The pair of them stare at each other for a moment, communicating silently. I wonder again just how close they became to do that so effortlessly, and then they turn back to me.
“Fine, but I’m coming with you both. The second you change your mind, we’re out of there, okay?” Dax insists. I’m shocked he’seven allowing it.
Aiden chimes in next. “We don’t consider him a major threat. That’s the only reason we’re letting you do this, okay? Don’t expect the same if it were Franz or Hanson in that room.”
“I’m not stupid enough to assume they have a drop of compassion or shame in them. There’d be no reasoning with entitled scum like that, anyway,” I acknowledge. Dax nods in resignation, and Aiden scrounges through Dax’s drawers for clothes to throw on.
His backside is so perfectly pert. I wonder what it’d feel like to…
SMACK.
I stare aghast at my hand, hovering, red-palmed, in front of my face. Well shit.
Dax’s bellowing laughter fills the room. “Holy fuck, she moved so damn fast…”
I don’t remember moving. I don’t remember spanking him, but my hand stings in the most delicious way…
“Tiger…” Aiden growls. When he eventually stands up and looks at me, the paint of a blush on this stoic man’s face is more than I can take.
I laugh out of pure nervous energy, squeal as he flinches in my direction and bomb it out of there straight to my room.
“I’ll get you back for that, Tiger. You mark my words; your arse is mine!” he shouts through the door.
“Downstairs in ten, little gem!” Dax adds, still laughing.
I have no idea what came over me or who this carefree, slightly crazy girl is, but I’m excited to meet her. I guess my grandmother was right after all. The moments that we make are everything, and I’m determined to make as many of them as I can in this moment of peace with Dax and Aiden.
Chapter Seven
Mr Trainor looks more like a frightened meerkat than a distinguished professor. His head jerks back and forth at any trace of noise, and he fidgets constantly. He’s still wearing the same clothes he had on at the coffee shop yesterday, but the shirt is untucked and sweat-stained. I note the pens are missing from his top pocket. Did they get rid of them because they could be used as weapons or to take away his power? I’d imagine half of the interrogation process is psychological warfare, so a move like that wouldn’t surprise me.
There are three screens lit up in this observation space. Two desktop-sized monitors and a vast screen on the wall. We watch the live feed of the interview room on the wall screen. There’s an array of angles from each of the five hidden cameras playing simultaneously, which highlight the fidgety twitching.
The other screens have open files; one is filled with ongoing notes, and the other has an array of photos and information abouthis family.
My eyes scan the details.
An estranged wife and daughter. The daughter is around Sylvie’s age and wears a posh school uniform in more than one photograph—the kind you only find in Upper Harrison. I spy her name and the name of her school and save it in my mind. It begs the question, though; how can he afford the tuition on only a Vale professor’s salary? Management or not, I can’t imagine VCC pays enough to maintain child support, two homes, tuition, uniforms, and whatever else Trainor pays for.
“How long has he been in there alone?” I ask Aiden. I train my eyes on the man and the particularly uninteresting room they’ve lodged him in. There’s a table, a chair, and a cup of water—still untouched, as though he suspects they’ve drugged or poisoned it.
“About four hours since John gave him the water, Sir,” the guard answers my question but directs his answer to Aiden.
Yep, this is psychological conditioning for sure.
“And he’s not been questioned yet?” I ask.
Aiden shakes his head. “No, they’ve been waiting for me.”
“I’d have thought you’d do it last night,” I comment.
“I was too busy sobbing into my coffee,” Aiden grumbles. The guard flicks him a confused glance, opens his mouth to ask something, and then thinks better of it. I can’t help but laugh.
“Well, next time you decide to skip out on…” I shoot the guard a wary look. “Our strategy meetings, make sure you’re productive.” I clap my hands together to remind him I know exactly how to punish him. Though I’m fighting my laughter as I do it.
“Yes, ma’am.” Aiden salutes with a wicked grin, promises of retribution flaring in his eyes even as he plays along.
“Are you sure about this?” Dax asks. His question grounds me, and both Aiden and I stiffen as though remembering why we’re here. He means confronting Trainor. I’m actually not sure about anything, but Iamdetermined. I’m growing sick of insignificantmen thinking they can make decisions about my life. No one has the right to control me. Especially not a stranger using a position of power as a weapon.
