Switch

chapter 6

The gun store was on the edge of the city. No cameras. No names.

Ryan didn't let me touch anything. He picked a compact 9mm, black, unmarked. Paid cash. The clerk didn't ask for ID. Men like Ryan don't need it.

"Do you know how to use this?" he asked once we were back in the car.

"Sì." [Yes.] The word was out before I thought.

He didn't react. Just set the box in my lap and started the engine. "Safety's on. Don't point it at me unless you plan to pull the trigger."

I ran my thumb over the case. Elena taught me to shoot when I was twelve. Victoria said a Laurent woman should never be unarmed. At the Collar, guns were different. Clients liked them on the table, loaded or not. Power, not protection. I learned not to flinch when one went off next to my ear.

"Phone next," Ryan said.

The new phone was a burner. No apps. No contacts. He programmed one number in and handed it to me.

"Mine," he said. "If Victoria calls your old one, don't answer."

"And if she sends another box?"

"Then you call me first." His eyes met mine across the console. "Before you bury it."

We didn't go home. Ryan drove to a restaurant with white tablecloths and a hostess who knew his name. He ordered for both of us in English. Steak for him. Pasta for me. I didn't touch it.

"You didn't eat yesterday either," he said.

"I'm not hungry."

"You're lying." He cut into his steak, slow and deliberate. "At the Collar, did they feed you?"

My fork clattered against the plate.

He didn't look up. "You flinch at names. You count exits. You speak Italian when you're scared. You knew exactly what was in that box before you opened it." He set his knife down. "I don't know who you are. But I know who you're not."

My throat went dry. "Then why haven't you said it?"

"Because I want to hear you say it first." He leaned back. "Eat."

I didn't. I picked up the water glass instead. My hands were steady now. "Victoria wants lunch tomorrow."

"I know."

"Are you going to let me go?"

"No." He said it like it was simple. "She sent your trainer's head in a box. You don't go to lunch with her alone."

He didn't say my name. He wouldn't. But the way he looked at me said he knew it.

I picked up my fork and took a bite of pasta I couldn't taste.

He watched me chew, swallow, take another bite. "Good," he murmured. Not kind. Not cruel. Just a fact.

I kept eating. Because at the Collar, obedient girls survived. And I wasn't ready to die yet.

.