Chapter Seven
Selena
––––––––
"I know, I know." Shifting my phone to my other ear, holding it with my shoulder, I set a bowl on my table. "I'll come by as soon as I can. Wait until tomorrow, please?"
"Tomorrow? I'm not sure—"
"It's already so late," I say quickly.
"That doesn't matter, I'm here now."
"Please, I need some time."
"I can come to you if that's easier."
"No! That's—just no." Juggling the packet of mac n cheese I put it in my teeth, I'm ready to rip it open. My front door clicks before Jamison walks inside. He didn't even knock. "Hey," I gasp, dropping the packet, fumbling not to drop my phone too. "I'll call you back!"
Jamison's eyes dart to my phone when I set it on the counter. "Who was that?"
"Nobody."
"Have you had a phone on you this whole time?" he asks in a warning tone.
I'm already shaking my head. "Give me some credit."
"Was it with you at the hotel?"
"No! Stop the twenty questions, it's my turn. Where the heck did you go?"
He lifts a plastic bag; it's weighed down with the shape of two take-out containers. The smell of onions and cumin reach me. "Dinner."
"You disappeared to buy us something to eat?" I crinkle my brow.
"Who said I was sharing?" He undoes his jacket, draping it on one of the two basic chairs tucked against my table. I'd swiped them from the sidewalk on trash day. The hooded sweater beneath joins the jacket. I get an eyeful of his ribbed, olive-green shirt; its half-sleeves don't manage to hide his biceps or his well-defined forearms.
Quit being a creeper, I chide myself. Act cool. Leaning my back against my fridge, I tilt my nose higher while crossing my arms. "For real, what were you actually doing."
Jamison places the bag of food on my wobbly white table. "Why do you think I'm lying when you can see and smell this?"
"It's not like I have a reason to trust you."
"Then enlighten me. What do you think I was doing?" He rips the plastic bag straight apart at the knot, the motion quick and violent. "Killing someone before picking up a snack?"
"Maybe," I mutter. "It is what you do."
"If that bothers you, you shouldn't have hired me to do more of it."
"Okay, first, I hired you to let me do the killing. Second, did you forget the part where the other choice was shooting myself?"
Jamison doesn't look at me as he arranges the cartons. His voice is flat, like he's discussing the weather. "If I recall, you made it clear you'd need me to pull the trigger for you."
Rubbing the outside of my arms, I take the three steps forward to stand in front of him. The food smells delicious—I'm pretty sure he got it from the Lebanese cart on the corner—but I don't want to let my guard down. "How long have you been doing it? Being a hit man."
Jamison sits in the chair he left his jacket on. He spreads his legs, looking comfortable and entirely unbothered by my probing. "Eat," he motions.
"You said you weren't sharing."
"I bought two cartons, Selena."
I linger another second before my grumbling stomach commands me into the other chair. Grabbing the nearest box, I flip the lid back. Steam wafts around, the strong smell of meat and hummus making me salivate. "Thanks. This is a lot better than instant mac and cheese."
"You haven't tasted it yet."
"I've eaten it before." I reach towards the bag where the napkins and forks are. My nails brush the utensils before his fingers graze mine, gently tangling, pressing into the cool surface of the table. My pulse skyrockets at the intimate, unexpected touch.
"How often do you get food from that cart?" he asks lightly.
I stay very still, acting like his hand is a bear trap I'm trying not to trigger. I'm trying to make my brain function normally while his thumb strokes mine. How can he act so absent and so intentional at the same time? "I don't know, maybe once a week? Why does it matter?"
"Then the man running it, would he recognize your face if someone asked around?"
"Maybe? Jamison, let go. Now."
He doesn't ease up; he puts more of his weight on me, clenching until my skin throbs. His face is placid... his tone soft, patient, unrelenting. "Does he know you by name?"
"I'm not sure."
"Think. And think hard."
I stop trying to get away, settling in my chair, but never taking my eyes off of his. "I've never said my name in front of him."
"You're sure?"
"Yeah. I always paid with cash, too, since that's all he takes." Judging his expression, trying to read him, I take a leap. "You're thinking of all the ways the cops might track me down if they connect me to the murder."
" One of us has to think about it." Jamison let's go of me, offering me a fork from the bag like nothing happened... like he wasn't just crushing my wrist to the point of pain. "I'm used to coming into a contract with clean hands."
