Page 55 of Hot Chocolate & Hitmen

“Hey,” I say softly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind me. I hold up the plate of food, offering him a small smile. “I brought you dinner. Figured you might be hungry.”

He blinks at me, clearly caught off guard. “You think I’m gonna talk because you brought me food?”

I shrug, setting my kit down next to the chair across from him. “Maybe. Or maybe I just think you could use a good meal. Either way, I thought I’d give it a shot.”

He watches me warily as I sit down and hold the plate on my lap. I keep my posture relaxed, casual–like this is just two friends sharing a quiet meal together.

“Look,” I say, keeping my voice low, almost conversational, “I know you don’t trust them. They’re...a lot to deal with. But me? I just want to understand what’s going on. I want to help.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “You’re with them.”

“Sort of,” I admit. “But I’m not like them. I don’t hurt people. I help people.”

His eyes flicker with something–maybe doubt, maybe curiosity. I can’t tell yet. “So why are you helping them?”

“Because sometimes people get stuck in bad situations, and they need a way out. That’s all this is. You’re stuck. I want to help you find a way out.”

For a moment, he says nothing, his gaze dropping to the plate of food. I can see the wheels turning in his head, but he’s still not convinced. That’s okay. I’m not in a hurry.

I lean forward, slightly adjusting the plate on my knees. “You don’t have to tell me everything. Just...talk to me. What’s your name?”

He hesitates, his jaw clenching. “Why do you care?”

“Because it’s hard to help someone when you don’t even know their name.”

There’s a long pause, and I hold my breath, waiting for his response. Finally, he lets out a low sigh, his shoulders slumping just a little. “It’s Marcus.”

I smile softly, the tension in my chest easing just a little. “Nice to meet you, Marcus.”

It’s a small step, but it’s something. I stab a piece of steak with the fork and hold it out for him. After only a moment's hesitation, he actually takes it, his hunger overriding his mistrust in me.

Now, all I have to do is wait. Patience, Grace. This is just the beginning.

Marcus doesn’t speak much as he eats bite after bite, but that’s okay. I’m not expecting him to pour his heart out right away. I let the silence stretch between us, only broken by the soft clink of the fork against the plate as I feed him.

Once he’s polished off the steak and potatoes, I set the plate aside on the floor and nod toward the first aid kit I brought in with me. “You’ve been through a lot. Let me help with those injuries. You look like you could use some TLC.”

His eyes narrow again, but there’s a flicker of something softer behind the suspicion–maybe relief, or maybe exhaustion. He doesn’t protest, though, just watches as I pull out gauze, antiseptic, and a few bandages.

“Let’s start with your shoulder,” I say, gesturing for him to lean forward slightly. His shirt is torn in several places, and there’s a nasty cut running across his upper arm.

“Look, I know this situation sucks,” I say as I dab antiseptic on the wound, my touch as gentle as possible. “But it doesn’t mean you have to suffer through it alone. You might not believe it, but I’m not your enemy here.”

Marcus grunts, wincing slightly as I clean the wound, but he stays still, allowing me to work. “You’re patching me up to get me to talk.”

I meet his eyes for a brief moment before going back to bandaging his arm. “I’m patching you up because you’re hurt. Whether you talk or not, I’m still going to help you. I don’t like seeing anyone or anything in pain.”

He stays quiet after that, watching me through swollen, bruised eyes as I finish wrapping the bandage around his shoulder. There’s a long pause, and I can feel the weight of his gaze on me as I rummage through the first aid kit for more supplies. I can tell he’s still trying to figure me out.

“Why are you with them?” he asks after a long moment, his voice rough.

I stop, considering the question. “It’s complicated,” I say honestly. “They’re not bad guys, really. But they’re not saints either. They’re…protective.”

“Protective?” He scoffs, shaking his head. “They’re killers.”

I nod, applying some ointment to another cut on his arm. “They are. But they don’t hurt people without a reason. And trust me, if you’re here, you’re mixed up in something dangerous.”

“I’m not the one hurting people,” Marcus mutters, his eyes darkening.

---