Page 10 of Ronan

A bandage covers his work, then he removes his gloves and repacks his tools, putting the used ones in a smaller bag to keep them separated. “It will leave a scar, but it should be minimal.” He has barely finished his sentence when my stomach unleashes a high-pitched screech that could summon the local wildlife, causing him to frown deeper. “Have you eaten?”

“Considering I woke up in a strange cell with a smashed face? If I was going to voluntarily poison myself, it would be with something more exciting than a fossilized piece of bread. You understand my hesitation, of course. Now, if someone serves me a cyanide steak, we might be having a different conversation. Risk and reward, and all that.”

His eyes dart to the tray near the door and he blinks a few times before glancing back at me. “No one would offer you food that would make you sick.” A loud, booming laugh shakes my whole body, nearly ripping open the fresh stitches on my forehead as he stares. His expression is somewhere between confused and concerned, and it only makes me laugh harder. Unable to stop, I lean forward and slap my hand onto my thigh.

“Dear gods,” I finally get out. “Is this boundless optimism your standard, or are you laying it on thick to brainwash the prisoner?No oneis this positive, my man. No one.” He gawks at me as a fresh wave of laughter shakes my shoulders. “You can drop the act, buddy, and spare both ofus the time. There will be no mindless pledging of loyalty to your deranged leader. No Kool-Aid rituals today, fine sir. I’m not joining your cult.”

Eyebrows furrowed, he shakes his head. “It’s not a cult.”

“Fine… rebels, avengers, alternative lifestylists… I don’t care what you call yourselves, really, but it’s not for me. I’ve been alone for a very long time, and I’m not looking to sit around the campfire and hold hands while we sing. No offense, obviously, because I’m sure you’re…greatat holding hands and all. It’s just not for me.” I give him a thumbs up that makes him frown as he stares at it.

“At minimum, you need to stay until your head heals.”

Another snorting laugh leaves my nose as I pet Boomerang to calm myself. “Do I have a choice?” That frown tugs his lips further, looking so distraught that it almost makes me feel guilty.

Almost.

He sighs, reloading his bag before he slings it over his shoulder and backs up a few steps. “Let me have some conversations,” he finally says. “Maybe I can convince them to release you into camp with an escort.”

“Oh, boy! A guard to watch over the prisoner during yard time!” My sarcasm is diminished by the loud rumble from my stomach, and he huffs a quiet laugh.

“Why don’t I get you something hot to eat? Will that help your attitude?” His lips twitch in another smile as I scowl at him, his good mood returning.

“Boomerang, too.” I nod at the dog curled over my lap like she doesn’t weigh sixty pounds. “She’s hungry.”

Hand on the knob, he nods and fidgets with the handle, the metal clicking as he toys with it. The way he avoids my gaze tells me it bothers him to leave me trapped in here, but I’ve been reading body language for years, and the frustrated set of his jaw tells me he’s a lot more powerless than he wants to appear.

Despite his repeated promises, he’s in no position to change mine.

“Boomerang, too,” he agrees, flashing me another smile that’s infinitely more strained, before disappearing behind the snick of the locked door once again.

Chapter 4

Cameron

The hours tick by in an uneventful blur, the only break in the monotony coming in the form of the nervous young man delivering food. He can’t be a day over eighteen, chin lifted as he tries to project an air of authority, but his shaky command to stand against the wall is more a squeak than a bark. Peas scatter across the cot as he flings the tray, and my face must give away my annoyance, because he makes a weird little peeping noise, then flees.

Too hungry to care about germs, I scoop the peas off the bed and shove them in my mouth, my stomach giving a dinosaur’s roar at the smell and taste of a real meal. I set the dish of dog food on the ground, and Boomerang’s eyes light up as she shoves her snout into the bowl. More kibbles end up on the floor than in her mouth.

My manners aren’t any better as I grab the fork and shovel food, uncaring how it tastes, and I groan through a mouthful as if I’m a starving man. August must have some influence, because they’ve given me a generous serving of roasted chicken along with the peas and carrots, plus a pieceof golden-crusted bread. It crunches as I tear it in half, white steam rising from the pillowy center.

I finish my meal in record time, licking my fingers clean as I recline against the wall. My hand pats my gloriously full stomach, watching Boomerang imitate a vacuum cleaner. The first genuine smile I’ve had in days crosses my lips as she sucks up every stray crumb she can find on the ground.

The door unlocks with a click, and August pokes his head in, a wide smile lighting up his face when he sees mine. “You look better.”

I shrug as I watch the dog lick her way across the wooden floor, finding it hard to unearth my temper while I have a full belly. “Better is a relative term. You know what would make this day perfect? Leaving.” An involuntary, strangled sound climbs from the back of his throat before he coughs and clears it, staring intently at the ground. “August…”

His eyes roll up to the ceiling as his hands land on his hips, and it doesn’t escape my notice that he’s looking everywhere in this room except directly at me. “So, Taryn—our leader—isn’t keen on letting you walk out of here when you’ve seen the inside of the camp…”

“The inside of this cell, you mean? The one that I never would’ve seen ifyourpeople hadn’t dragged me here against my will? Is that what we’re discussing?”

His mumbled, “Yes,” is more of a grunt than an articulation.

“‘Kay, just making sure we’re on the same page here.”

The sole of his shoe squeaks as he scuffs it against the ground, continuing to stare at the blank surfaces of theroom. “If you’re up to it, she’s invited you to her office for a discussion.”

“If I’m up to it,” I mutter, clenching my fist at my side as our gazes meet again. “Does this discussion end with another gun to my forehead?”

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