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“I’m a bad alien. I point and shoot at humans.”
“I can escape any time I want to,” he murmured, his accent rolling and smooth. Deadly. “But the tracker… ” Gemma pointed to his arm. She never felt so powerless in her entire life. “The tracker is not what’s holding me here.”
“If I didn’t want to be touched, you wouldn’t have been touching me,” he said quietly. “Not then, and certainly not now.”
“Why do you always say words that make no sense?” he chided gently. “What future is there except you and me? Us?”
“How we look to each other is irrelevant. It happened. Our lives are intertwined. We’ll have to work with what we got.” And then he smiled, a freakshow of amber teeth and bluish gums. “I happen to like what you’ve got.”
“Someone has to be.”
“Did you expect me to casually inquire if you had a penis?” “Did you expect me to inform you that, by the way, I had one?”
“Let’s not revive him.”
“He’s the landlord, isn’t he?” “Yes.” “You killed him.” “Yes.” “Why?” His fine eyebrows did their twitchy thing. “He snored.”
“Let me put it another way. I don’t want you to have to survive. Not without me.”
“No, just jacked up. But if you don’t move, and fast, I’ll get angry.”
“At the time when I lost control of my mind, when I had no more fight left in me, and my only hope was to die, you walked into my cell and said, Hello, Simon.” He kissed the back of her hand. “I am Simon.”
