Page 54 of Wicked Little Game
“I’m gonna burn those fucking things.”
“Don’t you dare. I’ll order new ones.”
“And I’ll burn those too.”
I glare at him, swaying on my feet as I try to get up. I hold on to the railing of the staircase for balance, quietly whimpering as it sends jolts of pain through my right hand.
“I look like one of those UFC fighters with the bandage,” I laugh weakly as he rushes back to help me stand up.
“You look like a moron who's too clumsy to walk down the stairs.”
My attempt to give him the finger only results in more flinching because my brain still hasn’t accepted that I can’t move my hand the way I want it to.
Slowly, Samuel guides me back up the stairs. He groans as I trip, but his grip on my waist is firm and keeps me from falling down a second time this evening.
“Jesus, we should get you one of those stair lifts,” he says, walking even slower than before.
“Or a slide.”
“Care to explain how you get up here on a slide?”
“I’ll crawl.”
“That’s a horrible idea. I’d shoot you if you came crawling up a slide in the middle of the night.”
I laugh, leaning against him as he continues to guide me back to my room.
“No more stunts tonight, alright?” he says, watching me as I get into my bed.
“Pinky prom—ouch.” I groan as I pull the blanket over me. Maybe I'm acting as if I’m in a bit more pain than I actually am, but it works. Sam rolls his eyes, adjusting my blanket before he walks back to the door.
“Goodnight, dipshit.”
22
SAMUEL
After Ruby’s date at the country club, Mr. Barron's phone protocols were going wild. I was busy analyzing them, reading through transcripts, and exchanging information with Max when Mrs. Moron out there pulled a jackass move on the stairs.
She owes me five dollars, I realize after I dropped her off at her room like a runaway retirement home resident.
It’s pretty late by now and a look at my phone shows Max messaged me he’s going to go to sleep.
He added something about being excited about a demolition course tomorrow and I don’t know why they send him on a course like that. He doesn’t need one, should probably give one. There’s a reason his call sign is Boom. No matter how dumb I think it sounds, it fits him.
He joined the military at the ripe age of eighteen because he wanted to, and I quote him, 'be allowed to blow things up'. He’s also good at keeping thingsfromblowing up.
As much as this overexcited golden retriever turned human annoyed the shit out of me when he joined us, I’ve grown to like him.
He’s a bit like a little brother to me, the baby in our task force. One of our strongest assets, though. That’s what we all are, after all. Assets, human weapons, forced to work behind the curtain. We don’t get the shiny medals or the honorary ceremonies.
We don’t get invited to military balls either, but that one’s on us.
I decide to go to bed too. There’s enough work waiting for me tomorrow, and I can’t seem to focus right now. Seeing Ruby hurt startled me more than I expected. People actually die when falling down the stairs and, for a few seconds, the dreaded thought of losing her shot through my head.
She continued being a pain in the ass after five seconds, but the feeling lingers. Being attached to someone is bad, at least it is for me, for various reasons. But philosophizing about shit like this doesn’t get me anywhere, so instead, I toss and turn in my bed, trying to fall asleep.
I get a few hours of sleep in before I lurch to the home gym in the early hours of the morning. On the way, I clean up the remaining shards from the foot of the stairs.
