”

Aidan shrugs. “Then I’ll wait for Weasel. Can I get a room?”

“You got some fucking balls. What’s to stop us from killing you and taking all you got?”

“You know the answer to that. I don’t have the bulk of it on me. If you want to explain to Weasel why you gave up prescription drugs because you got pissy, go right ahead and kill me.”

The man snarls. “Fine. You can have a room until Weasel turns up. Who’s the bitch?” He eyes me up and down like he’s assessing livestock.

“She’s the source of my new stash. Not my type, but I thought you lot might get some use out of her.”

“So she’s a bribe?”

Aidan gives the other man a nonchalant smile. “Precisely.”

They all laugh at this, and the lead guard says, “I like ‘em a little thinner, but she’s got good tits.”

He reaches over toward my shirt. I know—I know—he’s going to pull out the neckline to inspect my breasts.

Aidan eases me away from the other man’s reach. “Uh-uh. No touching until I make a deal.” When a couple of the men make sounds of objection, Aidan cuts off their arguments with clipped authority. “She’s mine until we come to a fair arrangement. Hands off.”

This feels like a risk to me. In his place, I would have probably let them paw at me to play it safe. After all, we absolutely must get inside that hotel.

But Aidan knows the situation and these men better than I do, and he rightly predicts their begrudging acquiescence. They let us inside and don’t try to touch me again. The guy who’s been speaking calls for a boy—no older than twelve—and tells him to show us to an empty room.

And it’s as easy as that.

The boy, who’s far too jaded for a child of his age, leads us to a room on the second floor of the hotel. He opens the door and gestures inside. Then sticks out his hand and clears his throat dramatically.

Aidan huffs in impatient amusement, feels his pockets, finds a silver dollar, and places it in the small, dirty hand.

It’s meaningless now as currency since this new world works on the barter system, but it’s shiny and novel and can almost certainly be traded for something else. The boy is thrilled and runs off with his treasure.

I’m oddly touched by the small interaction, and it briefly distracts me from the sickening dread that’s filled me since we got here.

Aidan pulls me inside the room. Closes and locks the door. Unties my hands. Then we both push a heavy dresser over to block the door as an extra precaution while we’re in here.

I sit down on the foot of the bed and hug my arms to my stomach, leaning over as I try to get my nausea under control.

Aidan sits down next to me.

If he asks me if I’m all right, I might actually slap him. That’s how on edge I am.

---