Page 14 of Fractured Fates
Shrugging my hoodie over my head – which is fucking hard to do with my hands bound – I wrap Pip up in it and follow suit. I’m only wearing a crop top underneath and the man in black’s eyes flick over me before darting away.
The diner door chimes as we step through and a waitress looks up from her magazine at the counter. The place is empty. I doubt it receives much passing business. She eyes us with interest and the man in black lowers his hood. He points to a booth.
“Sit.”
I scoot along a bench, Pip resting in my lap.
The other man takes the seat opposite. He’s more classically good looking than the man in black. Groomed with those light eyes; his like day, the man in black’s like night.
“You always stare at people?” he asks me.
“You’re staring at me.”
He scoffs. “You’re quite pretty. He didn’t tell me that. Shame you’re deranged and a criminal.”
I narrow my eyes. “Whatdidhe tell you?”
He doesn’t answer, swinging his gaze to his friend instead as he joins us at the booth and takes the seat next to him.
They spend the next ten minutes ignoring me and discussing routes to Los Magicos. I fidget on my seat. The smells from the kitchen are driving me slightly insane. My stomach rumbles loudly and I try to rub at it. When the kitchen doors swing open and the waitress strides out with three plates balanced in her hands, I have to force myself to remain in my seat and not rush at her. To my surprise, she places the plate piled highest in front of me and two smaller sub rolls in front of the men.
My jaw drops open and I’m probably salivating, but I can’t quite believe it’s for me.
“Eat up,” the man in black says.
I scowl at him. I have a pig in my lap, my wrists are bound and my hands caught up in my hoodie. Is this some method of torture? Dropping food in front of my face but not letting me eat it? I consider diving my head straight into the plate of food. However, I do have some dignity and, despite what they may think, I’m not deranged.
“Eat,” the man in black repeats, this time with venom.
“I can’t,” I snap. “My wrists are bound, remember?”
The second man throws me another of those irritating smirks. The man in black simply tuts in annoyance, and snaps his fingers. The handcuffs spring open and I untangle my hoodie and lay Pip out next to me on the bench.
The two men watch me as I forget any table manners I ever learned and scoff myself silly, tucking into eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, hash browns and fried bread.
“You don’t usually treat your assignment to a breakfast fit for a king,” the second man says to the man in black.
“Look at her.” The man in black jerks his head in my direction. “She’s malnourished.”
I peer down at my body with resentment. Am I? I’m probably a little on the skinny side but I take offense at the description. And at the fact that he wasn’t checking me out just now with admiration, more likely disgust.
“When was the last time you ate?” the other man asks.
“I had a handful of crackers before we left. Other than that, four days ago.”
His brow thunders down. “They weren’t feeding her?”
“They?” I ask with my mouth full.
“Theyhadn’t gotten their hands on her. She was on the loose. Hiding out.”
“But they were after her? They knew she was there?”
“Yes.”
The other man looks kind of impressed at that nugget of information.
“What’s your name?”
