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There was an element of denial to this game that he was playing with Opal - that much he could admit to himself. For as much control as he had, for as fast as he was and as much as he could out manoeuvre her at every turn, she still had a hold on him. Had from the first time she had tried to steal from him and take him from all he was worth if he was honest for himself - after all there was a reason she had gotten the chance to redeem herself rather than being made an example of. Â
Now here the two of them were once again and he was actively taking time out of what he did best to what? Continue their little game? She had once again tried to double cross him and here he was merely messing with her, every rule about not making work personal had been ruined with this one and it made him nervous.Â
âBest boss of the year?â He resolved with a brow raised in her direction.Â
As he sat the clink of his tags, hanging around his neck the only noise in the room for a moment as he took the first swig from the bottle. Eyes following as she settled onto the couch, making sure to keep his face neutral of any feelings as her heel dug into his leg, letting her reach for the bottle, resisting the urge to use her arm as leverage to pull her onto his knee. âI am sure I can find something to keep myself entertained if you need to alcohol. I mean after all you do sound the prettiest when your own mouth is occupied.âÂ
.
Perched on the other side of Paul, it was impossible to ignore the contradicting feelings that buzzed around her like angry bees whose nest had just been kicked. Frustration was the one that won out as she looked at him, though, and wondered how it was possible that he could be both the only person in the world that knew her, gave her any sense of what home even was anymore, and the one who made her feel the least safe. Off balance was how she felt around him. Out of control, like just his presence made her drunk.Â
Her heavy eyes fell to his and she held his stare for a moment, only the light clinking of metal drew her attention first to his mouth and then to the dog tags hanging around his neck. They glinted in the silvery moonlight that filtered down through the window and if she squinted her eyes just so, the scene softened, the sharp edges growing dull.Â
Like a moth entranced by flame she found herself moving forward, fingers wrapping around the silver chain of his tags and giving them a small yank as she smirked down at him. âWorst boss I ever had,â she said, voice pitched low. It had always been easier to hide in the darkness, and as Opal pulled the tags around his neck until the chain was tight with tension, she allowed it to guide her forward until she was perched over a thigh. This she understood. This she was good at. Running her finger over the indents of the engraving, she let her eyes fall to the tag in her hands. Her eyes danced over the name once before something about the words sheâd read snagged in her brain. She read it again. And for good measure, she read it one more time, her every muscle snapping suddenly to attention as a horrible thought began to dawn on her.
Ruben Vargas.Â
âYour name isnât Paul.â It wasnât a question, just a slow dawning that felt a little like the serrated edge of a knife. He knew everything about her, the only one in her life who did, and she didnât know him at all.Â














