Chapter Four— Jamie
I turned around and squinted at the man standing in the doorway.
The light, what little there was from the window, caught the angles of his face, sharpening them.
It took me a second to figure out who he was, but then it hit me—this was the dude from last night.
The one who’d been in the middle of that bloodbath at the warehouse.
Today he wasn’t in a suit, just black jeans and a black shirt.
An expensive pair of frames on his face, making him look like someone who reconciles spreadsheets and has a favorite brand of oat milk.
Not the guy who, twelve hours ago, was rearranging someone’s skeleton like it was a minor inconvenience.
I sighed, long and heavy. This was just my fucking luck. I had literally just been cutting through the abandoned building so I wouldn’t have to walk the long way around. Of course, trouble would find me. It always did.
"That you, Jamie?" Momma Graham called from her room, her voice frail.
Fuck.
My heart sat somewhere in my stomach
Fuck! I'd gotten sloppy.
After what I saw last night, I should've laid low. Now I'd dragged a killer straight to the only safe place I had left. Momma Graham had taken me in when the streets tried to eat me alive.
She didn't deserve this.
The man pulled out a Glock 17, holding it casually at his side.
I knew that gun.
I knew exactly what its rounds could do to the body. I had one in my purse; on the coffee table he was closer to.
He wasn't pointing it at me.
Not yet.
His eyes...
They weren't cold like most killers. That gave me a bit of relief.
They were haunted though.
He looked towards the closed bedroom door.
"Have a seat," I said, keeping my voice steady.
I turned back to the groceries, my hands shaking just enough to rattle the plastic bags.
I was scared, but not for me.
For her.
“She's bedridden. Ain't no need for you to go bothering an old lady."
He didn't move.
Just stared.
I kept talking at the same time I was thinking about how to get out of this situation alive.
"You here to kill me? Or just make sure I don't run to the cops? 'Cause I ain't seen shit. Really."
"I was sent to kill you," he said flatly.
Like it was nothing.
Just business.
The words landed like ice in my gut.
I'd grown up around this life. Still, hearing your death sentence spoken so casually fucked with your head.
"Any chance I can change your mind?"
I softened my voice to that sweet honey tone men always fell for.
I let my eyes linger on him.
He was fine as hell—tats, sharp jawline, full lips, dark, intense eyes, brooding in a way that made stupid women weak.
I could work with that.
Fuck him.
Kill him later if I had to.
Desperate times…
I spread my arms out, posing for him
The black shorts and shirt I was wearing clung to my every curve, my full breasts straining against the thin fabric.
I had wide hips and thick thighs that had saved my ass more times than I could count.
I knew what I looked like.
I was gorgeous.
I'd weaponized this body my whole life.
Men wanted to fuck it, own it, ruin it.
Tonight I was counting on that stupidity, that weakness, to keep me breathing.
I'd let him have it—let him bend me over this counter, spread me open, choke me on his dick, whatever the fuck he needed—if it bought me time to get the upper hand.
His eyes widened, and he took a step back.
Physically restraining himself.
"Who are you?" he whispered, his voice rough and low.
"An unfortunate soul who's always standing too close to death," I replied lightly, even as my pulse hammered.
"Where are you from?"
"Everywhere and nowhere."
His eyes narrowed dangerously.
He moved like lightning.
One second he was across the room.
The next, he was on me.
His thick bicep locked around my throat in a brutal sleeper hold. It was weird at a time like this I noticed how good he smelled.
I clawed at his arm, nails digging deep into his flesh, kicking and twisting with everything I had.
Nothing worked.
He was immovable.
The room spun.
My lungs burned like fire.
Black spots exploded across my vision.
"Jamie? Jamie, you okay out there?"
Momma Graham's voice drifted from her room, faint and terrified.
My chest tightened with guilt.
I'd brought the boogeyman to her door.
The only person who'd ever loved me without conditions...
Without wanting something in return.
I kicked. I scratched.
The only thing I didn’t do was scream. I didn’t want Mrs. Grahm hurt trying to save me.
I tried to fight harder.
But the darkness swallowed me whole.
And the last thing I heard was her worried call fading into nothing.