Page 24 of The Devil We Know

I nod in agreement, my hands waving around dismissively, or crazily, or however he’s probably going to take it. “You got it. No funny business.”

We walk along a maze of corridors until, eventually, he stops short in front of me, and I have to pull up quickly to avoid running into the back of him. He turns around, glowers at me, and says, “Stay here. Don’t fucking move.”

I give him a short nod and say nothing, and then he walks a few feet away and stops in front of a door, pounding his fist on it a few times before standing there, waiting. After a few beats, the door opens a crack, and the man whispers something incoherent. After a short exchange, the door closes, and he comes back over to me and says, “He’s in there. Knock on the door and wait until you’re let in. Don’t try anything fucking stupid, or you’ll think I was a nice guy.”

Again, I nod but say nothing. He steps to the side, so I walk over to the door, slamming my fist on it a few times the same way he did. I look over at him. He simply glares at me, spins on his heel, and stalks away.

I swallow the lump in my throat, turning my focus back to this nondescript door, and then I wait.

10

A Complicated Conundrum

Matt

I’ve had the longestfucking week of my life, and given my history, that’s saying something.

I’ve been out dealing with endless bullshit for the last few days. I’ve only been back for maybe an hour, and I can already tell something fucking stupid is brewing.

All I wanted was a hot shower and one hot meal, but from the knocking on my door, I have a feeling I’m not going to get either of them.

I know that I could take my time answering, and whoever is knocking would still be there in five minutes, twenty minutes, or even two hours because that’s just how these people operate.

Not wanting to listen to incessant knocking while I’m trying to wash the filth off myself, I figure it’s best if I just pause my initial shower plan and go answer the fucking door.

Muttering expletives to myself, I yank my filthy jeans back up my legs, zipping them but leaving them unbuttoned. Storming over to the door, I yank it open as I bark, “What the fuck do you want?”

There’s a startled, feminine gasp, and then I quickly lose my mad as I see the woman standing on the other side.

I sigh and shake my head as I say, in a calmer tone, “Marieka, what are you doing here?”

She shrugs, her hands twisting in front of her as she replies, “Looking for you.”

I step back and open the door all the way so she can enter, closing it behind her and moving a few feet away. She steps back, leaning against the door, uncertainty written over her features.

“Give me a minute,” I say hurriedly, and then rush back over to the bathroom where I grab my shirt and pull it on over my head as I return to the main room.

There’s nothing fancy about my accommodations, but they’re some of the larger ones I’ve had, and at least they’re clean. She’s still standing against the door, looking even more unsure than when she first arrived. My annoyance eases as I stand a few feet from her and ask, “Did you need something?”

Her brow furrows, and she hesitates for a moment, so I add, “Just spit it out, Marie.”

She swallows, clears her throat, and then whispers, “I needed to see you. To make sure you’re alright.”

“I’m perfectly fine, but you shouldn’t be here.”

Her eyes drop to the floor, and I wait as she works to collect her thoughts. After a few moments, her eyes finally lift to meet mine, and she says, “I overheard the men talking about what would happen here if you were to end up injured or worse.”

I close the short distance between us, my hands reaching out and gripping hers tightly before holding them loosely as I stoop over so I’m looking into her eyes as I say softly, “I’m fine. That’s not going to happen.”

Her jaw clenches, and her nostrils flare. She chokes out, “But it could. And then what?”

“Then you immediately go to plan B. Honestly, you’d probably be better off if something did happen to me because plan B is probably your safest bet.”

Her eyes narrow, and she shakes her hands free of my own as she snorts, “I have a hard time believing that.”

I smile, relieved that her unease is shifting back to her underlying sass.

I can always tell when I’ve been gone for a longer period of time because she starts to resort back to her earlier demeanor of being more of a wilted flower, a quiet little mouse destined to hang out on the outskirts and be overlooked by the masses. Of course, learning how to go under the radar being the safest bet, I can’t say I really blame her.

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