In the moments that follow, shame suffuses my cheeks.
Elijah carefully removes himself, and I’m painfully aware that he’s still hard, while I came—and came loud. I press my hands to my stomach, thinking I might vomit if there were actually any food inside. I’m clumsy as I right my clothes.
Adam holds out a bag, and I rush forward to take it. I am actually very thirsty. He holds it a foot away from the bars, and I reach through. I grasp the handles and pull, but he doesn’t let go. “It won’t be much longer,” he murmurs. His eyes are dark and mesmerizing, but I have no idea whether he’s sincere. It’s like trying to trust a pool of mercury.
Then he releases the bag and leaves up the stairs.
I’m already tearing into the bag. God. This is heaven. Only yesterday I turned down trail mix when the flight attendant came by. I would do anything for the tiny plastic bag now. Instead I find two water bottles, two wrapped cylinders that look like sandwiches, and small, grocery-store packets of Advil. It’s like I’m holding pure gold. Or maybe pure diamonds.
“So that’s what you’re doing here,” I say, twisting the top off my bottle.
He takes the other one more leisurely, though he must be just as thirsty as me. More. He tosses back a sip like a shot and puts the lid back on. “What?”
“Stealing another diamond.”
Sharp laughter. “You could say that.”
“I am saying that. You and Adam and the other guys. You’re all part of some heist, the same as last time at the Louvre. What, did the money run out? Or maybe you’ve been stealing things all along, never stopping.”
“Why would I stop?”
“Because it’s wrong?”
“You found it sexy before. You thought I was hot.”
“I was young and stupid.”
“Old enough to know the difference between right and wrong,” he says in a taunting voice. “Old enough to invite yourself back to my apartment.”
“That was before I knew you were a thief!”
“You didn’t turn me in.”
“How do you know? Maybe I went back to Paris and went straight to the Louvre.”
“I know,” he says, sounding very sure. I hate that he’s right. Why didn’t I tell on him? Because I found it hot. And I thought we had some kind of connection. Now it feels childish. Naive. He stole something important. Something priceless. I should have told.
“What are you stealing this time? More diamonds? An emerald? What?”
“Why should I tell you?”
“We’re in a church, aren’t we? Maybe it’s your confessional.”
A pause and I know I’ve surprised him. “Are you still worried I’m going to die? Going to give me my last rites? Don’t worry. I’m not going to confess anything. You’d lose your shit if I did.”
“Ha,” I say, defiant. There’s a lurking feeling of betrayal that he clearly knew who I was, but he didn’t say anything. “I don’t care if you die now that I know who you are.”
“You have no idea who I am, sweetheart. You never did.”
“That’s right. I don’t even know your real name.”
“It’s Elijah. Black-and-white on my birth certificate.”
“How am I supposed to believe you?”
“You can’t.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Elijah
I reach for the sandwich, grateful that it’s too dark for her to see my hand shaking. It’ll be my luck that I scarf it down too quickly. When your stomach gets used to being hungry, it rejects food. If I vomit in front of her, that’ll be the perfect end to this day.
“I hope they paid you well at least.” Her voice still sounds sharp, and I know she feels hurt. And suspicious, like maybe I planned this. The truth is I’m suspicious too. What the fuck is she doing back in France? I don’t believe in coincidences, but there’s no way Adam could know that I took her out one night years ago.
“Not much,” I say, because the US government pays shit.
“Then you should insist on a better cut this time.”
“Maybe I tried to get a better cut and that’s why the guys threw me down here.”
“You mean you tried to steal from them.”
“Dishonor among thieves.”
“There’s more to it, though. Why didn’t they just kill you? And why have they put me down here with you? It’s not just because it’s a convenient prison, is it? There’s a reason.”
She’s smart. Too fucking smart. “I think Adam wants us to get close.”
“I figured that when he asked us to kiss. Why?”
That makes me pause. I’m a cold bastard, but I don’t want to tell a woman she’ll be tortured. Because I showed weakness. This is what happens when I care about someone. They get hurt. “What happened when he found you?” I ask instead of answering.
“He saved me. And he told me he was an Interpol agent undercover. That he’d try to keep me safe if he could. So maybe he has backup nearby or something.”
Hell. I hadn’t expected Adam to come clean about that. “He’s an Interpol agent, all right. One who’s on the take. That’s his part in this job, to clear the way with the authorities.”
A pause. “You could be wrong though, right? He could have told you he’d help you, but in reality he’s planning to turn all of you in.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“What is going to happen, then?”
“He’s going to make us—do things. Until he feels like I’m invested enough in you as a human being. And then he’ll torture you. Because I have information that he wants.” I try to keep my words uneven, free of the anger and anguish they’re causing me. It will be much worse for her. It’s always worse for the woman.
She’s silent a long moment. This woman read about vicious mermaids and dragons committing war crimes. She wrote about a rebellious tooth fairy and a dying boy. She knows what kind of torture might happen here. And she knows how this ends.
Finally she says, “Are you sure about Adam?”
It’s a loaded question, but I don’t tell her that. “He’s not a good guy.”
A longer pause this time. “What are we going to do about it?”
I finish the last bite of the sandwich and toss away the paper. If I get hungry enough in a few days, I might need to eat that, too. Then again, I don’t think this will last that long. “What are we going to do about what?”
“Escape.”
“You think we’re going to escape?”
“Well, it’s either that or some sort of murder-suicide plan, but either way Adam’s not going to get the information he wants, is he? So let’s plan an escape.”
My breath catches at the impossible bravery of this woman. “I’d think you’d be begging me to tell him whatever he wants to know. The location of some diamonds, maybe.”
“You aren’t going to tell him.”
“No,” I say slowly. “I won’t tell him what he wants to know.”
Even if he tortured her in front of me. Even if it absolutely kills me to watch. The knowledge sits like acid inside me. It would feel so good to give it to someone else.