Page 28 of All The Way Under
“What exactly have they told you?” I ask as we round the last bend before we get to the makeshift parking lot for the vehicles. Our cage is close by, and it gives me shivers for more than one reason.
He shakes his head. “It’s why I wanted to know what you did and was asking questions. They said you had a high ransom. That’s all. It’s easy to leap from that to having connections,” he explains, stooping down when he recognizes the bike that’s missing parts. “I want to go home and see my family and my dog, and have this in my past. It doesn’t matter what they say. We shouldn’t believe it, anyway. They’re crooks.”
Other men bring a large, heavy, balled-up tarp and open it next to us with a bunch of stolen parts. Brody blows out a breath when he makes the connection. There are bits and bobbles from a lot of different technologies.
My hand immediately darts out when I see a screen that looks like it belongs to a GPS. It’s smashed, but I bet I could get it working if I can find the right makeshift tools.
“Are you married?” I ask, questioning just what he means by family. He used that word to be intentionally misleading, goading me into asking more questions. I think. Or maybe he doesn’t share things about himself often.
I roll wires in my hand, testing the ends to see if they’re sharp.
“I’m not,” he deadpans, picking up spark plugs and a carburetor.
“Kids?” I return.
He shakes his head. “Nope.”
“So who is your family?”
He turns his head, annoyed with my line of questioning, I bet.
“My brother and my parents. I have a guard dog too.”
“Where do you live?” I ask, handing him a wrench. It feels oddly like being in my dad’s shop, and a pang of grief hits me square in the chest.
My dad has to be sick with worry and guilt for allowing me to go and do this. Talking to Brody, even as square as he is, helps.
“The North East,” he deadpans, then lets the wrench clank down against another tool. “Near Sag Harbor. Anything else?”
“We live close to each other in real life,” I say. “Do you have a girlfriend?” My voice gets irritatingly high on the last word.
He sits, facing me.
“What about me would make you believe a woman would want to be committed to me long term?”
Your absis on the tip of my tongue.
“The way you present yourself to me doesn’t have to be the way you are to other women. Even people like you can be nice to the right person,” I explain. “We’re trapped on an island. You said it yourself that it doesn’t bring out the best in you. I don’t think it’s that far-fetched that you have a girlfriend or a situationship back home. Whatever it is that men do these days.”
One of his brows shoots up. “I am not a man who does situationships. I do work.”
“You do gym. You do moods,” I say, cracking myself up. “Seriously, you don’t have anyone?”
“That’s hard to believe?” he asks. “Do you?”
He’s just throwing my question back, but it makes my stomach flip.
“I don’t. He broke up with me before my record-setting sail. Now I’m setting different records, I’m sure. Not the good kind either.”
Examining my nails, I smooth my fingers over my cuticles. Bianca would die if she saw them.
“I have family waiting too. My parents, my sister, and friends.”
“You’re disbelieving that I don’t have a ball and chain, and you don’t either?”
I clear my throat. “Well, it’s different for you, I’m sure. It’s not so easy for me to date.”
I need to be careful about what I say. The last thing I want is to have to tell him about the circles I have to stay inside of and the type of people who are deemed acceptable.
