Page 11 of The Red Zone
“Abel, did you hear something?” Scar’s muffled voice sounded through the cracks. The hint of amusement coating her voice was difficult to miss.
That sneaky little minx. Who would’ve thought little Scar girl had it in her?
Whirling around, Mae pressed her back against the door with closed eyes, sucking in a measured breath then holding it for a handful of beats before exhaling. When she opened her eyes, the glare she gave me was deadly.
What was that for? It’s not like I wanted to be locked in here anymore than she did.
“I take it they want us to talk…” I offered.
“It’s a wonder you weren’t valedictorian with deductive reasoning skills that good,” Mae said with a pinched expression.
I took a few steadying breaths of my own to gather my composure.
If we were going to make it out of here without ripping each other’s heads off, one of us was going to have to be the voice of reason. And seeing as she couldn’t look past her blind rage for something out of both of our control, that position was going to have to be bestowed upon me, whether I wanted it or not.
The thing about Mae, was that she never knew when to back down from a fight. Getting her to let down her defenses long enough to have a cordial conversation was the equivalent to getting a toddler to sit still at preschool all day.
Not an easy feat.
“This is all your fault,” she huffed, stepping closer to me with her arms crossed tightly against her chest.
“My fault?”
“What, you think I wanted this?” Mae flailed her arms out in front of her before crossing them back again. “I’d rather be summoned to the underworld than be locked in this closet with you.”
Nice to know we could agree on one thing.
“You know what I’m sick and tired of?”
“Dwelling on your miserable existence?”
“No. I’m sick and tired of the fact that every time we’re around each other, you act like a fucking fourth grader. You realize you’ll be twenty-five in less than a month, right?” If it were humanly possible for smoke to come out of my ears, this would’ve been the moment. “And believe it or not, most twenty-five-year-olds can fake it long enough have a pleasant conversation with someone they don’t like. At the very least, most can take a joke. So, if you could act like an adult for fivefuckingseconds, I’d like to have one productive conversation. That’s it…”
“Fine.”
“So, you don’t like me…”
“Congrats on stating the obvious, fuckface,” she deadpanned with fury filling eyes.
I roamed my gaze over her face. She could try to cover it up all she wanted, but there was a trace of lust flaring in her eyes that didn’t go unnoticed.
“So, you’re saying you want to fuck my face?” I chided, taking one step closer to her, so her back was pressed against the door again.
I was trying to be serious, but she set me up for a response that was too good to keep inside.
“You’re insufferable.”
“Established. Now, let’s get back to the point, so we can get out of here.”
“You want to move into the pool house.” That was a statement, not a question. A bit obvious, if you ask me, but nonetheless, it was nice to know she was paying attention.
“Precisely.”
“And I don’t want that.”
“What do you suggest I do, then?”
“You could stop breathing,” she replied flatly. “Then your new home would be a coffin, and I wouldn’t be subject to suffering through another ‘cordial’ conversation with you. It’s a win, win,” she muttered the last sentence with her fakest smile to date.
