Page 62 of Pretty Broken Wings
“What about you?” I ask, having to clear my throat.
“What about me?”
“What do you do for fun?” Asking the question makes me feel like I’m trying to make him feel better. Like I’ve forgiven him for what he’s done.
Instantly, I frown.
Axel watches me. “I cook. My mom taught me to cook early on, and I don’t know, I’ve just liked it ever since.”
I don’t even want to respond to that. I don’t give a flying fuck what he likes. It takes a second for the disgust to roll through me before I remember I’m playing a game. I don’t care, but it has to look like I care. And that fucking sucks. But I’ll do anything to survive.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
As I start cleaning the dishes, Raven looks around. She does it in quick, sharp movements like she’s trying to figure this out.
Funny. I know she’s going to try to run again. I’m not sure what she’s trying to hide.
A flutter of pure excitement turns in my stomach. Raven is going to try torun.
This shouldn’t excite me. I tried to get it not to. I tried to go to Gage for advice.
On the outside, I keep my cool, drizzling soap over our dishes while Raven taps her finger against the table, trying not to look like she’s checking out the living room.
“There are books in there.”
She jumps, snapping her gaze back to me. I nod at the bookshelf.
Slowly, Raven gets up and moves to the living room, but not before she slips the butter knife back on the table, which I find fascinating. It means she’s given up the idea of stabbing me with it.
Boo.
The further Raven gets from me, the more relaxed she looks.
I kick myself for letting some of that tension relax. I like when she looks like she’s seconds away from exploding. I’ve never seen that in all the women I’ve fucked. Ravenhatesme.
I grin. This game is already so fucking fun.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
I wonder if there’s a phone in the living room. I wander over, trying not to look like I’m looking for something, keeping an eye on Axel. I don’t find a phone, but Axel does have nice furniture and a big bookshelf up near the front door. A front door that looks locked. When I get close to it, Axel dries his hands on a towel, walking up to sit on one of the couches.
“My mom used to read to us every night.” He nods at the bookshelf. “Even when we were older. Our eyes would be tired by the end of the day, so she’d read aloud before we went to bed.”
I stare at the books. They look like fantasy stories and books about knights, kingdoms, and dragons.
“I kinda hated it back then,” Axel says, pulling a stick of gum out of his pocket. “It was more Gage’s thing, but now I’m kinda glad she did. Helps me beat the stupid Playboy stereotype.”
I shoot a glance at him. He winks at me.
He fucking winks.
I hate him.
I turn stiffly, then move to the edge of the room, testing how far I can go before Axel shifts to keep me in his line of vision. It’s only about ten feet.
Axel stays quiet. I think he expects me to try to run.
So I don’t.
