Page 8 of Fall

“All you have to do”—Kieran’s boots slide on the wooden floor, and when I blink, he’s leaning over me, his eyes on mine—“is prove to us you aren’t a liability. That we won’t regret letting you live, and that you won’t betray us, Noa.”

Seconds tick by as I digest that knowledge into my bones. I bite my lip, barely registering Val’s soft murmur when I do. “How?” I ask finally, carefully.

Kieran grins, lips quirking into something not so friendly, and it occurs to me he was just waiting for me to ask. “Well, that’s the question, isn’t it? How do you prove to two murderers that you won’t—you can’t—betray them?”

4

To my surprise,Val lets me up a few seconds later, and even offers me a hand. Not that I take it. I scramble to my feet on my own and back away from both of them until my shoulders hit the glass and I can once again feel my heart in my throat. My nails dig crescents into my palms as I once again flex and unflex my fingers, then force myself to take deep breaths in an effort not to panic.

Or at least not panic any harder.

“Just tell me how.” Looking between them, I kick myself for trusting these two men not to hurt me. The signs had all been there.Literallyin my face and all over my hands. Wrapped around my wrist, in one case of unfortunate entrails; the thought of which makes me want to retch. “Tell me how, then let me go home so I can forget about this and you and pretend this never happened.”

“Oh, no. No, darling.” Kieran pushes to his feet and crosses the distance between us, eating into my personal bubble without hesitating. He rests his arms on the window behind me, leaning his weight against it casually. “There’s no going home and forgetting about us.” Kieran’s grin is sly as he brushes his lips almost sweetly against mine, though it only makes me shudder.“Not anymore. We’re the consequences of your curiosity and your”—he pulls away and looks me over from dark eyes as if appraising every bit of me—“feral little self.”

I move to dart away from him, or attempt to, but he’s faster. Kieran grabs me by my throat and sighs. His head tips to the side and he gives me a curious look. “You’re not going anywhere. Not until we figure this out.” Letting out a breath, he adds, “You’re hungry, right? You have to be by now.”

Embarrassingly, I realize that I am. I didn’t get my pie and coffee like I’d planned, and it’s definitely been at least a day since I’ve eaten. That’s probably what’s giving me the start of a headache, but I’m certainly not about to admit it.

“I don’t suppose you brought pie and coffee to make up for kidnapping me?” I ask witheringly, leveling an unsteady glare at Kieran’s face.

I don’t expect Val to snort, and I watch as he walks into the kitchen, then to the fridge. Meeting my gaze he opens the door, showing me the contents.

And the two boxes of pie.

“Lemon meringue and pecan, or apple’s in the freezer. Since I feel a little bad about this. But also, I hope you like pizza because surely you did not plan on eatingjustpie today, did you?”

“Uh, yeah. I absolutely was.” Again I try to sidestep Kieran, but this time he drops his arm and lets me, to my surprise. In fact he gestures me toward the kitchen, and even though I want to argue with them and not accept food…

I reallyamgetting hungry.

“While pizza isn’t exactly what I would consider healthy, you aren’tjusteating pie,” Kieran informs me.

“Thanks,Dad,” I can’t help but snap, though I level a nervous glance in his direction as I drift toward the cabinets.

And the drawers

Where the forks live.

My hand goes out, fingers reaching, just for Val to slide in front of me to block my way, a crooked grin on his lips. “You wouldn’t like trying to stab us with utensils.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

His eyes narrow in amusement, just a little, and he gives a soft chuckle. “And yet you were heading straight for the forks, weren’t you? Since I hid the knives and all, I figured they would be your next weapon of choice.”

I hesitate, eyes flicking around the kitchen to see the oven light is on and there are two pizzas perched on the racks, cheese slowly turning golden. “So you think I’m going to sit down at the table and play house with the two of you?” My hunger is making me a little irritable, now that it’s at the forefront of my brain, and I relinquish my quest for a fork with one step back from Val.

“Yep.” Kieran sighs, grabbing my shoulders and steering me towards the table. “Sit.Stay.” He pushes me into a chair, and I rest my hands on the smooth tabletop.

God, I couldn’t feel more awkward if I tried. Part of me would rather be in an auditorium with a PowerPoint of all my embarrassing moments playing for everyone I’ve ever come in contact with on the screen, in HD, than be sitting here about to eat pizza with two murderers.

“So…what do I call you?” I ask as Val checks on the pizza. From a bag on the counter he reveals paper plates and napkins, which he sets on the table before giving me a bemused glance.

“Val and Kieran work great,” the younger man informs me sweetly. “Ravage and Harrow work too, if that’s your kink. Maybe not in public, though. That might be?—”

“Indicative of you being murderers, or serial killers?” I cut him off without really meaning to, and I tap my fingers rhythmically against the table as Kieran eases into a seat behind me like he’s sore.

When I look at him with curiosity,not concern, he gives me a flat grin. “I’ve been cleaning up bodies for a lot of the day, in between taking care of you. Cleaning up crime scenes and moving bodies is hard work. Cut me some slack until the Advil kicks in, won’t you? And to answer your question”—he looks at the ceiling thoughtfully for a few moments—“serial killers. I’m not sure where the cutoff is for murderer vs. serial killer, but I’m sure both of us have gone over it.”

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