She lowered the mug to her lap, still not committing herself to take a drink. And now that he observed, he could feel what her intentions were: the heels of her feet tucked underneath, pressing against the legs of the chair, her feet bent, toes going white against the oak floor poised to strike, elbows bent and hands grasping the mug of hot liquid, ready to fling it at him. Bray grinned. This girl was a fighter, even though she could probably guess that she was no match for him in combat, she would go down fighting, struggling to the bitter end.
“Why are you grinning, killer?” Elora asked, her voice sharp and icy.
“You’ve been talking to Norgie haven’t you?” And he could tell by the giveaway twitch to the corner of her mouth that he was right. “What did the old guy say?”
She took a sip from the mug, gently blowing the steam away before putting it to her lips. Bray rocked back onto the balls of his feet, ready to spring back should she decide to hurl it at him.
“That you’re a killer. An assassin apprentice who will murder people without feeling guilt, without remorse. And that you haven’t the capacity to feel any emotion. A cold, heartless killer. Am I wrong?”
“No,” he answered, not seeing any reason to lie. Yet he felt ashamed for admitting what he was to her. Who was she to him, to a Shaigun? Why did he care what she thought? “Elora, I won’t kill you.”
“You will if the Shadojak orders it,” she said, then averted her eyes to the fire, the log snapped and crackled, filling the silence. What could he reply to that when it was true?
“Then why stay? You could have left when I was in the cellar.”
“Because Silk still has my uncle and you’re the only hope of him being freed.” Her shoulders dropped as she relaxed back into the chair. “I will forfeit my life for his.”
Bray studied her intently as she blew on the steam rising from the hot chocolate before drinking it and laying the empty mug on a side-stand. She meant every word she said. Giving her life for that of her uncle, even though his would probably be met with the same outcome as hers once the Shadojak judged him. These were not the actions of a dangerous being yet that was what she was. Dangerous. Was she telling the truth - that she didn’t know what was going on?
“You look tired; you need to sleep,” he said.
Elora sat up. “I can’t sleep. Not while my uncle is still imprisoned,” she replied, stifling a yawn.
“The Shadojak will be back soon, maybe tomorrow. I can’t act until he returns. But I can find Silk and where he’s keeping your uncle.”
“Take me with you,” she blurted out, getting ready to stand. Bray put a hand on her knee to keep her seated.
“No, it’s too dangerous,” he said, but really meant that she would slow him down and be a hindrance.
“Please. I can’t stay here. I won’t sleep.”
Bray didn’t reply but moved closer, gently placing his hands to either side of her face and tenderly stroked her cheeks with his thumb. Her violet eyes gazed at him with what appeared to be shock and he could sense her heart quicken in fright.
“What are you doing?” she asked, placing her own hands upon his but not applying any pressure to remove them.
He gently shushed her, letting a thumb stray over her delicate lips, the other hand lowering, fingers tracing over her jawline to rest upon the nape of her neck; feeling the rapid but steady beat of her heart as it pulsed through the artery beneath the soft skin.
Her pupils dilated as her gaze fell to his mouth, teeth biting her bottom lip, face an expression of confused wanting.
Bray brought his face closer, their noses almost touching, her pulse quickening, beating harder against his fingers - then he tapped the artery at the nerve junction with his index finger, forcing her heart’s rhythm to double-beat and she fainted.
Her head dropped forwards onto his shoulder as she slumped against him. Gently he picked her up off the chair and settled her on the leather sofa, placing a cushion beneath her head and putting a blanket over her. She would now sleep until her body was fully rested. Most likely until midday tomorrow.
He stared at her for a moment, listening to her gentle breathing, her face at peace and innocent. She was beautiful. He had a strange impulse to kiss her. Even taking a step towards her but thought better of it and strode purposefully to the door. He had work to do.
Chapter 8
Spliceck
Reuben felt uncomfortable as he waited in Mr Silk’s reception room and not only because of the hard leather chair, or the fact that his body felt battered and bruised - especially his face. No, there was an uneasiness to the vast but simplistic room with modern glass, chrome and plastic furniture, that put him on edge.
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, his palms sweated, and his bowels felt cramped as if his body had been alert, ready for flight or fight. He was in crap, as deep as this glass building was tall, and couldn’t take an easy way out. At least he still had a gun, holstered beneath his blood-stained suit; cocked and readied.
Leather creaked, echoing around the silent space as he sat back, rubbing his temple and wishing the headache away. It throbbed like a bitch. Pulsing pressure behind his blackened eyes, the result of a head-butt that had broken his nose. That skinny little prick with the boil and acne had done him over royally. An easy mark caught up in Pinky’s grasp and pleading for his life. He couldn’t quite remember how the mechanic moved - it was a blur. All he recalled after flicking his lucky coin was the huge mass of Pinky’s body being spun over in the air, his gun going off and the boy’s face in front of his, green eyes winking before the lights went out.
His next recollection was of being helped to his feet by a copper and worrying that he was going to be arrested for the possession of his gun. He’d been surprised when the copper handed it back and told him to wait in the cruiser outside. From the police car, he watched an ambulance arrive and the unconscious bodies of Pinky and Kitch get stretchered to the back before it departed for the hospital. When the copper returned to the car, he asked if they could follow the ambulance to the hospital but was told to be quiet.
The copper answered a call from his phone, speaking in the creepy clicks and clacks that Mr Silk used before hanging up and staring at him in the rear-view mirror.
“You will come with me. You’ve an appointment with Mr Silk,” he said harshly, the corner of his lip curling in a sly grin. Reuben didn’t argue.
That had happened hours ago, and he had been in this soulless reception room ever since. The only company was an attractive receptionist who sat at a desk watching monitors. Reuben guessed they were fed live feeds from security cameras around the building. Her gaze only left the screens to bear him with a stern glance now and again before returning to her vigil. She had greater discipline than any security guard or soldier Reuben had ever known.
When he couldn’t stand the pain in his head anymore, he approached her.
“Hello darling. I don’t suppose you know when Mr Silk wants me up there do you?”
She looked him up and down, her face taking on a pinched expression at the sight of him and not hiding the fact that he was distracting her from her job. He had to admit, he must look a picture with twin black eyes and a broken nose, yet she was a simple receptionist, for God’s sake. Attractive maybe, but he had met better and thought himself well above her league. That was before his face got messed up. If he ever got his hands on that prick mechanic, he would carve his nose off.
“He will see you when he is ready,” she said, glowering at his hand that was resting upon the desk and invading her space. Reuben put it in his pocket.
“I don’t suppose you have any painkillers behind your desk? I’ve a headache that would drop an elephant.”
“No.”
“What about a drink? Something with alcohol. At least that might numb the pain a bit.”
“No.” Her tone was cold and dispassionate.