"I doubt you've ever had clean hands," I mumble. Flexing my fingers, I stab my fork into the pile of food. "You really think the footage from the hotel will lead the police to me?"
"It's very possible."
"I had a costume on," I counter.
"But your face was visible."
"And I used a fake name, the hotel has no record of the real me. I also left my phone here the whole time, so there's no electronic trail. There's no way they can place me at the scene." Sweat glides down my back, making my shirt cling. I watch him for any sign I've eased his fear.
He scoops up a hunk of meat, violently gnawing it. I don't like how he keeps watching me... it makes it hard to eat. "There's a time for cockiness, Selena. This isn't it."
He's right, I acknowledge.
I glance at my phone, fiddling with it.
"Aren't you going to eat?" he prods.
Shoving the phone deep in the pocket of my shorts I scoop up some of the salty, sauce coated rice. I chew for a long while. There's lot I want to say, yet the words won't come out. Stalling for time I push my chair back and grab some bottled water from the fridge. "If you were in my shoes," I muse, setting a water on the table in front of him, "what would you do?"
"You mean if I'd gotten involved in a sloppy killing? Or if I'd hired a hit man who may or may not end my life at any moment?"
Choking on my mouthful of water, I give him a wry grin. "Oh, come on, we both know you're not going to kill me."
"You're so sure?" he muses.
I narrow my eyes, trying to remember why I'm confident I'm safe with this man. "You won't get any money until I pay you."
"True, but that just means you're safe for tonight."
"You'd kill me after getting paid? That's not good for your reputation."
"Spare me. I'm already wondering how far I've fallen by taking your contract in the first place."
Sitting back down I point my fork at him accusingly. "Who would judge you? The girl running the cover for your little "tattoo" business, or the guy who forced you to accept my signature? What was his name again?"
"We both know he didn't give it to you."
"Right, so you can tell me now."
"You don't need to know."
"I think—"
"You don't need to know," he growls, dropping his fork in his food. "Thanks to your fumbling, the perfect system I work in is already corrupted enough. I'm not going to give you extra leverage."
"You're worried I'll use this stuff against you?"
He narrows his eyes into thin slits. "You're capable of it."
"Come on," I laugh, though it sounds... fake. I try again—a little better that time. "I just hate being in the dark. I don't have a reason to try and blackmail you."
"But you do, Selena." Cocking his head, he considers me for a moment that stretches uncomfortably. I shift in my chair, resisting the urge to drink more water, like doing so would give him a win. "I saw it in your face in the car."
"Saw what?" I whisper.
"Your rage. Your fury. Your desperation. You'd do anything... anything... to avenge your friend. Am I wrong?"
My tongue is sticking to the roof of my mouth. I clear my throat, turning away to avoid seeing him. "No," I admit.
"It's important for you to understand that I understand how deep your motives go."
I peer back over my shoulder curiously. "And your motives?"
He smiles wryly. "I don't have any. Just a job to do."
Scanning the piles of food, I wave my arm over them. "Feeding me has nothing to do with your job. Why do something nice for me like this?"
"I didn't want to listen to your stomach rumble all night."
"Please," I scoff.
Jamison nods over at the abandoned packet on my counter. "There was no way I was eating boxed mac n cheese."
"You could have gotten yourself something without me knowing."
He hunches over his carton, hands resting in his lap. "Leaving you alone for that long would be dangerous."
I knot my brow tight. "What could I do here?"
"Talk to someone on the phone that you refuse to name." He arches his brows, reading my reaction. I do my best to keep my expression blank. "Was it the police?"
Tossing my hair, I let out the most condescending laugh I'm capable of. "Don't be an idiot."
"Selena," he says, waiting for me to look at him again. "We need to trust each other. Isn't that what you want?"
He's speaking in a low tone. One meant to convince me he's right, and I'm wrong. But I'm not so gullible. "I'm not showing you my phone. Forget it."
Jamison props his chin on his fist, his frown tight as a drum skin. "Then we'll both keep our share of secrets. Finish eating before it gets cold."
I do what he says, but not because he said it. Together we eat quietly. Sometimes he checks his phone, other times I glance at mine. It's the most awkward meal I've ever had in my life.
