Page 63 of His Black Onyx

He's right. Why would I even care? Why would I care what kind of feelings or non-feelings my kidnapper is harboring for the girl whose place I've been forced to take, in an operation that I neither fully understand or support by my own free will?

The strained silence stretching between us is almost unbearable.

"I-I-I... of course, I don't care!" I bring forth eventually. "I don't. But I just...I just hate these ongoing lies and secrets between us."

He tilts his head to the side, studying me with a quizzical—and slightly amused—expression.

"You make it sound like we're boyfriend and girlfriend, little girl," he says, smirking. "Cute."

The color on my face must deepen to scarlet red within an instant, and under his condescending look, I am even more embarrassed.

"Don't be ridiculous," I say in a weak attempt at regaining some kind of credibility.

How did we even get here? Why did I make this petty remark about Lailah and his relationship with her?

I don't dare go digging for an answer to this question.

"It's bad for the mission," I continue, crossing my arms in front of my chest, as if that gesture gives any more authority to my words.

"As you said, we need to trust each other for this to work. And... well, while this mission isn't exactly in my interest as much as it is in yours—still, if I am forced to do it, I want to make sure to get out of it alive. Or at least...try to."

I'm rambling, and my head is spinning as if I was under the influence. My heart is racing, driving the urge to go on with my silly string of words as I continue trying to dig myself out of a hole.

As if I didn't have any other, bigger problems to be concerned about right now.

"You know, I still doubt that I can do it, maybe even more so now that I've met Lailah," I add in a lower voice. "She's so much stronger and so skilled... so tough, even now."

The expression on his face softens as I talk. He was originally nodding and grinning widely, not even trying to hide his amusement at my rambling.

But now his expression fades, the smile first losing its condescending note, and then disappearing completely. He's still nodding, but this time it's an earnest gesture, accompanied by concern and compassion.

"She grew up with this," he says, in an obvious attempt at consoling me. "You shouldn't compare yourself to her."

"I'm not comparing," I hiss. "This is not an ego thing, Nate. I'm saying I can't take the place of someone like her. I'll die trying-"

"We'll die," he corrects me. "You're not going in there all by yourself. Even when you don't see us, the Covey will always be at your side to make sure everything goes according to plan."

"According to plan," I mock. "No part of this is going according to plan. You've said so yourself a million times."

"It's still the same plan," he says, winking. "We just need to adjust it on the go—and more than we thought we would have to."

"And where's that plan at right now?" I prompt, jutting my chin forward defiantly. He better not deny me an answer to that one.

To my surprise, he doesn't.

"Big George is talking to the Scivolas as we speak," he tells me straight out. "We were supposed to meet up with them this week, and until a couple of days ago, we thought it'd be the day when we tell them that the deal is off—and prepared for the fight that would most certainly ensue. But, now that things have changed, we're trying to push the date back, so we have more time to recollect."

"Mhm," I murmur, all too aware that everything is resting on me. It's too much weight for my weak shoulders to bear, but it doesn't seem like anyone cares about that. Especially not Nate.

He says everything will work out. So it will. As simple as that.

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