Her face pales further.
"Imagine you are in a dark room…" I peer into her face, "How do you get out?"
She curls her fingers at her sides, "Stop imagining," she whispers.
"When my mother asked me the same questions, I didn’t have an answer for her. For a long time I was convinced that it's why she left me."
"Oh, Saint," her features twist. She half sits up, reaches for me.
I pull away, "I don’t want your pity."
She half smiles, "Pity is the last thing on my mind where you are concerned."
I straighten.
She lowers her brows, "How old were you when she left?"
"Thirteen." I shuffle my feet. "A year after the incident."
"When you and the Seven were kidnapped?"
I nod.Shit, it never gets easier to talk about this.I square my shoulders. "They held up the car I was in, knocked my driver unconscious, and abducted me on the way home from football practice."
"Is that why you prefer to drive yourself around?"
I nod, "And why I keep a gun on hand." I raise my shoulders, "No way, will I be so vulnerable again."
"And the riddles?"
"What about them?"
"What got you so dependent on them?"
I lean forward, squeezing the ring in my palm with such force that the emerald cuts into my skin. The soles of my feet burn; I press my heels into the ground. "I can’t talk about that," I straighten.
"Can’t or won’t?"
I rise to my feet, "Does it matter?’
"And the woman?" She asks.
I scowl. "It's not what you think it is." I stare into her face.
She scoffs. "You expect me to believe that?"
"Believe it..." I raise my shoulders, "or not."
She stiffens, "Is she your sister? Your cousin? Hell a blood relation of some kind?"
I shake my head.
"So who is she?" Her eyebrows knit.
"She's a... friend."
"A friend?" She glowers at me.
"Also a business associate." I crack my neck. "There's uh! Nothing between us."