Page 12 of Obsessed Bratva King

She scoffs, but she picks up her fork again.

"Did you always work alone?" I ask. “No friends?”

She shakes her head, chewing. "Sometimes I’d steal more than I needed. Pass out extra food to the others who were struggling."

She shrugs like it’s nothing, but her fingers tighten around her fork. "Kids. Old folks. People worse off than me. Lot of us on the streets. Unseen by people like you."

I lean forward. "So you had nothing, but you still gave away what little you had?"

“What’s the point of surviving if you can’t help someone else do the same?”

The words hit me harder than they should. “You look like you learned to rely only on yourself. Yet you helped others, why?”

“Why’d you bring me here?”

“Good point.”

For a while, we eat in silence. The tension in her shoulders loosens further, the wariness fading with each bite. She might not realize it, but she’s eating faster now, shoveling food in like her body is afraid it won’t last.

“Take it easy. You’ll get a stomachache.”

She grunts at me but I notice her slowing down a little.

"Thought about where you’re going to go?" I ask.

She frowns, swallowing her food. "Not yet?"

"I recommend a big city. Easier to hide."

She studies me for a long moment, as if trying to peel back the layers, find the truth beneath. "So if I wanted to leave here, you’d just let me?"

“You think I’m holding you prisoner?”

“I don’t remember having a choice. You pointed a gun at me, told me to come with you.”

“Only because you were too stubborn to see I was trying to help you.”

“Is that right?”

I look at her and I see what’s happening. I’ve seen that look before.

She’s afraid.

Not of me. Not of the meal. Or of my guns.

She’s afraid she might start to hope.

4

CORA

Ishouldn’t be here.

Every rational part of me screams at me to run while he’s in the shower.

But where would I go?

The weight of that question settles into my bones.

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