Chapter 5
Rowley
I will marry her.
The thought buzzes in my head like a mosquito, growing more and more insistent as I follow Prudence into the tiny, old-fashioned kitchen. She turns on the lights, revealing all the details that were hidden before, but I can’t pull my eyes away long enough to actually see the house.
All I see is her.
This girl is odd and also the most precious thing I’ve ever seen. Her hair is dark and messy, neither straight nor curly, but it has a nice shine. It’s also long enough to wrap around my fist, which wasn’t a factor just ten minutes before, but seems very important to note right now.
Her physique seems slight, though it’s hard to tell when it’s hidden under the long, baggy hoodie that ends around her thighs. Her legs clad in bright pink leggings are slim, and on her feet, she wears a pair of very fuzzy, purple socks. No slippers.
She’s adorable, and yet, I’m painfully aware I would have never given her the time of day if she hadn’t just saved my life.
Her face is heart-shaped and delicate, with small features and big, serious eyes.
She’s akin to a pixie, a girl who’s only halfway here and halfway in some other secret world.
I’ve never been drawn to girls like her, girls who hide in fictional worlds and confront the real one with wariness in their eyes.
I barely noticed them, truth be told, and when I did, it was to dismiss them right away.
My type is sexy, confident, firmly rooted in her body. A woman who lives fully and looks at men boldly.
Except, a type is just that. It’s shallow and not that important. In the end, all that matters is that this woman right here knows what I am, and she doesn’t recoil. It trumps all else.
The more I look at her, the more I like her, too. I adore the way her mouth keeps moving nervously. She fidgets a lot, like a scared little rabbit cowering in her cage.
For a brief, misguided moment, I imagine what it would feel like to pin her under my weight and just make her be still. She would still be nervous, still scared, but only her big eyes and that small, fidgeting mouth would reveal it.
Fuck. No. Stop thinking about it.
And yet, I can’t help it. The danger is over, at least for now. I expected to die or be taken, but I survived, and my body revels in it. I’m alive. I’m free. And here is a woman who saved my life, and I…
I will marry her. But first, I will fuck her.
Thud. The sound of a glass bottle being put on the table interrupts my infatuated thoughts. Prudence avoids my eyes as she takes two small cups from the cupboard and puts them next to the bottle. The house is warming fast, since the rooms are small, but it’s still cool in here.
“Is eggnog the only Christmassy thing you did this year?” I ask, taking the bottle to pour.
She gives me a fleeting look, the tops of her cheeks pinkened by a small blush.
“Grandpa always said eggnog is a must. We could forego a tree, Christmas dinner, or even presents, but there had to be eggnog. So I made some.”
She hugs one knee to her chest as she curls in the hard kitchen chair. She doesn’t even look up when I slide one cup over to her, and a sudden terrifying thought hits me.
What if she doesn’t want me back?
The vast distance between where we’re at suddenly gapes open, wider than the Grand Canyon. I am completely certain I’ll marry her and spend the rest of my life with her, because she’s the first and only woman who knows my filthy secret and hasn’t run.
But to her, I’m just a killer who threatened her with a knife. She can’t even look at me.
Fuck.
I have to do something.
Without thinking, I grab my glass of eggnog, gulp it down for courage, and sit down next to her.
She makes a squawky, alarmed sound when I pull her off her chair and into my lap.
She sits down heavily, floundering when she loses her balance, and I wrap my arms tight about her.
God, she feels nice. So compact and easy to hold. She won’t run away if I don’t let her.
“You’re still cold, aren’t you?” I ask, doing my best to smile playfully even though all I want is to pour my heart out. “Let me keep you warm.”
“What are you doing?” she squeaks, squirming in a feeble attempt to get away. Her ass slides deeper into my lap, and—yep, right there—things begin to grow.
“Stop fidgeting, baby,” I murmur, the endearment falling out of my mouth completely without a thought. “You just saved my life, and I’m going to pay you back.”
“By manhandling me?” she asks in a small, disbelieving voice. Her face is bright red, and she still won’t look at me even as her palm fists in my sweatshirt. Fuck, it feels nice when she touches me.
I laugh, drunk on being alive.
“You haven’t seen manhandling yet, but be good and I’ll show you. For now, I’ll pay you back by keeping you warm, fed, and happy. Come on, stop squirming. I like the way it feels a little too much.”
She freezes, and I nod once, allowing the memory of Gerard falling to his knees to surface. I see it clearly in my mind’s eye, how he clutched at his bleeding throat, how his eyes bulged. My half-boner deflates, and I release a deep breath. Prudence lifts her big, scared eyes to my face.
“You… But you… But I… Argh! What am I saying? What’s happening? I don’t understand!”
“Do you have to understand everything?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow.
“Yes! What are you doing?”
Her eyes are still locked on mine, and I revel in it. It feels so good to be seen when I know she sees all of me and isn’t afraid. I have an inkling she really isn’t used to being touched by a man, which is oddly thrilling.
I’ll get to show her everything. If I play it right.
“I’m holding you, and thanks to me, you’re no longer cold. Your lips were kinda blue before, now they are red. See? It’s good for you.”