I'm not the one with the lion's share of secrets, I think miserably. You're the one keeping me in the dark on every question I ask. Even basic shit, like why you bought me food. I can't shake the idea that Jamison went out of his way because he felt bad for me.
He saw my shitty apartment and that was that.
Thinking of him pitying me has me clutching my fork painfully tight. I don't owe him a thank you. He's robbing me blind.
"You asked me what I'd do in your shoes," he says. I jolt upwards in my chair and stare at him. "I think I'd leave the city. Go somewhere far away and just lie low."
"For how long?" I ask.
Jamison tilts his head, mulling it over. "A year should do."
"I can't leave. Not until I kill—"
Jamison rises to his feet, the motion surprising me enough that I scoot my chair back. "Can I use your shower?"
"Oh, uh... I guess. Do you have a change of clothes?"
"I have everything I need in my trunk. I'll be right back."
"With more food?" I chuckle sarcastically.
He gives me a sharp look over his shoulder, then exits through my front door. I can't feel his footsteps outside in the hall, or on the stairs, the way I can with any other visitor. Has he always moved so... silently? Earlier, when he left the first time, I hadn't even heard my door open.
He really meant it when he said he wants to be a ghost.
I box up the leftover food, tucking it into my small fridge. Maybe he'll forget about his share and I can eat it for breakfast. That would be way better than peanut butter on crackers.
"I'm back," he says behind me.
"Christ!" I gasp, whirling, falling against the fridge with my fingers clutching my chest. "Could you act like less of a creep?"
Jamison frowns, shouldering a small black backpack. "Moving quietly is ideal for my line of work. You should try stomping around less."
"I don't stomp!"
"I could hear you moving around while I was out in the hall. You stomp."
"Just go take your shower," I snap, pointing at the bathroom.
He walks to the bathroom without a word. Each step he takes is soundless, the loudest noise being the lock on the door snapping behind him. Maybe I SHOULD try to walk a little quieter, I think sullenly. How is he so good at that? Will he teach me if I ask him? Probably not. He doesn't seem to like me much. I have to find a way to prove I'm not going to betray him, or this situation is going to be unbearable.
No way I'm showing him my phone, that's out of the question. I pick it up and stare at the screen. Without him standing over me, I'm free to quickly delete my recent calls. My message box is blank. Just because I want him to trust me, doesn't mean I'll ever trust him.
Pushing my phone against my forehead, I clench my eyes shut and sigh. The weight of the day is starting to settle into my bones. Moving to my bed, I drop down heavily onto the messy blankets, leaving my phone next to my pillow. I have a perfect view of the bathroom door. I can hear the shower running... and I can, too easily, remember how I walked out in nothing but a towel earlier.
Flushing red I roll onto my side so I'm facing the front door. The pillow is cool under my cheek, and as much as I want to ignore the shower, the sound of it acts as white noise. My eyelids droop, then stick shut. The next thing I see is the darkness of my apartment. Why are the lights off? I sit up in confused panic, then grip my head, woozy.
"You fell asleep," Jamison's low rumble of a voice whispers.
Jerking sideways, I squint in the blackness until my eyes adjust. There's light coming through the window by the kitchen table. The dim orange of the streetlamps outside glint along Jamison's naked shoulders and thick neck. There are tattoos on his skin that his shirt once hid. Black, rich ink that follows the contours of his defined muscles.
He's sitting on the floor beside me, his lower half vanishing into a thin sheet. In the darkness I can't tell the color, but I know it's a threadbare yellow, because that's the only spare sheet I own. He must have found it in my...
"You went in my dresser?" I blurt.
"It was that or sleep on the bare floor." He reads my face. "I didn't dig through your personal stuff."
Biting my molars together I glance at my dresser. I can't tell if it's been riffled through. The sheet was in the bottom drawer with my extra towels, so if he's telling the truth, that's all he touched. But I imagine him picking through my bras and panties and tense up. "You should have asked me."
"I didn't want to wake you. You were asleep when I got out of the shower."
"What time is it?" I ask.
"Just after 2 in the morning."
Smoothing my hair, I search around for my phone so I can confirm. It's not next to my pillow where I left it. "Where did my phone go?" A prickle goes up my neck; I shoot him a wary look. "You knew the time without looking. How?"
