“Not that much. I just remember him bringing me here as a kid. He would say it was his freedom. I just needed to get grounded a bit more.”
“Oh?” That perks her attention. I once again caught her tone. As if she realizes she may have seemed a little too interested, she drops her smile a notch. “Well, I hope we can give that to you.” The waiter comes, placing breadsticks and garlic bread on the center of the table, and I reach for one immediately, wanting something to occupy myself with that doesn’t include being interrogated.
“Yeah.” I shrug like any other teenager would. “I mean, just school and my friends. It’s all a little much. My love for shooting only intensified as I got older, and I don’t know,” I mutter. “I guess I wanted a change of scenery and to get away for a bit.”
She nods as if in understanding, but I can see a thousand questions hidden behind that calm and collected posture she’s holding so well. “How long do you plan on staying?”
“Just the night. I have school on Monday, so I should get back tomorrow afternoon sometime.”
She smiles in acknowledgment. “Well, I hope you enjoy your stay.” The waiter comes back, placing both our dishes on the table and leaving. Picking up a fork, I slice into the salmon and place some in my mouth, it melting in an instant. Fighting the urge to moan in approval, I chew slowly while picking up my water.
“So you and my dad are good friends still?”
She pauses her chewing and swallows. “Well of course. I assume he told you to come here?”
“Actually, he doesn’t know where I am right now. I just packed my car and left. I remembered this place and drove.” She places her knife and fork down, dabbing the napkin over her mouth.
“So he doesn’t know you’re here?” she clarifies, though I already said that.
“He doesn’t, no. Is that a problem?” Tilting my head, I watch her reaction.
Her face relaxes before she smiles. “No. No problem.”
The bitch is good. Whatever she’s playing at, she’s good at it. Getting to her feet, she smiles, but not enough for it to reach her eyes. “Make yourself at home, Madison,” she murmurs in a way that has chills breaking out down my spine. “I’m sure there’s enough here to keep you occupied with your time.” Then she leaves in a hurry.
Turning back to my food, I toss the salmon around on my plate, thinking over what the fuck just happened. Who is this woman and why is her name Katsia? Deciding the salmon is way too good to go to waste, I finish it all before washing it down with my water. Leaning into my chair, I think over my options—which, admittedly, isn’t much. I could text Nate, or Bishop, and ask them about this new finding. But that would defeat my purpose of getting away, because I know they’ll both be here in a flash to get me. Then again, they might be able to give me answers, ones I so desperately need because of this new discovery.
Exhaling, I pick up my glass and take a sip. No, I can’t do that. For one, I have too much pride, and two… I have too much pride. I’ll just have to figure this shit out on my own and hope I don’t get killed in the process. Swallowing the cool water, movement catches my eye from the outside patio, and I look toward it. Noticing the outline of the valet’s hat, I get to my feet, drop a couple of bills, and head toward the doors, which are open, displaying the cool woodsy night. There are tea lights outlining the wooden rails that frame the porch and a couple of rocking chairs that sit looking out toward the forest. Looking from left to right, I catch the boy’s back as he turns and disappears around a corner. Gaining a bit of speed in my walk, I follow him. Just as I turn the corner, a hand comes to my mouth.
“Shhh,” a voice whispers into my ear before I have a chance to scream bloody murder. “I—I not hurt you. Nod if I let go and you no scream.”
I nod, feeling like I’ve dodged being killed enough times to be able to write a book about not getting killed. He releases and I spin around, my breath catching as I attempt to slow my erratic heartbeat.
“What the fuck?” I whisper-yell toward him. “Was that necessary?”
His response is instant. “Yes.”
My mouth snaps closed as I study him closer. Close up, he looks a little older than me, now that I can see some imperfections on his face, but still young. His eyes are a warm chocolate brown, circled with long eyelashes.
“Who are you?” I ask, not fully comprehending what I should be asking, but I figured asking who he is was a good start, and it gives me a few seconds to gain my wits after his surprise.
“Damon. You’re Madison Montgomery?”
“Damon?” I whisper, searching his face for clues.
“Yes,” he responds through his broken English, “It’s Latin. You are Madison?”
“No, I just like to pretend to be her, you know, because the perks are awesome.” I can’t help the sarcasm. His face remains poised, still, and unimpressed with my sense of humor. He’s a little serious and a lot dry. “It’s a joke,” I deadpan after the silence gets awkward.
“A joke?” He tests out the word on his tongue. “What is joke mean?”
Tilting my head, I
