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“Me?” he asked, pointing to himself. “I’m just here to break you out.”
I looked past him to the door, sure this was some kind of a joke. “You’re going to let me walk out of here?”
“Oh, hell no. It wouldn’t do any good anyway. Cash knows where you live. He’d only drag you back here.”
“Then how are you breaking me out? You’re going to put me on a bus or something?”
He shook his head, chuckling slightly. “Nope, not that either. Trust me, I’d like to see you run, but I’m afraid that would get my ass in trouble. However, I can show you to some nicer accommodations.”
“No, thanks,” I spat, not liking the idea that I’d be sent to some other room that was just like this one, a prison.
“Are you sure? I’ve got food and drinks…movies,” he smiled, his eyes twinkling.
I couldn’t figure out this man. He looked kind of psycho. With dark hair and this half-serious, half-deadly look, I couldn’t figure out if he was a good guy or a bad guy. He wasn’t as big as some of the other guys around here. He was lean and muscled for sure, but something about the glint in his eyes led me to believe that he had pent-up aggression that was simmering under the service, ready to be unleashed.
“What’s your name again?”
“Fox,” he grinned.
“What’s your last name?”
“Don’t have one,” he answered with a shrug.
“So, you’re like Cher or Madonna?”
He actually looked offended by that. “I would actually consider myself more like Liberace.”
Liberace…Where did this guy come up with this stuff?
“Come on,” he almost sang. “You know you want to do this.”
“I actually think I’d prefer to stay here.”
“In this cold room with the hard chairs?” He glanced over his shoulder quickly. “Look, I’ve got the perfect place for us to hide out. No one will think to look for you there.”
“And why would I go with you? Being with you doesn’t make me any safer.”
“Honey, I could kill anyone that even tried to get next to you.”
“Which means you could also kill me, or do other…things.”
He tossed his head back and laughed. “That’s a good one.”
“What is?”
“That I would do other things to you.”
Now it was my turn to be slightly offended, though I wasn’t sure why. “That means you’d still kill me.”
Quirking an eyebrow at me, he turned the tables on me. “Are you a terrorist?”
“No.”
“Have you ever helped a terrorist?”
“Not knowingly.”
He shrugged. “Then I have no reason to kill you. That is, unless you’re planning to kill me. Are you some secret assassin?”