Page 24 of Property of Fang
He huffs, bundling the dirty laundry and then tossing it anew onto the floor to make a nest for himself. The linen flies with each brash stroke of his foot until he has it in a somewhat rectangular formation. “You’re too scared to sleep in a bed I’ve used, yet you get in a clean one with dirty clothes on,” he grumbles, assaulting an innocent pillow and positioning it at the head of his makeshift bed. “Make it make sense.”
Typical male.“Guess you’d rather I was naked, huh?”
“That’s your first assumption?” He huffs, incredulous.
I thrust a hand toward the ceiling. “There are signs that I may be right.”
“Fuckin’ headache.” Fang paces to the dresser, rips open the second drawer, and promptly throws an enormous T-shirt at me. “All you had to do is ask.”
I catch it before it slaps me in the face. “Have I done something to upset you?”
He stares at me as though I just asked if fire really burns. “Are you for real?”
“As real asyou’llever get.” In a world where fake gets you far, I’ve never been one to conform. I’d rather retain the pieces of my soul that I still control. I eye the makeshift bed on the floor. “Let me guess: you’re sleeping in here, too.”
He stalls in his fidgeting. “You think I’d leave you unsupervised after the shit you pulled when we let you out?”
Fair.“It’s just, I got the impression you had somewhere private for me to sleep.” Somewhere I don’t feel as though I have to keep one eye open for shadows over the bed.
He lies down, arranging the sheet over his legs. “Thisisprivate.” Then sits abruptly to tear the knitted sweater off before settling down once more. “Go to sleep, Freckles.”
Freckles.I nestle into his bed, back turned toward the man to conceal the smirk I have no hope to hide.
I’m under his skin.
Which feels only fair considering he’s already under mine.
TEN
FANG
“We’ve managedto get in touch with your sister,” Marty, our steel-balled sheriff, tells Nandi. “I would have rather you’d presented to emergency last night to get your head injury checked than come here, but we can take you for assessment now.”
“I’m fine,” she says, a hint of frustration in her tone. “Thanks.”
He huffs, clearly annoyed with being challenged in his evaluation of the situation. The guy showed up shortly after dawn, swiftly followed by an army of colleagues as though we were an unruly mob in need of control. The women were reluctant to give up much more than their names at first, but when Mila’s mother could be heard sobbing down the line of the deputy’s phone across the room, they willingly handed over their trust to the Temperance Sheriff’s Department.
Names, places, and methods of control. They detailed it all. And with every story they told, the muscles between my shoulder blades grew tighter, my teeth gritted harder. I’m not naive. Far from it. Grew up in this world and believed things thatthe average Joe would balk at were normal before I could even talk.
Speaking of which…
The Kid still won’t utter a word. The women say that’s all they’ve called the child since she joined their group, labeling her with the blatant wrongness of it all in place of her name. I can’t stop looking at her, thinking that in a few years that could be Molly if we don’t get this shit shut down.
Apparently, there’s another person, too—Eleanor—who the keepers took prior to us arriving at the house. I didn’t miss the way Freckles’ face tightened, lips rolling together, when they mentioned her absence. Told of how she gave herself up to protect the child.
Nor did I miss how Freckles’ shoulders curled inward, gaze averted, when they spoke of the dead woman who left the blood on the floor—Mary-Beth.Interesting.Maybe they knew each other.
Maybe it’s darker than that.
“Are you sure there isn’t anyone you’d like us to contact?” Marty asks Darla, the bitey brunette, again.
She shakes her head. “I’m sure.”
“We’ll organize financial assistance for you once the case is charged, but I need to stress that if we don’t have a forward contact address or number for you, we cannot offer any protection or assistance should these men find you again.”
“I’m aware.” She seems as though the idea of disappearing from the face of the earth is the only thing she has left to hold on to.
I shift my weight to my other foot, changing how my ankles are crossed where I stand at the front of the room, back against the wall. Less than four hours of sleep does not a happy Fang make.
