Shark Bait

27. Hitman’s secret dungeon

TWENTY-SEVEN

HITMAN’S SECRET DUNGEON

TROY

Shark walks around the bedroom, collecting his stashed weapons like a treasure hunter inside a hidden pharaoh’s tomb. I’ve lived in this room for over two weeks and had no idea he’d made it into a fort.

“You hid a gun in your old sock under the bed?” I say in disbelief when Shark makes a disgusted face while sliding off the dusty sock.

With a shrug, he tosses the sock into the garbage pail in the bathroom, wipes off the pistol, and goes out into the hallway. Curious, I follow him to the pantry. Shark bends and opens a hatch on the floor I never knew existed. A secret entrance. He descends the shaky drop-down steps, and I follow after him, slowly and carefully since there’s no rail.

The steps wobble, and I stop, terrified I’ll fall.

A light flickers in the basement room. “No girls in my cave,” Shark says from somewhere down there.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going down these steps.” I dare one more step, then sit down and bend forward a little to peer into the underground room.

I can’t see shit from this position. Damn it. Curiosity better not kill this cat is all I’m thinking as I make my way down the stairs by sliding on my butt. After the last step, I get up and walk into a…a weapon depository. Every inch of the two walls is covered in weapons. A shower and a closet are straight ahead.

“Try not to contaminate too much ground,” Shark says as he removes his tennis shoes. “In case this is ever discovered, I don’t want your DNA in here.”

He explained the importance of hygiene to me, namely that he leaves no evidence for the forensic discovery systems that have grown in complexity with the AI-assisted crime scene systems. In other words, Shark’s protecting me from being identified as a criminal on the slight chance that the weapons he’s taking with him are recovered.

I respect that. I love how he’s always thinking about my well-being.

I pause at the island in the middle of the room, where Shark tosses a black backpack and a duffel. He sweeps me up and deposits me to sit on the island, then steps between my legs. He twists my ponytail in his fist and tugs my head back, leaving my neck exposed.

Teeth close over my jugular, and then he kisses my neck and steps away.

“What was that for?” I ask.

“I’m feeling feral, is all,” he says.

“Your feral is sexy. Come back here.” I kick my feet and spread my legs wider.

Shark chuckles and reaches for the hem of his shirt, then removes it. His pants come off next, and he gets under the shower, where he starts to shave.

“Bummer,” I say, and he smiles while water pounds his perfect body.

“You like watching me,” he says.

“That I do.”

“Five minutes, Troy, but then you have to go so I can get ready.”

“Get ready while I’m here.”

“Can’t. You’re distracting.”

I kick my feet again. “Happy to hear that.”

He pauses shaving. “Leaving prints everywhere, I see.” He shakes his head. “There’s lollipops in the drawer next to your left leg.”

I open it and spot at least a hundred lollipops, all neatly arranged by color. “Did I ever ask you what’s your favorite flavor?”

“Sour apple. Yours?”

“Whatever you’re having.”

“Lollipop thief,” he says.

I pick up the green lollipop and close the drawer. Shark takes a while shaving his entire body in the shower. He does it twice over, and once done, he towels off and steps out, grabbing a clean towel near him. He wraps it around his waist.

“Boooo.” I give him a thumbs-down.

“Didn’t I tell you to leave?”

“You did.”

“And?”

“I’m staying.”

“Fine, but only five minutes, and don’t talk.”

I gesture to lock my lips.

Shark towels off, then stands in the closet, his back to me. There’s Europe’s finest ass. I’m sure of it. Because he knows I’m looking, he flexes his ass cheeks. I giggle and kick my feet again.

Shark pulls on heavy black pants and a black T-shirt, then grabs a ski mask and tucks it in his pocket. Black socks and boots and a thick plastic watch are next before he moves toward picking out his ropes, chains, and cuffs.

“Very vanilla,” I whisper.

“I also have gags,” he says, dangling a ball gag. I’m sure he’s reminding me of my promise of silence. Next, he opens the drawer with the lollipops and lifts the bottom. Under it is a medicine drawer, from which Shark picks up a suturing kit with a curved needle.

“Do you think you’ll get hurt?” I ask.

“The kit isn’t for me.” He slams the drawer and looks up. I gasp at the emptiness in his gaze. Gone is the man I know who looks at me like I’m his only light, and in his place is the man I once met on the deck of the yacht. He’s devoid of emotions, of his entire personality.

“It’s best if you leave now,” he says.

“Okay, but Shark?—”

“Don’t call me that.”

Ouch. “What should I call you?”

“Nothing. I don’t have a name.”

An hour later, I’m upstairs in the living space next to the kitchen, thinking up all the things I want to say to him before he leaves, when I hear the unmistakable sound of a helicopter landing somewhere nearby. On the roof?

I walk outside and catch sight of two male figures moving down the hallway in the main house. I hurry to catch up with them. How in the world did Shark get past me when I’ve been babysitting the hatch the entire time?

Damn it, is there another exit? There’s another exit from his weapon depository, or he slipped past me somehow. Duh, this is a professional hitman we’re talking about here.

I rush into the house and hear boots hitting the steps upstairs. I’ve never been up there, but I’m climbing now. They’re so much faster, and I’m pregnant and have to take care I don’t slip, so I can’t really rush after them.

I call after him. “Shark! Wait up.”

The bootsteps pause, but then continue even faster.

“Shark!” I shout. I know he heard me, and he’s leaving without saying goodbye. But I have things I want to say to him. Like I want to tell him I love him and that I’ll marry him when he comes back from the mission. And I also want to tell him to say hi to Denver for me and tell my brother I’m okay and explain why I can’t see him even though I love him too. And my parents need to know I’m okay, and they need to know I’m sending love too.

I make it to the top and follow the chopper noise to a door at the end of the hallway. When I swing it open, Alessio is facing me and blocking my way. I try to move him, but that’s not gonna happen, and I’m too pregnant to squeeze past him, so I ball my hands into fists and hit him in the chest. Once, twice, three times.

The third time, he traps my hands by the wrists. I struggle against him as the chopper lifts off.

“Shark, you bastard. You can’t leave like this! You hear me? Shark! Shark! Miro! ”