Page 9 of Understanding Fate

Damn. Damn. Damnit.

I chastise myself for not paying more attention to the shower, for not being faster with the items, and for checking him out.

I’m not interested in Ghost. Not like that, but I’d be lying if I said his body wasn’t something to marvel at.

“Feel free to look your fill, City. I know things aren’t exactly going well for you in that department,” he says before chuckling to himself and waltzing over to his bag to get dressed.

“I don’t know what you're referring to, but I was simply looking for your phone since mine wasn’t charged,” I lie, ensuring my face is solidly pointed at the wall.

“And my wallet and book being out and open…” he says, leaving the question hanging in the air, taunting me because he knows I was snooping.

“Curiosity and all that,” I shrug, hearing his zipper close.

“Didn’t peg you for a kitty cat, but I guess the adage fits otherwise,” he adds, and I roll my eyes before crawling back onto the comforter, attempting to keep space between us as I dare a look in his direction.

He’s clothed again, and I breathe a sigh of relief. He grabs a bottle of water from the mini fridge and tosses it at me before grabbing one for himself and sitting at the makeshift office desk on his side of the room.

“I didn’t know you had a sister,” I say, stating my assumption, hoping I can find out more about him.

“I don’t,” he says, taking a long pull from his water.

“Her eyes suggest otherwise,” I state, watching him flinch ever so slightly at the statement.

For a long moment, he doesn’t respond. He just sits sipping occasionally and taking note of the wall decor in the room.

Okay, I guess we're done talking.

I reach for my phone on the nightstand, hoping it has gotten enough charge to restart so I can send some messages and let someone know I’m okay.

“I wouldn’t bother with your phone. I’m jamming it. You won’t be able to get any messages out,” he says with as much importance as if he were discussing the weather or a grocery list.

“You’re WHAT?!?” I shout.

“Jamming it. With a transmitter, so you can’t make or receive calls. A Faraday cage would be preferable but with limited notice and all.” He shrugs, noncommittal. His words are clear, but their meaning is lost as my anger builds.

“I… You…. Argh…” I stumble through, trying to collect my thoughts. I’m in a strange city hundreds of miles from home, and I have no way to contact anyone, including the company I’m here to see.

My fingers fist the comforter, grounding me as I try to communicate my needs, a tactic my old therapist recommended.

“I need a phone. No one knows I’m safe, and I need to contact the company to find out when I need to be there tomorrow morning,” I say.

“Need is a strong word. No one needs a phone, and if I remember correctly, a phone is the story you used to lure me in an attempt to get me to and invite you back to my place last time we were together.” His smug expression makes me want to punch him square in the face.

“First, we’ve never been together, at least not in the way you are implying. A thing you shouldn’t continue because if Cain heard you, I don’t think I could stop him from killing you, joke or not. Second, I didn’t lure you; I begged for help, which you did not give.” He cuts me off, laughing out loud before I can give him my third thing.

“Oh boy, City, you have quite the imagination, and your memory must be spotty from the hit to the ground. How do youthink Dante knew where you were, huh? Or when you were being handed over to the Reno Pack so he could make an offer? I may not have ridden in on a white horse in a cape to save the day, but make no mistake, you are alive because of me. You aren’t headed right back to that pack today because of me. And.”

Now, it's my turn to cut him off.

“And what’s in it for you, huh? You say you have no pack and like to be alone, yet you keep inserting yourself into this mess. My mess. Why save me at all? What’s in it for you?” I shout at him, standing up off the bed in my anger.

His jaw clenches, a challenge looming in his eyes, and for a single moment, I think he’s going to snap at me. Yell, shout, answer me.

Instead, his face calms, all emotion leaving it as if it were never there.

What in the psycho shit is this?

“Why is it so hard for you to let people help you? People are actively trying to abduct you in a supernatural political game of chess, and you’re here bound and determined to let them succeed. You don’t have a signal because your phone can easily be tracked, and I don’t feel like adding to my body count attempting to keep you or me alive.”

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