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Shaking my head, I drink most of my water, leaving a few sips for her, if she wants it.

"Anyway, ketchup is from Southeast China.”

Oh lord, she’s a fact nerd too.

The urge to bash my head into the table wrecks my brain. I don’t think I can listen to her tell me facts for the next twenty or so hours. Not with how much she talks.

“Are you all set?”the waitress asks stepping up. Pulling my mask back down, I nod.

She places the check on the table. “You done?” I ask Izel.

“Yeah,” she mumbles, shoving in another bite of veggie burger and then draining the rest of my water.

Standing up, I drop a fifty-dollar bill. Izel steps out, heading towards the door. But the strong need to touch her comes in full swing and I can’t ignore it. Grabbing her hand once more, I ignore her gaze that drops to our hands back to my face. Even if I can’t feel her skin since I wear gloves, it still feels nice.

When we step up to my truck, I help her up, seatbelt on, and get myself into the driver side. Once we’re on the road again, I hand Izel my phone knowing she wants to play music.

“You asked me why I didn’t scream when you killed that man. I lied when I said I didn’t know why.”

I don’t get a chance to be confused before she faces me, her full attention.

“You’re not the worst monster I’ve been around.” Is the last thing she says before turning the music back up.

A few hours later, my eyes begin to grow heavy from the lack of sleep. And though Izel hasn’t said anything, I know she has to be tired as well. We just arrived in Tennessee, and even though I want to drive further, we need to get some sleep.

Pulling into a motel, I park the truck, muttering for her to stay put and that I’ll be back. Only after wanting to punch the motel clerk in the face a few times, telling me they only had one bed, I snatch the keycard from the counter and make my way back outside.

Izel, mostly listens to me about staying put. The door is wide open, and her legs hang outside. I don’t know why she’s smiling, but something about it is off.

“Can I ask you a question?” Holding my hand out, I help her down, leading her towards our room. I wait for her to ask, and when she doesn’t, I turn my head, looking down at her.

“If I tell you no, I’m sure you’re going to ask me anyway.” Keying us inside, I do my normal look around, bathroom, under the bed, and in the small coat closet.

“Well, now I have two,” she huffs, sitting on the bed. “Actually, make that three.”

Leaning against the wall, I cross my arms, giving her the floor to ask whatever questions she must be dying to. She hasn’t talked much in the two hours since we left the diner, so I imagine she’s dying right about now from the lack of silence.

“First one and I have to ask these in order since that’s the way they entered my brain. So, feel free to answer them in order as well.” She smiles sweetly at me.

Sweetly?

I am so fucked.

“First one now, why the mask? I mean don’t get me wrong, it’s cute.”Cute?She thinks it’s cute? It’s not meant to be cute. It should terrify her, why the hell doesn’t it? “But I don’t understand, and I guess there are more than three questions, but the next few goes with the mask. Why the gloves, and all the tactical gear?” she says waving a hand at me.

Cocking my head to the side, I study Izel. When I first rescued her, her hair was matted, eyes cloudy, and she wore scraps of clothing. Now she’s wearing my clothes, which I should probably get her some of her own so she’s not dragging around baggy clothes. Her hair is a wavy mess that she keeps tucked behind her ears, and her eyes are still cloudy. I thought at first it had something to do with the fact she was overly tired, but now I’m not so sure.

“Mask and gloves because it hides my identity. Tactical gear because it’s part of my profession.” It’s the truth. She just also doesn’t need to see my face, it’s hideous. Once I take her to where she needs to go, it’s over. I can finally go back to what I need to do, and she can go on with her life.

“Hmmm, okay. I guess that’s technically an answer, though I would prefer some detail, but that’s fine. I’ve learned you’re not a talker. Second question, why did you just check the motel room?”

“Let’s say it's part of my profession as well.”

“What’s your profession?” she finally asks.

I don’t want to lie to her, but I can’t tell her. She’ll freak out because I doubt she knows who I am.

“I hunt certain people.” That sounded way better in my head, and I hold my breath waiting for her to realize what I said.