Manipulate (Deliver 6)

A torrent of grief rose through her chest and seared the back of her throat. She gripped the edge of the sink and tried to choke down the emotion, but she couldn’t. She’d been holding it in for hours.

What if she hadn’t been able to bribe the men on the stairs to let her pass? What if she’d missed and shot Ricky in the head instead?

Her terror had been so all-consuming it had rattled her grip on the gun as she pulled the trigger.

“I could’ve missed.” A sob tore from her throat, and she clapped a hand over her mouth, knowing better than to cry in this unforgiving place.

“Tula.” Ricky’s arms surrounded her, and his shirtless chest blanketed her in heat. “What’s wrong?”

“I could’ve shot you.”

“You didn’t.” He lifted her, cradling her body against him as he sat on the bed. “You had perfect aim.”

Only because she’d been standing three feet away. A blind person would’ve hit that target.

“I don’t cry.” She wiped the back of her hand across her damp cheeks and pulled herself together. “Not since I’ve been here. I hate that I feel so weak right now.”

“You cried the night you were drunk, and you’re anything but weak. You saved my ass. Literally.”

More tears hit her eyes, and she buried her face in the warm, smooth skin on his shoulder. “I can’t believe I drunk-cried.”

“You were so beautiful that night.” He lifted her chin with a knuckle and kissed the wetness on her cheeks. “Just like now.”

She melted against him, forehead to forehead, nose to nose. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for helping us.” Another kiss. “How did you get past the men at the bottom of the stairs?”

“I traded my gun.”

“You what?” He jerked back and swept his hands around her waistband, searching in disbelief. “You used it when you shot Trog.”

“That was the deal I made. If they let me by with it, they could have it after the fight. They came to the bathroom when you were helping Martin into the shower.” She shrugged stiffly. “I passed it off to them when you weren’t looking.”

“Goddammit, Tula.” His nostrils flared. “I wish you hadn’t done that.”

It wasn’t ideal. Weapons were the most valuable commodity in Jaulaso, and a gun was worth a lot more than the price of a toll. Hector had given her that pistol two years ago, and even though he had an arsenal in his cell, she wouldn’t ask for another one.

She was already indebted to him up to her eyeballs. After he lied for her in the stairwell, she owed him more than her life. Now she owed him the lives of Martin and Ricky. She would never be able to settle that debt.

“Rumor is you’re good with a knife.” Ricky squinted at her. “Where is this knife they speak of?”

“I exchanged it a week ago.”

“For what?”

He was going to be angry. It was already bubbling in those milk-chocolate eyes as he anticipated her response.

She blew out a breath and patted the cotton pants on his legs beneath her.

“You traded your knife for our clothes?” The cords in his neck went taut, and his jaw turned to granite.

Yep, he was pissed.

She had no weapons left, but after the boon Hector had given her today, maybe she wouldn’t need any.

“Yes, your clothes,” she said. “And your razor, toothbrush, blankets… It bought all the supplies I didn’t already have.” She shoved at his chest. “You’re welcome.”

He pulled her close and ran his nose through her hair. “Thank you.”

With a satisfied sigh, she peered over his shoulder to check on Martin.

He lay on his side, breathing evenly, the swollen skin around his closed eyes already darkening with bruises. He always looked so badass after a fight, all banged up on the surface while his intimidating fuck-off demeanor still vibrated underneath. Even with his eyes closed, she would think twice before creeping up on him.

Wait. Was he asleep?

“Martin!”

“I’m awake.” He rolled to his back and hissed in pain. “Are you wet?”

“What?” She flinched.

“He’s asking about your clothes.” Ricky twisted to glance at Martin behind him. “She’s soaked.”

That sounded so dirty her belly fluttered with heat.

The three of them had showered together. With the guys naked and the bathroom in constant use by other inmates, she’d left on her bra and undies.

The whole ordeal had lasted less than three minutes. There had been nothing tantalizing about scrubbing blood out of Martin’s hair while he knelt beneath the spray of water and fought to remain conscious.

She’d kept her eyes above their waists, and as far as she knew, they hadn’t stolen glances at her half-naked body. They’d been too busy trying to get through the shower as quickly as possible without an altercation.

The inmates who had passed in and out of the bathroom had stared menacingly and made threatening comments. Nothing unusual about that. But no one had bothered them.