Page 57 of Unspoken

"What about one of the guys your brother employs?" I’m furious that meeting me alone has made him a target, but I also understand how this would look. "You could have lied."

"Listen, I’m aware of the risks. But we both know no one, not even Vlad’s hired, gun needs to see me and you hanging out when you’re not on the clock. Plus, I was careful. I used staff entry. Topic closed."

I want to argue, to tell him leaving his brother’s place on his own was stupid. Instead, I grit my teeth and nod toward the exit sign. "Let's get out of here before someone takes note of the young lord slumming it with the commoner."

Sasha offers up a crooked grin. "Haha. Very funny." Then he falls into step beside me, and for a moment, we're just two people in a crowd, moving through the current of bodies toward the promise of something new, something forbidden.

"Where are you taking me?" Sasha asks, his voice lighter now as we reach the relative safety of the parking lot.

"Somewhere less public," I reply, keeping the destination close to my chest like a poker player with a royal flush.

"Should I be worried you’ll kidnap me?"

"No, silly. It’s a surprise."

"Oh, I love surprises." He claps. The fedora sits askew on his head when I look at him. The disguise is an amateur attempt at normalcy. Ridiculous. Yet inexplicably endearing.

Forty minutes later, the heat of Nevada greets us as we step out of the car at Lake Mead where waves of warmth rolls over the parched earth like an exhalation from the desert itself. The sun is a relentless eye in the sky, and the vast expanse of water is a mirror reflecting a world turned upside-down.

Fedora deserted, Sasha inhales sharply, taking in the sprawling lake bordered by rugged terrain. "I didn't even know this place existed," he admits, a rare note of wonder threading through his statement.

"That's because you don't get out much," I say, my gaze following the contours of his profile—sharp, yet somehow softened by the awe etched into his features. "So, you’re forgiven."

"Clearly, I've been missing out." There's a flicker of something in his eyes—a yearning for freedom, perhaps, or just the simple pleasure of discovering something new.

"Come on," I beckon, leading him toward the shoreline where the water laps gently at the banks, the sound a hushed whisper promising secrets beneath the surface. There's an air of desolation here, of beauty untouched but also unclaimed—a reflection of the distance that still lies between us, a hole filled with the presence of violent pasts. Both his and mine.

The boat rental shack is a rickety structure that seems to lean wearily against the backdrop of Lake Mead's expansive waters. I exchange terse words and sign a form with a disinterested attendant before we're handed life vests that smell like they've seen more summers than the lake itself.

"This lake was formed by the Hoover Dam." I toss the piece of information into the air as we settle into the modest boat, creaking beneath our weight. "It's the largest reservoir in the States when it's full."

"Really?" Sasha responds, his voice tinged with genuine interest. He fiddles with the vest, tugging at the straps.

"You know about Hoover Dam, right?" I ask with a smile.

"I mean I’ve heard of it. If you’re wanting to know if I know its history and all that shit you can find on Wiki, then you’re talking to the wrong guy."

For some reason, that makes me laugh a little. Even his damn arrogance and ignorance are at times cute.

"Well, don’t let me bore you with the uninteresting details then," I say.

"You’re weird," Sasha replies.

"How so?"

"Just weird, mate," he whispers, his green gaze locked on mine.

"Is that good or bad?"

"I don’t know… I guess we’ll find out." He bites his lower lip slightly, dragging his teeth over it until his mouth is set into a semi-pout. And I realize I’ve forgotten what I wanted to tell him. He made me malfunction again.

So I just sit there, a thirty-three-year-old man, speechless and confused, before a boy, whose life has barely begun. A boy who probably knows more about always being in danger than I ever will.

For a while, we simply drift on the placid surface, the water around us murmuring mysteries only the deep might know. Then Sasha finally breaks the awkward silence.

"So, do you miss being a copper?" he asks tentatively.

It’s a topic I don’t like to discuss, but with him, I don’t feel the need to deflect anymore. "I miss some of it," I admit. "Being on the right side of the fight, helping people."

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