Willing Captive(35)
Turning around, I lean back on the dresser and ask, “Why do you even bother? You work with men, and I’m sure they don’t care that you pluck.”
She smiles slyly and bats her lashes, “Oh, but my man would.”
Eeek! Her man! Swoon.
Bouncing over to the bed wearing an annoyingly cheeky smile, I ask in a sing-song voice, “Oh, yeah? Who is he?”
Her answer shocks me so much my mouth gapes. “Rock.”
Leaning forward, I whisper-hiss, “No way!”
Chuckling, she replies, “Way, baby.”
My mouth hangs open and she laughs. I sputter, “B- b- but you guys act like you don’t even like each other.”
Nodding, she smiles sadly, “Technically, we aren’t allowed to see each other. It’s...” She actually lifts her hands and does slow quotation mark actions with her fingers, “…fraternizing. Nox knows, but he said he can’t really do anything about it unless it affects our work, which I would never let happen anyways. And what with Rock and Nox being best friends, I think Nox is actually happy to see that Rock’s got something good in this life.”
Confused by that last statement, I ask quietly, “What do you mean in this life?
Boo searches my face a while. She looks unsure before answering me quietly, “Babe, we don’t exist.”
Confused even more now, my brow furrows as I ask, “Come again?”
She lies back down with her arms resting behind her head. Looking up at the ceiling, she explains, “This thing - what we do - protection and elimination. We don’t work for anyone. We work for ourselves. I guess you could call it a made-up business. We all have titles within our sector, but the sector doesn’t actually exist. We’re all privately employed and we get paid a lot to do what we do. The condition of being employed this way is to be unseen, and our circle to be impenetrable. So everyone you’ve met here, they don’t have any form of real identification. Every document, ID card, and bank account we have is under a false name.” Turning her head to face me, she finishes with, “We don’t exist.”
Holy shit, that’s insane.
Staring right back at her, I surmise, “So everyone I’ve met here is going under a fake name?”
She nods and I ask, “What happened to who you were? You know, who you used to be?”
Smiling a sad smile, she responds quietly, “She died, babe. We all did.”
My heart squeezes as I whisper, “Well, that sucks.”
Boo turns to her side and we look at each other for a moment. We’re having a silent conversation.
My mouth droops and I frown slightly. I’m sorry, boo. That really does suck.
She shrugs slightly and winks. It’s okay. I’m okay with it.
Playing with my fingertips, I blurt out, “Constance? You chose the name Constance?”
She bursts into laughter and I do, too. We laugh together a short while before her face softens and she replies quietly, “It was my mom’s name. My way of never forgetting her. She was a Connie so it never felt right calling myself that. One day, Rock told me I was quiet as a ghost so he nicknamed me Boo, and I’ve been Boo ever since.” Suddenly sobering, she asks, “Do you have a boyfriend?”
Shaking my head, I tell her, “Not unless he’s the fictional kind. It’s just me and my books.”
Her face turns thoughtful, her eyes sad. She murmurs, “Must get lonely.”
Smiling, I say just as quietly, “I could say the same for you.”
She smiles back. “Touché.”
We both lay back down on the bed with a sigh. I guess my life isn’t so bad.
At least I’m not dead.
***
Excusing myself to get something to eat for me and Boo, I run into the kitchen and my sock-covered feet, and slide to a stop only an inch away from Nox.
His blue eyes flash. “Where you goin’ so quick, princess?”
Today is one of the rare days he doesn’t have on a shirt.
My eyes strain as I beg them to remain fixed on his face and not his broad and solid chest, which is deliciously damp with perspiration.
Yum.
“Just getting something to eat.”
Nodding, he says genuinely, “Glad your appetite’s back.”
Nodding in return, I respond sincerely, “Me, too.”
And then nothing.
Awkward silence.
A loooong awkward silence.
Moving around him to the pantry, my brain reminds me that we have something to discuss with him. Just as he moves to leave the huge kitchen, which suddenly feels about as big as a mailbox, I call out, “Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask if you spoke to Mitch about me talking to my sister.”
Face void of emotion, he leans his hip on the counter. “No. Not yet.” Reaching over the counter, he picks up an apple and plays with it.