Page 88 of Collateral Love
“You need water?”
Neutral question.
I lifted my head slowly.
“Yes,” I said. “Thank you.”
I wasn’t mean or harsh the way I was with Charles that alone threw her off.
She nodded to one of the men. He handed her a bottle. She hesitated—then crouched and held it to my mouth herself.
Close enough.
Her hands shook.
I drank slowly, deliberately. Let the silence stretch. Let her feel responsible for filling it.
“Your wrists are bleeding,” she said finally.
I looked down like it was the first time I’d noticed.
“Oh,” I said. “That happens when men confuse control with pressure.”
Her jaw tightened.
She capped the bottle and stood too fast.
“Don’t talk,” she said.
I nodded.
“I won’t,” I replied.
She frowned.
That was the first crack.
They left again.
The next time she came in by herself, she took one of my handcuffs off. I could have knocked her out with one hand, but I decided not to. There was no telling who was outside that door.
Her letting my wrist out told me something important.
Charles wanted me to be functional, which meant they needed something from me. They weren’t going to kill me; they needed me alive.
I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.
I began to hope Zayden wasn’t rushing but was thinking critically and calmly.
I hoped my brother-in-law X wasn’t offing Niggas, Zay nearly broke without his brother and
Chanel—.
My chest tightened.
That was a dangerous thought.
Chanel wasn’t built for this yet. Not the way I was. Not the way I’d had to be since I was a teenager raising myself in the shadows of men who took more than they gave.
