Page 32 of Deliah
“So, what’s your deal, then?” I asked, legs curled under me, watching the sea below. “You got a wife hidden somewhere? Kids?”
“No wife. No kids. No skeletons.”
“Boring.”
“Safe.”
“Hmm. I’m not used to safe.”
“That’s obvious.” He glanced at me. “But you deserve it.”
I laughed, bitter and twisted. “You don’t know what I deserve.”
“You’re right,” he said simply. “That’s why I’m here.”
I didn’t know what to do with that. So I changed the subject. “Where’d you grow up?”
“London.”
“Figures. You’ve got that look.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What look?”
“Like you’ve killed a man in your time.”
He laughed. Low. A little too casual. “Maybe I did.”
“So what was it—love, power, money?”
He chuckled. “Something like that.”
Then he looked at me. Really looked. “You?”
“Midlands. Small town.”
“That explains a lot.”
“Oi, what’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve got that need-to-escape-and-fuck-everything-up energy.”
I grinned. “Fuck off, I’m perfect.”
“Maybe.”
He smiled like he knew better. “And your family?”
I smiled. “They’re… great.”
“Go on.”
“Mum’s the best. Dad’s a legend. What more can I say?”
“So why are you always fighting?”
“I’m not always fighting.”
He tilted his head. “You’re fighting now.”
