The moment the bus pulled up to the hotel, the exhausted group moved in a sluggish wave toward the lunch buffet. Everyone was tired, their limbs heavy from the grueling trail, and Rai was no exception.
He was starving, his body crying out for fuel, but his movements were dictated by a different kind of hunger, a nervous, tethered instinct that kept him silently following Zade from station to station.
Even if Rai hadn't been hungry, he probably would have followed Zade anyway. He had no choice. Not with the way the bastard was silently glaring at him, his eyes throwing invisible daggers every time Rai tried to glance his way.
Honestly, the constant, oppressive scrutiny was starting to make Rai mad.
But the worst part wasn't Zade's anger; it was the realization that Rai was actually mad at himself.