Jamison meets my stare quietly.
"Did you take my phone?" I ask point blank.
"Why would I do that?"
"To see who I've been talking with," I shoot back.
His body shifts, causing the sheet to slide lower, revealing the hard rivets of his stomach. I can't tell if he's naked underneath there. "Surely you keep it locked. I couldn't get into it if I wanted."
What if he IS totally naked under there? He said he brought spare clothes, but...
"Selena."
I flick my eyes up, seeing his sharp smirk.
"What are you so distracted by?" he asks softly.
"Nothing," I sputter, yanking my blankets up around my throat, like I'm the one who's indecent. And I'm not, I'm still in my shorts and shirt from earlier. "There are ways to get into people's phones. I bet you know some."
"Your face is very red," he chuckles.
That makes me blush harder. "Right!" I scoff, an idea hitting me. "You could have used my face while I was asleep to unlock it!"
Jamison's brow knits together, making fine lines in his smooth skin. "Clever idea. I could have done that."
A tiny thrill rushes through me from his compliment. It's quickly replaced by unease. "Did you?" I whisper.
"You'll never know."
"Tell me!" I growl.
"You're really worried about this," he notes coolly. "Here's a tip. If you don't have something to hide, it's better to pretend you don't care."
"Then you didn't?" Jamison doesn't react to my question. "Show me your phone."
"Why?" he asks, squinting curiously.
"So I can see the time."
"I said it was after 2."
"I want to see for myself."
For a second I think he's not going to do it. To my amazement, he reaches on the other side of him—I see his bag is there. He pulls out a small, forgettable black phone. He doesn't hand it to me, but he flicks it on, showing the blue digital screen blinking the time. "Satisfied?"
"Is that a burner phone?"
"Of course it is. It hasn't even been 24 hours," he whispers, "and you've already forgotten what I am."
"I haven't forgotten," I swallow. I never will. "I want the truth from you about my phone."
He moves forward, lithe as a viper, one huge palm shoving me by my collar bone down onto my bed. I'm flattened by his strength, my instinct to struggle, but his finger brushes my lips... he's shushing me. "I didn't touch your phone. But if I wanted to," he says in a gritty rumble, "I'd do it. If I couldn't break into it, I'd have made you unlock it for me. You couldn't stop me. If I want something, Selena, it's inevitable... I will get it."
A full body tremor hits my core. My urge to fight back evaporates, leaving me limp under my blanket. It's the only protection I have and it's as useless as air. "You don't scare me," I make myself say.
His lips tighten. "Yes, I do. I feel you shaking."
"I can't help that. It just happens. But I'm not afraid of you, you won't hurt me."
"Why are you so sure?"
"Because if you do, you're fucked."
Jamison blinks, considering me carefully. "You know something I don't?"
"The cameras," I say, and I start to smile. My confidence is returning; I push against his hand, brushing away his finger. "They're all over the outside of this place. If you hurt me, you won't be able to disappear like a ghost the way you love to."
Jamison doesn't budge. Not even when I try to sit up. His pressure is constant, keeping me down on my pillow. The light from the window barely touches his face, giving his features a blankness, like a grand cliff side. "I almost feel bad for you," he says.
My heart jolts. "What?"
"Your cameras don't work. Not a single one."
There's ice in my veins, the cold shifting through me at rapid speed until my toes curl. "You're wrong. I know for a fact—"
"You have very nice neighbors," he muses. "The one with the white chihuahua, Mr. Gloss? He was kind enough to talk with me while walking his dog out front, when I was deciding where to grab food. He lamented that the cameras haven't worked for years."
As simple as that, my advantage is gone.
Jamison is reading my face, catching every flicker of fear before I can hide it away. He traces his thumb along my jaw line the way you'd follow the petal of a flower you're deciding to pluck. "The last time I had you like this... you told me to do whatever I liked to you."
Tiny bubbles rush through my belly, chasing each other down to my toes. "I was taunting you."
"And now?" he whispers thickly, leaning closer until I can smell nothing but him. "Are you taunting me again?"
Talking is a chore... it takes all my focus. "I don't know what you mean."