Her eyes drop to my lips, and I have to rein in a sudden urge to kiss her. I want to, but she’s like a spooked animal, ready to bolt. This needs a light touch and more patience than I have.
“I just don’t get you,” she says, a bit calmer. “You’re weird, but I suppose it’s foolish to expect a killer to be normal, right?”
She doesn’t try to get away anymore, instead settling more comfortably in my lap. I almost groan from satisfaction, because it’s like two pieces of a puzzle clicking together. We fit.
I rush to tell her everything about myself. Now that I finally can be honest with another person, it’s like a compulsion.
“Actually, I live a fairly normal life outside of killing. I’m a junior environmental consultant in a small firm.
It’s your typical nine-to-five job, though I spend most of my time in the field.
I have a brother who lives in Taiwan. I fly over to see him every two years or so.
Let’s see, what else? My dad passed away, and I went no-contact with my mother.
She’s a narcissist. As for the killing, I’m actually moving toward retirement.
I used to do five, six jobs a year, but tonight was only my second this year. It will be the last if I survive this.”
I watch her face with fascination as I speak. I’ve never been this open about myself, and as an expression of disgust and terror fails to appear on her face, my blood flows south again. Dammit.
While I try to mentally deflate my growing erection, she chews on her bottom lip, watching me with those big, curious eyes. “Wait. You said… five, six jobs a year? Are you a contract killer? How many people have you killed?”
There isn’t a trace of judgment in her voice. I stop wrangling with my arousal, because it’s a losing battle.
“Gerard was number seventeen. And yes, I kill for money. Everything I earned is hidden away in untraceable offshore accounts.”
I’ve never been able to boast about this, and finally saying it out loud makes me feel all warm and smug. Her big eyes grow even bigger as she stares at me.
“You seem very proud of that,” she finally says.
“Course I am. Come on, I’m a self-made wealthy man at twenty-nine. That’s objectively impressive.”
She shakes her head slowly, squinting at me with doubt.
“But you kill people. You’re a wealthy killer.
” She enunciates every word slowly like I’m a dimwit.
“And you can’t spend that money, can you?
You’d have to, I don’t know, launder it.
And… wait. Did you say you killed seventeen people?
How come you haven’t been caught? Because judging by your performance tonight, you’re not very good at this. ”
I almost blurt out I love you. Almost. Only because I manage to bite my tongue do those words remain unsaid.
But I mean them. This woman is utterly mesmerizing. Her brain works in ways so far outside the norm, and she doesn’t even realize that.
I had only one long-term relationship in the past, and it was serious enough that I considered telling my girlfriend the truth about me before I proposed.
For months, I would ponder how to broach the topic of my second job.
I spent hours analyzing each scenario. Finally, I decided to break up with her.
Because the only logical reaction from her would be complete disgust and horror.
That was when I accepted I could never be completely honest with a woman. Even if I married and had children one day, neither she nor them would ever learn the full truth about me. The perspective of living in deception until I died made me stop dating entirely.
I was certain there wasn’t a woman in existence who would accept me. Or so I thought.
Prudence doesn’t scream or look at me with fear.
She doesn’t condemn me. Instead, her mind turns to practical matters, like money laundering.
My imagination explodes with visions of the future in which she is by my side, helping me set up the right sort of business and criticizing me if I plan to do something stupid.
She would do that, too. She’s not afraid of speaking her mind.
“Today is an anomaly,” I say with a grimace, because she’s right.
I made a mess of things. “I watched the target for a week to learn his routine. He’s in the middle of a divorce and all the information I gathered pointed at him being alone tonight.
It was perfect, too. He had no meetings scheduled until after New Year’s.
If I got lucky, no one would have discovered he was missing for over a week.
He doesn’t have children and keeps to himself. His work is his life.”
Prudence lets go of my sweatshirt and shifts in my lap until she can watch me comfortably without twisting her neck. My heart gives a painful thud. God. Any other woman would have run away.
“But he wasn’t alone,” she says, eyes narrowed like she’s trying to understand what happened.
I shake my head. “A woman was there. Probably a lover. She saw me, and I… Well, it’s shameful.
I panicked. I’ve never killed anyone I wasn’t paid to assassinate.
She just stood there, staring at me, and I knew I had to kill her or at least tie her up to make my escape, but I couldn’t. So I left. And she called the cops.”
Prudence hums, her eyes far away like she’s lost in thought. I shiver hard when her fingers brush my nape. She flinches and pulls her hand away with a startled look.
“Sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”
“Touch me all you want.” I cringe when I hear how needy it comes out, practically begging her.
When she recoils, looking at me with wide, confused eyes, I force myself to stay calm even as I tell her the painful truth.
“Look, I… I never got to talk about this. Nobody knows what I do. It’s been horribly lonely, you know? And now suddenly, you’re here, and you’re not running away. You lied to the cops to save me, and I know it’s sick, but I want to tell you everything.”
She considers me for a moment, then nods warily.
“That’s actually great, because I have a ton of questions to ask you. For example, did you wet your bed when you were young?”