Page 120 of Chad's Chase

Sambo winced. “No.”

Believing him—because I was starved—I took the food box from him and dug in.

He sat there and watched me eat for a few minutes before saying, “You didn’t try to escape.” He sounded surprised by this, like he’d been watching me from somewhere unseen, fully expecting me to let down my hair and Rapunzel it out the window or something.

Honestly, though, I didn’t feel like running anymore. Whatever happened happened.

The two people I’d had left in this world were possibly dead. So if I was safe with Sambo by his deal made with Rafail, then I’d stay with him. Wherever the wind blew, I’d float with it.

Not like I could make any sensible moves anyway. My cash and passports were at Chad’s. And if I went there to get them, the minute Ronnie saw me return without his boss he would assume I killed Chad and put a bullet in my head without asking questions. He never trusted me to begin with and his antipathy towards me was lost on no one, so he would never believe a thing I say.

I wouldn’t fight. This was what my life was.

My shoulders rose and fell in an indolent shrug. “I’m not interested in escaping.”

Sambo eyed me with unhidden skepticism, probably thinking I was playing him. “I don’t understand.”

I speared a piece of sweet and sour chicken with the plastic fork as I explained, “You foughtwithmeforme.” I bit the chicken off the fork. “He gave his life up without a cause.” I chewed. “Stupid fucking coward.”

Chewing slowly, ears wide open, I waited for Sambo to tell me Chad didn’t die. That he and my brother walked out of that house alive. But when a full minute passed and the desired response didn’t come, I stuffed more food in my mouth and filled my mind with thoughts of baby turtles and samurais. Anything to stop myself from grieving.

I refused to grieve for either of them. They were both selfish, and never gave a damn about me.

When the food box was empty, and the baby turtles in my mind had defeated the samurais, I gave the empty box to Sambo and took the bottle of fruit juice he proffered. As I brought the bottle to my mouth and guzzled the juice down, I stared blatantly at Sambo, memorizing his features. He wasn’t bad-looking. But all those muscles he was packing made him a little too stone-faced. All kinds of unflattering veins bulging everywhere. He had that whole John Cena thing going on—giant dwarf.

Quite an oddity how someone could look like a big, bicep-bulging giant and a dwarf at the same time. Those grotesque muscles just truncated his arms and legs, making him appear stumpy, even though he was over six feet tall.

That was Sambo. His eyes were nice, though. A striking cerulean blue.

Quaffing all the fruit juice, I thrust the empty bottle back to him, then turned and resumed my position back at the window.

I heard him sigh, and the daybed shifted as he got up and thudded across the room.

“Where are we?” I asked.

Bags ruffled over by the dining table. “New Orleans.”

“Oh.” I’d never been to this place before. It was nice. “This is where you’re from?”

“Born and raised.”

Soon, he was beside me again, looking out the window with me. “Do you like it here?”

“The people here seem happy,” I noted.

“That’s because we’re just across from the French Quarter,” he said through a chuckle. He pointed. “That crowded street is Bourbon. There’s almost always some shit going on.”

“Is this where you’ll keep me?”

“Wherever in the world you want to live, that’s where we’ll go.”

Turning my head on my folded hands to look at him, I inquired, “How did you come by that kind of power?”

“Org.” He watched my expression for a second before continuing, “We made a deal. He’ll grant us anything we want as long as we avoid our previous life. A chance for you to live the life you’ve always wanted.”

This had me straightening up and facing him fully now. “Hang on, you double-crossed Org and he made adealwith you instead of killing you?”

I’ll never understand these people.