He needs to stop. I don’t like the way he seems to be analyzing everything I’m doing. “Please… stop. It’s… it’s already my fault they’re both dead. I stole the screwdriver and I hid it in the room. I thought I’d go back in there when you guys were done with me. If I’d have known you were putting someone else in there, I’d have taken my chances with keeping it on me.”
“Rod didn’t finish patting you down, did he?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“Fucking idiot,” he says as he grabs a piece of gauze and just haphazardly smacks it onto the cut.
I stand up and he shifts to me, eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?”
“Let me help you,” I say.
“Sit your ass down.”
“It won’t shatter your manly persona by letting me help,” I say as I walk up to him and grab the same shit he poured on my wrist.
I stare him in the eyes as I splash it onto the wound. There isn’t even a flicker to his expression. “Do you ever get tired of being too manly?” I ask.
He grins at me. “Never.”
I snort, surprised by the grin. He’d seemed prickly and unfeeling when I first met him, but he does seem to be opening up a little bit the more I’m around him. I look away and clean the blood off the rest of his arm before applying some gauze and taping it down. “I’m sorry… about all of this.”
“It’s not your fault about the screwdriver. You really think any of us in the same situation wouldn’t have tried smuggling that back?” he asks.
“I guess,” I say as I inch toward the door, but his hawk eyes are constantly on me. “Can I run now?”
“No,” he says as he drags me back into the bedroom where he grabs another shirt.
“Did you gain some weight recently or something? Is that why all your shirts are so tight?”
“I’m starting to regret saving your life.”
I grin at him. “How could you regret that? You like it.”
“I like being harassed about how tight my shirt is?” he asks as he literally tightens his stomach so I can see the outline of his six pack.
I snort. “It’s not sexy.”
He gives me a side eye as he pushes the sleeves of the shirt up so I can see his arms. “What’s not?” he asks before slapping the handcuff back onto himself, even though it’s clear he’s goofing around with me. “Now, I got shit to do, be quiet and be good.” He walks back out the door and when we hit the hallway where the event happened, I notice that the bodies are gone. The pools of blood are still there, though, so I keep my eyes on his back as he leads me down the hallway and into a small room with a desk and a computer.
“What’s in here?”
“A pony,” Shepherd says.
“Where?” I use enough sarcasm to fill the dinky room.
He ignores me and sits in the chair. There’s another chair, but it’s on the other side of the room, just barely out of reach.
“Can I pull that chair over here?” I ask.
“I don’t know, can you?”
I stare at this asshole. I never knew anyone could be so annoying. “May I pull this chair over?”
“You may do whatever you want,” he says as he yanks my hand toward him so he can start typing, giving me even less room to reach for the chair.
I wave my free hand at the chair in case he wasn’t aware how close the object I wanted was. “It’s right there. Just walk with me to it and let me grab it.”
He ignores me as I decide that maybe I’ll be able to reach it with my leg. I stretch and strain as I try to hook the armrest of the chair with my foot, but it’s literally three inches out of my reach.
“Shep?”
“It’s not Shep.”
His chair has rollers on it, so I grab the back of his chair and start dragging him. That only lasts until he grabs onto the desk to keep from going anywhere and plants his feet. Still, I tug.
“Please? It’s just a chair.”
“And you’re a prisoner. First, I give you the chair, then what’ll you ask for next? Cable TV? A cell phone? A grenade? Sit on the floor.”
I sigh then push all of his papers that are on the desk onto the floor and park my ass on the desk. “This’ll work.”