Page 13 of A Series of Rooms
“Are you lying to me?”
“No.”
“Empty your pockets.”
“I’m not lying,” Jonah repeated, scrambling to obey the command. He barely had time to pull his front pockets out before Shepard lost his patience. He grabbed Jonah by the waistband of his jeans and yanked him around, shoving him face-first against the shelf. Rough hands patted him down, digging into his pockets and lingering in places that had Jonah squeezing his eyes shut. When the search came up empty, Shepard released him and took a step back, leaving him frozen in place.
“We’ll talk about how you can earn back that money later,” he said. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”
Jonah, desperate to take that as a dismissal, reached for the box again, but a hand wrapped around his bicep.
“One more thing,” Shepard said, deceptively casual. Jonah clenched his jaw and forced himself to meet his eyes. “Tell me your name.”
The question stopped him short. “What?”
“When you go out on a call,” Shepard emphasized slowly. “What is your name?”
His stomach pooled with icy dread. One thought played on a loop, a haunting incantation:how does he know?
There was only one right answer, and somehow there were no right answers at all. Whatever came out of his mouth next would be like stomping on a wide-open bear trap, but his silence wasn’t an option.
“Leo,” he whispered.
“See, that’s what I thought.” Shepard’s grasp dropped away, leaving a pulsing ache in the shape of his hand. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and flipped it around for Jonah to see. A message illuminated inches from his face.
Jonah,the message said, his own crucifixion in black and white.Can we talk,followed by a string of incoherent letters.
The floor dropped out from under him. When the screen clicked to black, Jonah’s petrified reflection stared back at him.
“So, what do you think your new friend wants to talk about,Jonah?”
His pulse beat wildly in his ears, his throat, his fingertips. Jonah had messed up. He couldn’t call it a slip, because itwasn’t an accident; he had given away his real name with intention. Liam had been kind to him. He had shown Jonah the sort of thankless compassion he didn’t believe in anymore, and Jonah had very little he could repay him with except that small token of good faith. But it was a mistake he would not make again.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Any remainder of Shepard’s false calm slipped in an instant. He took a step toward him and Jonah stepped back, but not quickly enough to avoid a hand on his throat. His vision went fuzzy at the edges when his head collided with the shelf behind him. Several cans of vegetables crashed to the ground at their feet.
“Do you need a reminder of the rules of our arrangement?” His breath was hot and damp against Jonah’s cheek.
Jonah had a plea locked in his throat, but before he could even attempt to voice it, the hand around his windpipe disappeared, leaving him breathless and shaking. It took him a moment to register the sound of movement from the kitchen.
“Jonah?” He recognized the voice of one of the volunteer coordinators, accompanied by a knock on the door. “You okay in there?”
Shepard shot Jonah a look that communicated his wordless threat, then reached for the pantry door. His public persona was a skin he slipped into with effortless ease.
“He’s with me, Molly,” Shepard said, crouching to pick up the fallen cans for show. “Jonah had a spill, but we’re taking care of it.”
Molly shifted her gaze to Jonah, who quickly looked away. He waited a few terse seconds, feeling the radiation of Shepard’s quiet rage beside him.
“Alright,” she said after a moment. “It’s filling up out there, kiddo. We need you on the line.”
Jonah nodded, not trusting his voice, and watched her retreat through the swinging door and into the chaos of the cafeteria. As soon as she was gone, Shepard shoved the cans against his chest, making him flinch.
“Clean this up,” he said. “And come find me after your shift. We aren’t done talking.”
CHAPTER 5
Jonah
