"You don't need to concern yourself with my business. I can take care of myself," Askai retorted, his pride bristling. He then turned fully to face him, suddenly too close to Vance's chiseled, beautiful face. He kept his eyes fiercely glued to the other man's. "Why were your men looking into my safety? Are you stalking me?"
Vance remained silent, staring back without flinching, and that gave Askai pause. A cold dread began to form in his stomach. Vance's unapologetic silence, only confirming his suspicions.
"Are you really?" Askai asked, less shocked now, and infinitely more scared. The past few days, he had been up to no good. Trashing the motel, roughening up the manager, and the terrifying culmination of the fight last night—he could end up being convicted for all of them if Vance really had him trailed all this while.
Most importantly, how in hell did he not notice a tail?
Vance gave another careless shrug, a gesture of profound entitlement, as if they were discussing the evening attire for a formal dinner. "I was just worried about you. You seem like a guy who goes around actively asking for trouble."
"Trouble he can take care of," Askai rudely reminded him, pushing back against the condescension, but Vance completely ignored his protest. He looked like he was arguing with a child who knew no better. What, in the world, gave him that infuriating impression of Askai?
Vance laughed—that magnetic, deeply rich sound that, despite his fury, made Askai want to gaze lovingly at him.
"You were going to take care of them with a pocket knife, some plastic rope, and a few crumpled bills that I tossed at you during the event. Who are you running from, Santa Claus? First-aid was the only useful thing in that bag of yours, and it would have come handy once they had rearranged your beautiful face. How naive are you?!"
Vance looked so thoroughly amused at Askai's expense, so convinced of his own superior wisdom, that Askai almost did not want to burst his bubble of delusion. Askai and naive—those were two words that did not belong together in a sentence.
The pocket knife was sharp enough to plunge into an artery that could bleed a person to death in minutes. Askai had taken years to master these vital, unguarded places on the human body. The knife was the only thing he needed besides his fists to take down a person. The rest of the things in the bag were merely for convenience. He had survived the streets with far less.
Despite himself, a small, weary smile touched his lips at the monumental misunderstanding, which Vance instantly took for an admission of his ignorance.
"You know, I have seen many rich kids running away from their parents' homes to claim independence, trying to learn the street-smart ways. I appreciate the spirit, but the act in itself is utterly stupid. The West is not something to be toyed with. What were you thinking, going into that shady hospital in the West? You have no idea what kind of people go in there. Then you disappeared! Do you have any idea what I went through figuring out what happened to you?"
He disappeared. The sheer luck of that thought gave Askai a sliver of respite. If he hadn't managed to shake the tail, they would not be having this infuriating conversation in someone's bedroom; they would be behind bars.
Then he dialed back on the conversation, a cold, hard anger rising in his gut.
"Did you just call me a rich runaway kid?" he asked, his voice low, his dark eyes wide with disbelief.