"The way your breath gets short." His knuckle glides on my cheek, then back down to my shoulder. Goosebumps lift firmly; I gasp, twisting under his touch. "How your skin becomes this unique shade of red... Your reactions taunt me, Selena. I can't tell if you egg me on because you like this..." The hand on my chest flattens me firmly into my bed. "Or if you truly don't believe I could harm you."
"Could you?" I whisper.
His eyes swarm with pools of galaxy black. "Yes." His free hand roams down the path between my breasts, then back up again. Sweet heat surges through my center, my feet twisting, pressing together under the blanket. I'm trying to hold still... to stare into his face and not react... but I'm failing tremendously. "And even now, when I tell you this bluntly, you tremble with desire. Why is that?"
"It's in your head," I whimper. "You're wrong. You're sick and wrong."
"Which of us is sick?" he asks softly, stroking around the outside of my right breast through the fabric of my shirt. I crumple my toes and bite my tongue. "You're not good at hiding how you feel. I can see and smell how much I excite you."
I swallow down a moan. My pride demands I get a grip... that I not admit he's right, to him or to myself. "Is that something you're proud of?" I ask. I force a cruel smile across my lips, eyeing him closely. "How much you lack emotion, compared to me? I wouldn't brag about being a blank box."
"Blank?" The edges of his eyes crinkle; two of his fingers trace just outside of my hard nipple where it pushes against my shirt. Wet heat spreads between my thighs, my pussy clenching. "If I'm hard to read, that's on you to solve. Or do you like everything in your world to be easy." When he utters easy, he flicks his thumb over the top of my breast.
I gasp, arching my spine, thoughtlessly pressing my chest towards him. He withdraws his fingers—denying me more. There's no emotion in his face. He doesn't care that he's fucking with my body and my mind, making me want him... making me hate him.
"You don't understand me at all," I whisper, glaring hotly. Jamison studies me as the air crackles between us.
"Understanding you is my goal," he says solemnly.
What does he mean by that?
Even if he's emotionless, he's not cold. Not anymore. I can sense it around us, like a volcano signaling it's on the verge of erupting. Energy coalesces in his irises, the dip of his throat flexing.
"Your mask," I say, "is slipping."
His perfect lips tug tighter. "There is no mask. There never was." His face drops down, his breath in my ear, his voice in my brain. "I've never pretended to be anything other than what I am."
"What's that, a killer?" I manage to reply, in spite of how my body is shaking.
"Yes. I kill for money." Something hard clips my ear—his teeth? I shudder, trying to survive the new rush of arousal. "I don't let my emotions get the better of me, unlike you."
Clenching my jaw, I try to face him, but he grips my hair to hold me still. His other hand seeks out my stomach... trailing over my skin beneath my shirt, making little circles that become buzzing heat that descend ever lower. "Wanting to get revenge isn't wrong," I whimper.
"Your desire controls you. In your urge to blindly kill, and even now, here, with me." Jamison's long fingers reach under the blankets, finding my shorts, tapping the zipper. He goes lower, tickling the soft skin of my creamy upper thighs.
My heart swells in my ribs. I can't breathe right—I'm getting dizzy. The springs rustle, confusing me at first, until... Oh god, I'm humping the air. My face is crimson and so is the rest of me. "You think I'm pathetic?" I accuse him. "That you're better than me? Show it."
He freezes in place. "What?"
"Show me you're not affected by this. Prove you're as in control as you say."
"You talk big for someone who will let me finger her if I push a little harder," he whispers darkly.
Fuck... I want him to be wrong. The way my muscles tingle, and my pussy flexes at the empty air, proves his point. But I won't go down quietly. The pride from earlier is as stubborn as ever. "Show me," I repeat, trying to sit up.
Jamison releases my hair. His hand leaves my thighs as he sits back on his knees on the floor beside me. I'm free of his capture—I can move, and yet I remain sprawled on the mattress. My chest rises and falls with my intense breathing.
He observes my limp, weak body. A predator hyper aware of his prey. "You're serious," he finally says.
I dart a look at the sheet wrapped around his lower half. I can't see anything beyond where his stomach muscles vanish deliciously into the fabric. "Yes."
"Then say it," he dares me crisply. "Ask directly, Selena."
Choking on the lump in my throat, I open my mouth, trying to summon the words. All I have to say is Show me your cock. Right? I think anxiously. Then he'll... he'll do it, and I'll win because I'll be right.
