Page 82 of Her Mercenary
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SAM
Roman returned long after nightfall, a bag of fish slung over his shoulder. His eyes were puffy and shaded, his skin sallow.
He paused at the cave entrance, unable to hide his surprise at the fire I’d started.
“Someone taught me how to start a fire with rocks,” I said, hiding my bloodied fingertips in my pocket. Truth was, it had taken me two hours and four broken nails to start the damn fire.
Ignoring me, Roman dropped the fish at the entrance. The vile mood evident on his face permeated the small space as he grabbed his pack, retrieved the necessary tools, and then crouched by the opening. I watched him lay out each fish and begin the process of cleaning and gutting them, readying them to cook.
“Roman ...”
His shoulders tensed. He turned his face away from me.
“Are we going to talk about this?”
“About what?” he mumbled, flaying the skin off a carcass.
“About this ridiculous tension between us.”
“What tension?”
I flinched as he drew back his knife and decapitated the fish.
“That tension.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Fine.” I shook my head. “Fine, Roman. We won’t talk about any of that.” I gestured to the bloody carnage now covering the ledge.
Roman tossed the fish head into the trees, drew the knife back, and with a loud, violent pop, severed the head of another. I startled, my pulse rate skyrocketing, my patience obliterated.
I surged to my feet.
“I’m sorry about your friend. I’m sorry about your mom,” I snapped, all my pent-up emotions exploding out of me. “I’m sorry I’ve screwed up everything for you. I’m sorry you took this stupid mission to save me, when really all you want is that goddamn USB and to kill Conor.”
Ignoring my rant, Roman moved on to the next fish, his dismissal of me pissing me off even more.
“I’m sorry that all you care about is getting revenge instead of saving everyone else in that house before they get shipped to hell. I mean, are you serious, Roman? Your morals might not be distorted yet, but your purpose is.”
Another fish was viciously decapitated, the loud pop echoing off the walls—and I fucking lost it.
I screamed, “You really think your mother would want you to spend your time figuring out how to kill Conor rather than saving innocent children?”
“What?” He threw down the knife, surged to his feet, and spun toward me, throwing open his arms. “The fuck did you just say to me, Sam?”
“Those children, Roman!” I shouted, refusing to back down. “You have to save them. You have to—”
“I told you, I’ll deal with it after!” he yelled back.
“After you dump me at the airport? Because that’s all I am? Just cargo to deliver from point A to point B?”
He blinked, his expression softening.
Absolutely seething, I stepped forward. “If you don’t save those children,” I angrily tapped his chest with my finger, “then I will. I will save them. I’ll call the cops when we reach Tenedores—”
“Goddammit, Sam. You won’t.”