Page 19 of Obliterated
He scrubs a hand down his face, muttering, “Did you read my tag?”
“And how would I have done that?”
“I don’t know. Isn’t there documentation at the registration office? I’d assume you’d have access.”
I cock my head, let my smirk cut sharp. “Well, that would’ve been easier than scaling three stories to look at it while you were asleep.”
His cheeks color and he blinks. “Wait.” He looks dumbfounded, searching the room with his eyes but not finding any answers there whatsoever. It makes my lips tuck up in a half smirk. “What? You sneaked a look while I was asleep?”
“Sneaked a look, watched you for a couple of hours… same difference. But that’s not important right now.”
“The hell it isn’t.” His voice spikes, fire flaring in his eyes again. “You creep into my room to read my tag while I’m…” His gaze flicks to my chest, to the chain gleaming there. “Yours is gold.”
“Pretty, isn’t it?”
Then he does something I don’t expect. He reaches out. Fingers hovering, hesitating just long enough for his eyes to dart to mine, searching for permission he shouldn’t even think he has.
And I don’t fucking move, don’t respond, as the entire bar seems to hold their breath. The few conversations stutter, laughter dies down. They’re watching, waiting to see if I’ll snap, if blood will hit the floor.
Noone comes close to me. Not like this. Not without blood spilled first. Tass maybe, but even she knows where the line is, when to back the hell off.
Not this boy. No. He doesn’t back off. His fingers brush the tag, then catch the edge of the metal, tilting it just enough to read. Those ocean eyes skim over the words etched there, so close I swear I feel the whisper of his breath on my chest.
“Immune…” he breathes.
I arch a brow, force my voice steady. “You didn’t already figure that out?”
His gaze doesn’t lift, doesn’t answer, still tracing the letters.
“Your name is Maximos Skarlatos.”
“Yeah, I’m aware,” I drawl as I finger the cigarette. “Been answering to it my whole life.” But the sound of my full namein his mouth makes something twist in me. Something dark, dangerous, and not unpleasant. I don’t mind it when it comes fromhislips. Not at all.
He cocks his head as he lets the tag go, gaze finding mine again. Curious, bold, unfazed. “You’re from the former Greek isles?”
“You’re educated,” I say, more surprised than I mean to sound. Most here wouldn’t know Greece from godsdamn Gondor.
Yeah. Tass made me sit through those old movies a hundred times, burning them into my skull. I can’t wait for the day those scavenged DVDs finally give out, scratched to shit, so I never have to hear her swooning about elves and warriors again.
Sure, Aragorn has moves, mine are just better.
His eyes follow the cigarette as I bring it to my lips, track the ember flare, the curl of smoke I push out slow. He blinks, that flush reappearing. “Uh. Well, yeah… my mom tried. I used to read a lot.”
And there it is again, that fire, that stubborn streak under the nerves.
I nod once. “To answer your question… yeah. I’m from the Greek Isles. At least that’s what they suspect.”
His brows lift. “You don’t know for sure?”
“Not like anyone keeps family trees anymore,” I mutter, not mentioning that I was found as a babe, abandoned at the docks at the mainland, a piece of paper with my name on it stuffed between the blankets. “Doesn’t matter. Home’s long gone either way.”
He studies me, head tilted, like he’s trying to piece me together from scraps. Very bold, considering most people don’t even hold my gaze.
Look at me, spilling my past. Shit. This is not why I’m here. Tass might joke about me sniffing around him, but Idoneedhim for something. I’m not here to bare my scars, I’m here to use what he knows.
And he must see the shift in my face, how I’m closing off, because his tone drops and he changes the subject. “Why do you needmyhelp in particular for this so-called investigation?”
Well, at least he’s not still bitching about me breaking into his room. Progress and all.
