I snort. “Somehow, I doubt that’s true.”
He grins. “It’s not. But it seemed like the polite thing to say. And you can have the pizza.”
Walking over to the stove to turn it on, I look back over my shoulder at him. “Where were you?”
He arches a brow, leaning one elbow back on the bar. “You know I can’t tell you that.”
“Right.” I press my lips together. “No fraternizing with the prisoner.”
Rory chuckles, a low, deep sound. “I wouldn’t go that far. But no, I can’t tell you Black Roses business, obviously.”
There’s a finality to his voice that makes me certain that no matter how flirtatious and laidback he is, he takes his loyalty to the gang seriously. But even though he’s shut that line of conversation down, he doesn’t leave. He just watches me pull the frozen pizza out of the box, his gaze tracking my movements with the lazy focus of a predator relaxing in the sun.
“Can I help you with something?” I finally ask when I can’t take his silent attention anymore. My skin is prickling with awareness, and I’d like to pretend there isn’t heat blooming beneath it, but it’s hard to deny.
“Nah.” Rory shakes his head, one side of his mouth tilting up. “It’s just weird having someone else staying here. We’ve all gotten into our routines, gotten comfortable living together over the past few years, and now the house feels… different.”
I slide the pizza into the oven, then close the door and lean against it, crossing my arms. “You mean you haven’t kept prisoners here before?”
He rolls his eyes. “You’re not really a prisoner.”
“I’m not?” There’s a harsh edge to my voice. A challenge. “Really?”
He straightens a little, the muscles of his arms flexing as he pushes away from the bar. “No. If you were a prisoner, you’d know it. You’re here of your own free will, aren’t you?”
Irritation simmers in my veins. “If you call being forced to stay here as collateral until my dad pays off his debt a choice, then sure.”
There’s something in his expression I can’t quite pinpoint, and he holds my gaze as he nods. “I do call it a choice.”
He steps away from the bar, moving a little closer to me as the smell of pepperoni and melting cheese begins to fill the room.
“You didn’t have to come with us, Mercy. You didn’t have to cover for your dad’s fuckup. It was his fuckup. His decision to screw us over. He had to know when he decided not to throw the fight that he was painting a target on his back, and on the backs of anyone close to him. But he did it anyway. You were there in the crowd that night. You saw it just like the rest of us did. He was down. It was over. He gave a convincing as fuck performance, putting up a good show before letting Guzman turn the tables on him. He didn’t have to get back up. He chose to.”
I swallow, memories of the fight flashing through my mind. It all plays out so differently in my memory now that I know Dad was supposed to go down and stay down. That he was supposed to lose.
What was it that made him change his mind? Was it just pride?
Why the hell did he do it?
My stomach clenches, and I glare at Rory. “Yeah? And you think I shouldn’t have volunteered to come with you guys? That I shouldn’t have done whatever I could to protect my dad?”
He holds up a hand. “I didn’t say that. I’m pretty fucking impressed you agreed so quickly, honestly. Not everyone would do that. You’re fierce as fuck. Brave too. It takes a certain kind of person to risk everything for someone they love.” His eyes harden a little, something almost like anger tightening his expression. “I’m just not sure what kind of father puts his daughter in the position of having to make that choice.”
I tighten my jaw. I don’t like him talking shit about my dad, no matter what he did. That’s between the two of us, and Rory shouldn’t get to judge my Dad’s worth as a parent.
“What does Gavin want him to do?” I ask, my voice thick. In his short, cryptic text, Dad didn’t mention anything about what kind of task the leader of the Black Roses assigned to him.
Rory grimaces, looking almost regretful as he shakes his head. “Sorry, princess. I’d love to tell you, but that falls under the whole ‘can’t discuss Black Rose business’ thing. Sloan is the one in charge here, and he answers to Gavin. It’s not up to me what we tell you.”
The fact that he actually sounds like he would tell me if he could doesn’t make his answer any better. It only makes it worse. Because it reminds me that no matter how normal moments like this might seem, standing in the kitchen and talking while a pizza cooks in the oven, none of this is anywhere near normal.
Regardless of what Rory says, I am a prisoner.
I turn away from him, yanking open the oven door to check on the pizza as I try to get a handle on my emotions and control my features. I don’t want him to see the disappointment on my face.
But either I turn around too slow, or Rory doesn’t need to see my face to know what I’m feeling. I hear the sound of quiet footsteps as he moves a little closer, and when he speaks, his voice is soft and quiet. The usual flirtatious tone is gone, replaced by simple honesty.
“I’m sorry, Mercy. I might not respect your dad for putting you in this position, but I sure as fuck respect you. I meant everything I said, and whether or not you believe it, not everyone would’ve made the choice you did. That’s why I tried to get some food and shit that you’d like in the house. I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner. You don’t deserve to pay for your dad’s mistakes.”