Chapter 282: Her Kidnapper Had Rhymes and No Clue

Dove had met plenty of men who thought clean shoes made them decent people. This one had added a pressed shirt, which probably meant he considered himself a fucking saint.

He pulled out the chair across from her and sat carefully, smoothing one sleeve. The cigar went onto the clean napkin beside his hand, leaving a damp brown mark. Lovely. He had brought his own spit stain. His dark hair was combed back from his face. He had a narrow mouth, neat nails, and the patient expression people wore when they expected praise for doing the bare minimum.

"Alden," he said. "You can call me Alden."

She kept both hands around the water bottle. "Did you send someone back?"

"There’s no need to fear. You’re safe in here."

Dove waited for the rest of the sentence. There wasn’t any.

Sprout. Why did that rhyme?

I don’t know.

Is that a skill?

Not every unpleasant experience is a skill.

She almost laughed, and had to disguise it as a cough. Across from her, Alden took a fresh napkin from the stack and pushed it toward her with obvious satisfaction. He thought he was helping. That might have been the worst part.

"My beast husband’s hurt," she said. "He was in the workshop when your men took me. I need to know if somebody stayed with him."

"The others will handle that."

"Which others?"

Alden’s smile thinned. Behind him, Rusk shifted against the kitchen counter. Dove felt the room notice that she was asking questions rather than thanking anybody.

She loosened her grip on the bottle before the plastic could crack. "I’m scared."

It was true. She hated giving him a true thing, but she could use it.

Alden leaned back, pleased by a problem he thought he understood. "A terrible fright, but I’ll put it right." He lifted a heavy glass from the counter and took a slow sip of something amber. "Good whiskey. Settles the nerves."

Then he topped it up from a plastic bottle marked APPLE JUICE.

Dove stared at the label before she could help herself. He turned it toward the wall.

Is he pretending that’s whiskey?

The bottle says apple juice.

I can read, Sprout. I’m struggling with the rest of this.

"Then please tell me who’s helping him."

"You’ll wear yourself out worrying about a man who couldn’t keep you safe."

For a moment she couldn’t hear the fan. She saw Edrik on one elbow, reaching through the workshop door with blood beneath him, and this polished little shit thought that was failure.

Dove lowered her eyes before he saw everything in them.

Tell me something useful, she said to Sprout.

He hasn’t answered the question.

I noticed.

You may get more by asking something he wants to answer.

Fine. He wanted to be a hero. She could let him describe the costume.

"You run this place?"

His shoulders settled. "I keep order. There’s food, water, a roof. Better than being dragged along the roads."

"It looks organized."

She hated how easily the words came. She had told rude customers that a shirt looked great when it very clearly did not. Apparently the apocalypse had found a use for that experience after all.

Alden glanced toward Rusk. "A decent meal, a chance to heal. We do what we can."

"And the trucks? Are those yours too?"

"Some. The road crews left most of them. We kept the ones worth keeping."

She pictured the yard again. An orange maintenance truck beside the fence, two white pickups, a flatbed near the metal shed. Fuel could be a problem. Keys could be a bigger one. She needed to learn without sounding as though she was planning to steal a truck from the man currently boasting about it.

"Could one take me back? Once things settle down?"

"Rest today. We’ll find a way."

There it was again. Dove squeezed the napkin between her fingers.

If he does another one, I’m asking to be kidnapped by somebody else.

Your options appear limited.

Alden mistook her silence for acceptance. "The gate stays locked. Nobody walks in here and takes what belongs inside."

Dove looked at the hallway instead of asking whether he meant her. She knew the answer. He would probably enjoy explaining it.

"Who opens it if someone comes for medical help?"

"Lyle has the keys during the day. After dark, they come to me."

Rusk made a small sound. Alden looked at him, irritated.

"She asked a simple question."

Dove kept her face still. That was useful. More useful than calling him a smug, rhyming dickhead, although the competition was close.

Alden stood and opened a cabinet. He took out a sealed packet of crackers, considered it, then chose a tin of peaches instead. There was a manual can opener beside the microwave. He worked it slowly, placing the tin in front of her with a spoon.

"Something sweet for you to eat."

She stared at the peaches. Her stomach hurt with hunger, and she was furious that she wanted them.

"Thank you," she said, because eating was not surrender, and she needed to remember that.

The first spoonful was warm and sugary. Edrik would have said something terrible about the juice on her lip. Thorne would have given her his portion without announcing he was doing it. The thought hurt so sharply that she set the spoon down.

Alden noticed. "Too much excitement. You’ll feel better with a wash and a change of clothes."

"I would like that."

"Then be good for me."

Dove smiled just enough to hide her teeth.

I am going to be so fucking good at leaving this place.

Sprout did not answer. For once, it seemed to understand that she didn’t need an opinion.

Alden told the guard by the door to show her the bathroom when she finished. Dove ate the peaches because she wanted to stand steadily when an opportunity came, not shake because pride had kept her hungry.

She kept the spoon in her hand until Alden looked down at it. Then she set it on the table, slowly, as though she hadn’t noticed his attention.

He watched her take the last drink from the bottle. "There’s a little room behind the shed where you can lie down until you feel yourself again."

A room away from the gate. Away from the radio she still hadn’t seen. Dove nodded as though a room was a gift.

She kept the empty tin between them, a small barrier she knew was ridiculous and wanted anyway. He could offer another chair, another meal, another clean napkin. Until he answered her question about Edrik, none of it was kindness she could trust.

"And tonight?" she asked.

Alden’s smile returned, easy and certain.

"Once you’re calm, we’ll get you settled. My room has the best window."