Chapter Five
Selena
I ris hasn't said a word to me. She hasn't even looked my way. I spend my time anxiously tugging at my clothes, glancing at the shadow-door, then the walls with their art, then my hands with my patiently painted pink nails. They're so clean. It's easy to forget they clutched a gun hours ago, ready to blow a hole through a man.
And I didn't get to.
"Hey," Iris whispers.
I look up; she's staring at her phone, talking into her fist. "Huh?" I ask.
"Shh," she hisses. "There's a camera in here watching us. Jamison doesn't want us chatting, but he can't see my lips moving. Look down, talk into your shoulder."
A camera? Resisting the urge to scan for it I do as she says. "Okay."
"I wanted to ask you something."
"What?" I ask, amused that we're chatting without looking at each other.
"Are you dressed up as Perona?"
I blink in surprise. "Yeah. You could tell without the crown?"
Her laugh is more like a snort. "I'm a big One Piece fan."
"It's a great anime," I say.
"Yeah. I like goofy stuff. Not a fan of the gory violence that's everywhere lately."
"Same," I whisper.
The door opens, Jamison exiting in one stride of his long legs. His eyes jump to me; I sit up straighter, as if he put a warm hand on my throat. It's easy to remember what that feels like. "We need to talk about payment," he says. Iris perks up, eyeballing me with fresh curiosity.
"Payment?" I ask. Rising from the couch, I start to approach him, but he crosses the room, looming over me. I startle, bumping into the couch with my ankles, falling back down onto it.
Jamison leans close, arms folded behind his back; he's hiding something. "You want my help, it comes with a price."
I glance at Iris.
"She knows what I am," he says flatly. "She's the face of the business, the wall between myself and the other hit men."
"How many of you are there?" I ask in wonder.
"In our syndicate, or in the city?" Iris laughs into her hand.
My mouth dries out. "There are other groups like yours?"
"The only hit man you have to think about is me," he whispers.
"Jamison," Iris says, "this is all twisted up. Clients aren't supposed to see you... like, ever."
"I know." His eyes narrow on me. "She knows, too."
"Okay but does she know know?" Iris drags the words out. She keeps watching me with a level of concern that makes my heart race differently than it was for Jamison.
"Don't worry," I say. "I'm not afraid."
"Uh, you should be," she laughs nervously. "Jamison murders people for a living. The only person more psycho than him is his partner." Her brow knots together. "Was he okay with this?"
"Is that who you were talking to in there?" I ask.
"We're getting off track," Jamison grunts. He holds out one of his hands; a piece of paper, no bigger than a note card, lies flat on his palm. On top of it is a black pen. "This is the contract to hire me to put a hit out. The cost is twenty grand."
My throat grows dry, it makes my giggle sound dusty and fractured. "You're kidding."
"If you don't have the money, then there's another option," he says softly. From the corner of my eye I see Iris squirming. I try not to look at her, I fight to keep my attention solely on Jamison. His angular features... his polished mahogany eyes... are all I see.
His other arm folds out from behind his back. The gun—my gun—looks dull under the ceiling lights, like a car left to rust in an abandoned lot. Something ancient and unloved. Something you never want to look at again.
"Selena," he says thickly. He makes sure I'm listening. Of course I am. I can't stop now. "The contract, or a bullet."
"You'd shoot me." My voice is hollow.
"You'd shoot yourself," he explains patiently. "Suicide."
"I'd never," I snarl. The very idea fills me with enough anger that I stand from the couch; Jamison doesn't budge, but he squints, like I'm fascinating. "Killing myself is something I'll never do. Ever."
"If I have to pull the trigger, I will." Has he always sounded this brutal? Did I delude myself in the short time I've known him into thinking he was human? What a foolish thing to do.
Making fists, I shake my head side to side. "You'd make it look like a suicide, then the cops won't come after you."
"Jamison," Iris says weakly.
