The Cunning

84

It was the early hours of the morning when Jase returned from the hospital, his hand wrapped in layers of clean bandage.

"You were right. I needed stitches," he muttered, closing the door quietly.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Tired." He pulled his t-shirt off, leaving it on the desk as he walked to his side of the bed, taking out the rolling equipment from the bedside drawer. Not that he needed to smoke, the pain medication the doctor had given him left him pretty waved as it was. He looked at her, sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, then looked back down to the paper he was pulling from the card packet. "Thanks for what you did down there. The others are fucking useless," he said.

Madison shrugged. "Perks of growing up with a dodgy dad."

Jase watched her for a moment. Sam had raised a question in the waiting room of the hospital; in fact, he'd raised several. Why did Madison know how to pick locks? Why did she know how to fix a jammed gun? And how did she remain so calm in so many situations that would have the other girls hysterical? The answer to all of these, Madison had told him on several occasions, was her dad. And as far as Jase could gather, he wasn't dead.

"How old were you when he went away?" he asked. The colour must have drained from Madison's face because he laughed. "What, you thought I wouldn't eventually figure it out?"

Her heart rate spiked, palms instantly sweating. Someone had to have told him because she had been so careful, there were no connections to make. Every mention of her dad had been vague, never names, never specifications, no detailed descriptions of the jobs he'd done. Her mind raced, thoughts of the past however long she'd been there fluttering around her skull aggressively like shredded paper - half conversations, people at the showings that might recognise her, her ID, it had her new name on it, right? She couldn't picture it. This whole time, had Jase known who she was? Was he more evil and cunning than she could have considered-

"He's in prison, right?" His follow up question stopped Madison's panicked spiral. She blinked, snapping out of it. Unless he was a total psycho, and she was at least 60% sure he wasn't, if Jase knew who her dad was he wouldn't be so calm. He had just made an educated guess. Madison nearly released her bladder she relaxed so hard.

"About thirteen." It was a necessary lie. She couldn't have him doing the math.

"Sorry you grew up around stuff like that." His words were sincere. The adrenalin from the attack had wiped him out, his movements were slow, voice gravelly.

"It had its advantages," Madison replied. Jase sprinkled the weed and tobacco into the paper, a dozy smile infiltrating the heaviness of the conversation. He wanted to know what other interesting skills were hiding behind those big brown eyes.

"Yeah? What else did he teach you?" He asked, licking the paper, folding it over and tapping the end of the beside drawers.

"How to hotwire a car, lie to a police officer, read body language - well, the basics. How to load a gun, pick locks-"

"He taught you how to load a gun at thirteen years old? Jesus Christ." It was the first time Madison had seen Jase look taken back.

She rolled her shoulders awkwardly. She didn't inform him that she was actually loading guns from the age of seven. Although, her dad didn't let her shoot one until she was nine, he wasn't a total animal.

"Your childhood wasn't perfect either," she replied defensively. Jase tilted his head, considering her words. It was far from perfect, but no one was letting him play with loaded guns before his balls dropped.

"You're right. But why?"

She could hardly tell him that there were weapons in every room of her childhood home without it sparking more pressing questions. It was a continuous arguement between her parents. Her dad's idea of compromising was ensuring Madison's safety by teaching her how to use them, which she thought was fantastic. Days spent shooting targets in the woods, learning how to make small explosives with everyday items, getting an insight into a different way of thinking was just their way of bonding.

Looking back, her childhood was a mess. But Barbies would hardly help her in the situation she was in so she couldn't be too ungrateful.

"He was in the army, I was always asking questions. Who do you think did it?" He cocked a brow in question, Madison nodded at his hand. She didn't want to keep talking about her dad, both because she didn't want him digging too deep and because it upset her. He had been her best friend. Until she grew up and saw the damage his lifestyle had done.

"I know who did it. We're sorting it tomorrow."

Madison rolled her eyes. "Do you not think you should leave it now? That could have gone a lot worse, Jase. You're not bulletproof." She gestured to his bandaged hand again. "Or stab-proof, for that matter."

Jase chuckled, lighting the joint and taking in a deep lungful.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were worried about me." Madison sucked in her lips and avoided eye contact. Did she care about Jase? Or was it all down to self preservation? His smile faded, neither of them had the energy to dissect her mind.

With a sigh, he shifted the rolling utensils from his lap, laying down. "Save yourself the trouble. Things like this are occupational hazards," he said, exhaling another thick cloud of smoke. Madison glowered at him. Whether her concern was for survival or something more complicated was irrelevant, she couldn't have him dying on her.

"You should be more careful," she murmured, irritation dusting her words. His snicker and lack of consideration for his own safety only rankled her more.

"I didn't go out with the intention of getting stabbed."

"But you know it's a possibility. Every time you go outside, you know it's a possibility," she replied. It was something her mum had said to her dad, word for word, one of Madison's earliest memories. She turned her attention to her nails, inspecting the chipped red polish as if they were the most interesting thing in the room.

Jase huffed, tipping his head back and staring at the ceiling.

"What am I supposed to do? Sit indoors all the time? Hide from people?" She scowled down at him. Jase rolled his eyes. "It's part of the job, Madison. I'm fine, see?" He held his hand up, as if coming away from a knife attack with nothing but a hole in his palm constituted as fine. "I'm all in one piece."

It unsettled Madison to worry about him. Now she knew why her mum and dad had argued so much. She sniffed, quickly wiping the unwelcome tears from her cheeks. Jase sat up, now it was his turn to be worried. "Hey, why are you crying?" he asked gently.

Madison took a deep, shuddering breath, looking up and trying to force the tears back.

"There was so much blood. I thought it might be worse than it was." She shook her head. "It was scary. And no one was doing anything."

This was closer to the Madison he knew from when she first came into the house. Every time she cried, it washed away the cunning, revealing the scared girl underneath. She may give them a run for their money but she was still barely an adult, regardless of the fact that she thought like a bloke in his mid-forties who had done hard time. He softened.

"I know. That's why I sent you upstairs when we dealt with Harvey; the idea of something is very different to the reality." Madison dried her eyes again. Jase brushed her cheek with the knuckles of his good hand. "You did good. You were quick to try and stop the bleeding." She took another gulp and collected herself.

"You look after me, I'll look after you. It's only fair."

Jase closed his eyes, shaking his head and holding the joint out.

"Have some of that. Breathe. I'm not dying anytime soon. I'm a big boy, I can handle myself. It's going to take more than a cut to get rid of me." He wanted to tell himself he had no idea why he was comforting her, but he knew. He knew all too well. And it was only reinforced by his reaction to seeing her cry again. It wasn't out of pity, he'd felt sorry for her without comforting her before. This time, he felt a strong urge to protect her, deep in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't the sexual tension or the thrill of the cat and mouse game; it had become more than that.