There's no way he isn't erect. It's impossible.
Isn't it?
"You're wondering now," he chuckles viciously. "If I'm not reacting to you, the way you are to me, then you'll know I'll always have the upper hand."
"I'm not scared," I bite through my teeth.
"Then just say it."
This moment reminds me of the hotel. He had my life in his hands then, too. I've been at his mercy ever since he came in through that window.
I laugh, the sound startling us both—he frowns. "What's so funny?" he asks.
"I might as well still be in that hotel room," I whisper bitterly. "Leaving with you, signing that contract, it's all an illusion of control. Even right now, I can't do what I want. You're deciding what happens in my own fucking home. Nothing about me has changed."
"You're right," he replies. "Nothing has changed."
"Is this how you'll always see me?" I stretch out on the bed, releasing the blanket, my arms overhead on the pillow... as vulnerable as I can make myself. "Someone who's weak and pathetic, driven by raw emotion?"
"I only see the truth."
My heart twinges painfully. It shouldn't hurt, coming from him. But it does. "Is this how you treat all your clients?"
Jamison blinks—as if he's waking up from a daydream. "You're not like my other clients."
"I know," I snort, the noise hurting the back of my throat. "I saw your face, I know who you are. It's not like that's my fault, you showed up in the middle of my plan."
"You mean your mess."
I thrash upwards, ready to shove him away. The buildup of his sensual teasing combined with my shame is too much. I am emotional, and he's to blame for all of it.
His face is stone as he captures both my wrists, pushing them back onto the pillow above my head. The movement brings his bare chest closer to me, his breath warm on my cheek. "Just do it," I seethe.
"Do what?"
"Kill me. That's what you want to do, yeah? Why you camped out here and went to all the fucking trouble to make sure there were no cameras, no way to prove you're the one who slashed my throat."
He angles his chin, staring at me how a crow would eye a worm. "All this because you accused me of looking at your phone."
"I know you did!"
"I didn't."
That gets another erratic laugh out of me. "Tell me the time again."
His frown creates deep pits in the corners of his mouth. They barely shift when he talks; I could be conversing with a mannequin. "I said it was after 2."
"Your phone showed a different time, didn't you notice?"
Jamison's forehead is a mire of wrinkles. "That's impossible."
"It's not after 2, it's after 3."
"What are you on about?" He releases me, shifting over to grab at his phone where he left it on the floor beside us. I can't see the screen, but I don't have to. The blue light dances over his eyes as they widen. "How..."
Rising on my elbows, I wait for him to look at me before I speak. "I keep my phone an hour slower. Mine says after 2. I guess I woke up just as you were looking through it, so you thought that was the actual time." I motion at his bag. "Did you stick it in there, planning to put it back by my pillow?"
His tongue runs over his bottom lip in a slow swoop. "Why," he says thickly, "would you keep your clock set to the wrong time?"
I shrug, and my god, it feels fucking good to know something he doesn't. "That's a secret."
Jamison tosses his phone down onto the floor violently. It bounces and slides, and I flinch from the sound. He stays where he is, his torso lit up by the streetlamps outside, the yellow sheet almost transparent. The shadow of his long legs beneath. The hint of other things that make my insides hot and tingly.
His onyx eyes fix on me with a mix of disdain and... I swear it's admiration. The look has my heart racing at top speed. "You're not as easy to read as I thought, Selena."
"Thanks," I say sarcastically.
He adjusts his sheet, the fabric loosening, sliding lower. I glance helplessly. The sight of his forest green briefs greets me. But I can't tell more than that. I'll never know if he was anywhere near as turned on as I was by our wicked games.
I look up; Jamison holds my stare evenly. Flustered more than ever I flip around, flopping onto my pillow, facing the opposite wall. "I'm going back to sleep," I mumble.
The floor doesn't creak, it doesn't have to, I can feel his presence next to me. The temperature change in the air, the way his scent swaddles me in its embrace. I'm still wet from earlier; I squeeze my knees together. There's a slight shiff noise. I wait a minute, until I think he's gone, before turning over. My phone is back where I left it earlier in the night.
If I hadn't caught him in the act, I'd have never known he'd taken it.
But that's not my main worry.
Something much bigger happened tonight.