He sends her a side-eye and she wilts. "What will it be, Selena?"
"You're not giving me much choice."
"More than I've ever given anyone in your position."
"That's not comforting."
His fingers close around the hilt of the gun. I remember how easily he took it from me in the hotel. I still can't believe that he appeared there, interrupting my revenge, putting me into this situation. Jamison entered my life like a malignant cancer, and as such, I'll be killed by him sooner or later.
Might as well make it on my terms.
"I can't sign your contract," I say.
Jamison's eyes widen; he clutches the paper, creating creases in its perfect surface. "What?"
"It says you'll be doing the hit. That's not what I want. I have to be the one who kills him. I think I deserve that much, considering what you already took from me."
Iris is back to gawking. I have an idea she's never seen anyone challenge Jamison like this.
The hit man has gone quiet, considering my question... or silently wishing me dead. Probably both. He eyes Iris uneasily; that, I don't understand. "Don't discuss finished contracts," he says under his breath. "You can't be so casual with the work I do."
"But you said Iris knows everything."
He glowers, hunching closer—his breath tickles my cheek. "If you're going to battle me on every little thing, this won't work."
"I need to be the one who does it," I insist. "I can pay the twenty grand. Do we have a deal?" I ask, reaching for the pen.
Jamison drops it and the paper before I touch them; his fingers clutch my wrist, forcing my palm upward. He presses the gun into my skin and I gasp, recoiling from the cold metal. My reaction is instant—I can't control it. He watches me intently, taking in every small change in my features, my breathing, my pulse. "You don't have the heart for murder. We both know it."
Before I can stop the urge, I kick at his left knee. He swings easily out of reach. He continues the movement agilely, taking me to the tiled floor, pinning me on my stomach. His shoe crunches something by my hand—the pen. Wet ink tickles my skin.
Iris gasps. He's pushing the muzzle of the gun into the side of my head. "Your overconfidence will put you in a grave," he says darkly.
I can't see him, I can only see the underside of the front desk. Iris's chair is shifting, I think she's stood up, but she isn't coming to help. No one is.
I'm the only one who can get me what I want.
A white object blurs on the floor in front of me.
"Maybe I was wrong," he says above me. "Thinking about it now, letting you hire me was foolish. You can't follow directions, you can't control yourself. It's a waste."
It's not a waste... I won't let what happened to her go unanswered.
My fingers are numb, they can barely drag through the ink.
Everyone thinks I'm weak.
I scrape my nails blindly.
That's why she didn't ask me for help... why she handled everything alone.
Jamison said he'd help me. I know that comes with strings attached.
If it means getting my revenge?
I'll choke myself on those strings.
"Here," I wheeze. "I signed it."
Jamison eases the pressure of the gun on my skull. "What?"
Lifting the contract, I move it like a flag of surrender. Except it feels like a sign of victory... like I'm the one conquering him. The way he shoves off of me, clutching the paper, gaping at it with his mouth twisted up, floods me with satisfaction. "This..." he whispers. "I don't agree to your terms."
"I'll drain my bank account," I say, sitting up cross legged. I brush my hair from my face, knowing I'm leaving streaks of ink; my fingers are stained black. "And you'll make sure I'm the one draining every last speck of life from Caruso's body."
Iris muffles her surprised laugh. Her entire body is shaking from how entertained she is. Jamison doesn't look amused. He looks like he wants to use the gun on me for real.
"Iris," a voice says from the corner. I can't see inside, but at some point, the shadow door opened. "Make the contract official."
"I refuse!" Jamison snarls.
The mystery figure laughs gruffly. "A signed contract is unbreakable. Give her what she wants, it's done."
Iris takes the contract from Jamison, who holds it a second longer, not wanting to hand it over. I can see my sloppy excuse for a signature covering half the words. My feeble attempt to write I get to kill Caruso.
Jamison glares as he towers over me. I'm on the floor at his feet, broke and dirty and drained.
But we both know I've won.