Page 7 of Dravin

Hypocritical.

Or hunting down people for a living.

Still hypocritical.

“You let me use all my money to place that bet. You could have stopped me,” I growl as he pulls out into traffic. I won’t ask him to tell me where we’re going for a second time. He won’t answer and I’d like to mitigate the humiliation and scrape together whatever dignity I might have left.

“I could have.”

“You let me blow everything I’ve worked just about my whole life for!” It’s a good thing he put me on the opposite side of the SUV. The urge to boot his chair is overwhelming.

“Money is just money.”

“Says only the rich who have more than enough to burn. You owe me forty grand, asshole,” I mutter.

“I owe you nothing other than to keep you alive, which I’ve successfully done tonight and for the past thirteen months, four days, and seven hours.” He speeds up subtly, but I definitely pick up on it. He has his little angry tells, that’s for sure.

“What? You didn’t bother counting the minutes and seconds too? You’re slipping Dray.”

“I have a new ID for you and a new job that I’m taking. You’ll accompany me. I’ve already gathered your things from your apartment. All your other possessions will remain where they are, in secure storage. You’re leaving your life here behind, but I suppose, since that was the plan for you tonight, it won’t hurt much to move on again.”

“That’s right.” I bite down hard on my lower lip, but only to keep myself from screaming. “I can take care of myself. I don’t need you controlling my life. This past year? That wasn’t living. That was… nothing. You dumped me into this and made certain that I’d be miserable, checking in when your guilt forced you to.”

Do I believe that? Somewhat, I guess.

I truly did think that after a few months Dravin had forgotten me. He plucked me from my life, calling abandonment safety, and moved onto better shit. I was stuck. Paralyzed. I wasdesperate enough to do anything to move forward. I couldn’t trust that some guy I didn’t even know who claimed to be my savior because he’d known my brother, was going to do the right thing for me.

Even I didn’t know what that was.

As the months passed, my speculation solidified into something that became fact to me. I’d been dumped into a new city with a new ID, a fake life with a job and an apartment to go along with it, and that was the end of Dravin’s duty. I still wasn’t safe and if I ever wanted to stop looking over my shoulder and be able to move on, I needed to disappear. I had no one to dig myself out of that hole but me.

“You did realize that piece of shit has killed twelve people, did you not?” Dravin’s dry, raspy tone cuts into my churning thoughts. “Of course you did, because you did your research first. Studied your opponent. You would have known all his weaknesses before you signed your life away on a bet and stepped into a crazy underground fighting ring where people get carried out in body bags on the reg.”

My hand itches to undo my seatbelt and launch my foot in a hard kick straight to his jaw. If that wouldn’t kill us, I might just give in to the intrusive thoughts. “You’re such a donkey ass.”

“That’s redundant. Ass would suffice.”

“I was ready. I would have won.”

“How? By gouging out his one good eye?”

“I’m not some naïve, spoiled little princess. I would have done what I needed to do.”

“I believe you.” That has about as much conviction behind it as if he’d just stated that he has a secret fairy godmother whom he puts all his faith in. “I think you could have knocked him out. Sure, he might have beaten you near senseless first, but I believe in underdog come from behind victories. That’s how all great fights go, right?”

I take it back. Donkey ass is far too good a curse for him.

“How did you plan on collecting on a bet that size? Did you think that the bookies would just let you walk away with that sum? Surely, someone would have recognized you, and even if not, they would have followed you and killed you to take back their money. Were you going to hire a bodyguard and send him to your place? Split it with the thug you knocked out if he did you a solid? Or did your master plan not extend that far?”

Fuck.

I was so focused on the leadup that I didn’t have a plan for the back half. “Get a real life and leave me alone,” I sulk petulantly. “Does this new ID include a better name for yourself? Your real one sucks.” What really sucks is how he goads me into proving that I’m no more mature than a surly teenager.

“At least I wasn’t named after a vegetable.”

Do not remove your boot and throw it at him. Don’t fucking lean forward and break his jaw. Don’t strangle him with his own seatbelt.“It’s Irish,” I snap. “It means mighty warrior, which I can be, even if I’m a woman.”

“Yes, well, potato potat—”

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