21 Infirmary (2/2)

He wore his skull shaved or was one of the men who had no hair at an early age. Sam guessed him in his early thirties. His face reminded her of the appearance of Greek athletes, with broad, angular jaws and narrow lips. He came to Sam at least six feet tall and terribly wide. This man darkened the sun.

”You fought well.”

Hot anger rose hot in Sam. Muerte had stood by and watched the five men attack her like animals.

”Oh, did you like it, why did not you join in, or were you prevented?” she poisoned him.

Muerte sat casually on the chair on which the Doc had previously nervously slid around. Sam involuntarily flinched and almost fell out of bed, if Muerte had not grabbed her arm lightning fast.

”Slowly, Scherenlady, you were not particularly flirtatious with Miguel's brother.” He looked at her appraisingly.

Anger rose on Sam's cheeks. Muerte stretched his legs relaxed and crossed his hands in his bull's neck. ”Why did you mess him up like that?”

Sam pulled hard on her blanket and stuffed the sheet under her armpits. ”Is this an interrogation or are you my personal confessor?”

Muerte grimaced at the corners of his mouth in a mocking grin. ”Then it's not possible.” He got up. Casually, he flicked a piece of chocolate into Sam's lap. The director has seconded me as your personal watcher as long as you're on this station, so you'd better try to escape. ”

Sam glared at him uncontrollably. ”As if I wanted to leave here, where I have so much fun.”