Chapter 13 Fink
Fink
As Fink sat at the table, her words thrummed the strings of his heart. He couldn’t meet her eyes. He’d crumple and give in—to what? Whatever she wanted.
Which was the worst idea in the history of thoughts. He had to be strong. They had to part ways, and soon. It was what was best for both of them.
Keeping his attention on his plate, he settled into his chair.
Her question echoed in his brain. Would he leave?
He should.
AJ would expect him to. There was no logical reason to stay.
Did he want to?
He reached for the glass in front of him. Orange juice wasn’t really his preference, but she’d poured it, and the obligation hung over him. Besides, he had to bide some time and sort out how he should answer the question.
Fink was a lot of things. Calculated. Conniving. Cruel at times, but he didn’t lie. Sure, he omitted details occasionally, and evaded, but he never blatantly told falsehoods. He prided himself on that. This was something he didn’t want to start doing with Sydney.
With a mouth full of citrus, he had to sort out the best way to answer her question.
Would he leave?
Swallowing, he picked up a fork. “I don’t have a clue.”
A squeal of glee escaped her. She bopped in her chair as though doing a little dance. Her excitement was infectious.
He chuckled despite himself. It’d been a long time since someone had enjoyed his company. It was nice.
“Does the makeup come off, or is it a tattoo?” she asked before shoving a forkful of eggs into her mouth.
Before he could answer, she groaned like she had when he’d fucked her on Grant’s office couch. His dick twitched immediately.
Lolling her head a bit, she rolled her eyes back into their sockets.
He could’ve sworn he’d seen that look too.
Pride filled his chest.
Lifting her hand to cover her mouth as she chewed, she focused on him. “This is amazing. How did you… Where did you…? I don’t even understand how you made eggs taste like this.”
Stabbing at his plate, he beamed. “You have quite the spice cabinet. It was pretty easy.”
“I bought a spice rack when I moved in,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve touched anything other than salt and pepper.”
“You don’t cook?”
She shook her head. “Not much. Simple stuff. It’s just me. I don’t see the sense in preparing super fancy meals for myself. I eat whatever is quickest.”
He nodded. Together, they ate breakfast like any other couple would on a lazy Saturday morning. Fink shouldn’t be this comfortable in her space—with her. She was a liability. He wasn’t supposed to have those, but he couldn’t help feeling like he belonged there—with her.
Barely twelve hours had passed. He was out of his damn mind. If he got too cozy there, he might not want to leave. That wasn’t an option. He wasn’t the type of guy who could settle down.
Moving around kept him safe. He was supposed to be a ghost.
What did he think would happen? They would get a house with a white picket fence? She’d have two point four kids? They’d get a dog? This wasn’t the 1950s. He wasn’t someone who worked at the office. There would be no gold watch or pension when he retired.
That wasn’t the life Fink made for himself. He had forged a completely different path. When, and if, he ever retired, he wouldn’t be getting a place in the suburbs. Not that he knew what he’d do. He’d never thought of it before. Why was it on his mind now?
Conversation with Sydney came easily. She was bubbly and fun.
He wanted to talk to her, share things with her, but not too much.
Like his legal name. That could get him into trouble.
She couldn’t know intimate details about him, but yeah, he could tell her about how he learned to cook while his mom was slumped over, strung out on whatever.
Okay, maybe some details were best left unsaid.
After they’d finished, Sydney hopped to her feet and took the plates. “You cooked. The least I can do is clean.”
He chuckled and finished his glass of juice.
“In the meantime,” she said as she carried the dishes to the sink.
“You can shower if you like. I don’t think I have anything that will fit you, but you can at least get the blood and guts off you.
” She scrunched her nose. “Don’t be alarmed, but there’s some brain in your hair.
” She pointed toward his head. “Maybe throw your clothes in the washer too.”
Glancing down, Fink noted that his attire was stained with dried blood. How had he forgotten? Evidence was everywhere.
“I usually burn them,” he admitted, but she had a point. He had nothing to wear.
“Interesting,” she said from the kitchen and turned on the water. “I don’t have a fireplace.”
He was well aware. It was a requirement wherever he went after he completed a contract. In this instance, he intended to put distance between him and this place and stop at a ski lodge with quite the hearth. Unfortunately, things took a turn last night. He needed a new plan.
While Sydney wasn’t the skinniest woman in the world, her shoulders weren’t nearly as broad as his own. She had a flare to her hips, so maybe he could put on some of those flannel pajama pants, but he wasn’t sure they’d be the correct length. He had a few inches on her.
Dammit. He hadn’t considered that. Maybe he should reach out to AJ and get something delivered.
“Don’t your eyes hurt?” She broke into his thoughts.
Blinking self-consciously, he blew out a breath. They burned, but he’d used some eye drops to soothe them. “Not really.”
“I’m assuming you’ve got contacts.”
She’d be right.
“Either that or you got your eyes tattooed black. If you did, I have to know how badly it hurt and if it was scary.”
He chuckled. “They’re contacts.”
Fink had plenty of tattoos, but not on his eyeballs. Even the idea of it made him cringe.
“Do people do that?” he couldn’t help but ask.
“Oh yeah,” she said on a snicker. “Those people who want to be lizards or the ones who get horn dermals. They do. I’ve seen it on TV, but never in real life.”
He shook his head at the concept of longing to be a reptile. Perhaps there were people in this world who were more fucked up than him.
Nah.
They were just different.
Running his fingers along the chipping paint of his face, he sighed. He should wash up. It had gotten itchy, and he couldn’t walk around with evidence all over him. It’d been on far too long.
Another oversight. This woman made him lose his head. He had to get out of here sooner rather than later before he forgot how to do his damn job.
Plus, he was exhausted. A shower sounded really nice, though.
“I promise.” Once again, she invaded his thoughts with her singsong voice. “I won’t run away or call the cops.”
He cocked his head. That hadn’t even been a possibility in his mind.
Jesus Christ. Why was he acting like an amateur?
“I don’t consider myself your hostage or a kidnappee.”
He furrowed his brow. To be fair, he didn’t either, but where the hell was she going with this?
“One might say we’re accomplices at this point,” she asserted.
Once again, she spurred a laugh from him. He enjoyed how easily she got him to do so. “Oh yeah?”
She nodded while running a sponge over a plate. “Absolutely. Co-conspirator. Murder buddy. Whatever you want to call it. We’re in this together.”
Her words unleashed a flurry in his stomach. He wasn’t quite sure how to handle it. He grinned like a fool, enjoying her sentiment.
“Murder buddy?” he repeated softly.
The walls in her apartment were thinner than he would have liked. He hadn’t made out conversations from the other tenants, but he’d known they were bumping around. No one needed to hear about what they’d done. It was their secret.
“What would you call it?”
He hadn’t thought about it, but he liked the sound of murder buddy.