15. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
LYNX
By the time I wheel into the driveway of my house, there’s a hole burned clean through the side of my face from Harlow’s blistering glare.
She’s pissed. Can’t say I blame her. Losing all sense of control would drive me off the deep end as well.
“Here we are,” I tell her, parking in my usual spot and cutting the engine.
Her face is practically plastered to the windshield when she says in disbelief, “This is your house?”
While she’s admiring the fine stone and woodwork, I’m admiring her.
She glances at me, a curious glimmer in her eyes.
“I suppose being a hitman comes with its perks, huh?”
“Did you think I live in a cave?”
She shrugs. “Not exactly. I guess I just imagined it would be … colder. Darker. More like what a vampire would live in or something. Not …” She gestures at the front of my home, the wood accents lit by warm exterior lights that cast a soft glow downward on the natural stone walls. “This.”
“You’re comparing me to a fictional monster that drinks human blood?”
She scoffs and flips her hair over her shoulder. “There’s no comparison. You’re much worse.”
“Well, thankfully, vampires don’t exist. This monster, on the other hand, is very much real.”
Her tone is lower when she says, “I guess the worst monsters are the ones who hide in plain daylight, huh?”
Something about her words causes a knot to form in my gut. Without thought, my hand finds her fishnet-clad thigh. I give it a gentle squeeze and she flinches, staring at me while something flickers behind her pretty caramel irises. A memory, perhaps.
I wonder what it might be but don’t ask. I get the sense she’s not going to tell me anyway.
Frustrated that I can’t seem to keep my urges in check around this girl, I retreat to my side of the truck.
“Let’s set some ground rules before we go inside.”
She rolls her eyes. “In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t do so well with rules.”
I shake my head. “You’ll abide by them while you’re a guest under my roof.”
She narrows her eyes. “A guest,” she deadpans. “I think the correct term is captive.”
I flash her a sardonic smile. “Sure. Captive. Anyway … Rules. First, don’t bother trying to escape. My house is locked down like Fort Knox. Second, anything you need, you just say so and I’ll make sure you get it. Third, try to kill me in my sleep, and you’ll regret it.”
She folds her arms over her chest. “You mean kind of like how I’m regretting ever meeting you?”
“You don’t regret meeting me. You regret how we met.”
“Pfft. Whatever you say, captor.”
“Fourth, you need to eat something. You look like hell.”
“I’m fine,” she grumbles.
“You’re not fine. You’re exhausted and strung out and you’ve lost weight. The stale oatmeal you’ve been eating from the back of your cupboard isn’t cutting it.”
She narrows her eyes on me. “How do you know that’s what I’ve been eating?”
I get the sense she’ll panic if I tell her I’ve installed cameras throughout her apartment and have been watching her from a distance, so I ignore her question and direct the conversation forward.
“You need to get some rest too.”
“I’ll rest when I’m dead.” She flashes me a dazzling smile. “Or better yet, when you’re dead.”
“Unfortunately for you, neither of those are happening anytime soon.”
She cocks a brow. “I see you’re still procrastinating.”
“I wouldn’t call it that.”
“Then what would you call it?”
I consider my response before settling on, “Practicing due diligence.”
Her face contorts into a puzzled frown when I hop out of the truck and round the hood to her side, opening the door for her. She glares down her nose at me, her seat belt still clipped and my jacket still covering her body.
“How do I know you’re not planning to hack me up into bits in your basement?”
“Christ, woman. If I wanted to dismember you, I wouldn’t do it in my own home.”
She mulls that over for a moment before snipping out, “Fine. But if you do, I’ll come back to haunt you, even if I’m missing a few limbs. I hold grudges like mothers hold their newborn babies.”
“I’m sure you do.” I reach over her, pausing when she flinches. I hate when she does that. “Relax, pretty girl. Just unbuckling your seat belt.”
She exhales a soft breath and clutches my jacket in her fingers while I unfasten her belt and take a step back, offering her a hand down.
“I can do it myself,” she snips, tossing my jacket at me.
I catch it and watch in amusement as she awkwardly climbs out of my truck in her stripper heels and skimpy leather outfit.
Once her feet are planted on the ground, I drape my coat over her shoulders, close her door, and lead her by the arm to the side entrance. She looms behind me, peering over my arm as I punch the code into the lock, open the door, and disarm the system. Then she steps in beside me.
I don’t miss the spark of mischief in her eyes.
“The code runs on intervals and changes every hour. So don’t even bother trying.”
She rolls her eyes and turns to inspect the small foyer we’re in. When her gaze lands on the painting of a nearby cliff hung on one wall, she pauses and pulls my jacket closed at her chest.
“I know that place,” she says quietly, almost as if to herself. “I’ve been there before, I think.”
Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I study her carefully. The expression on her face. The way her throat bobs when she swallows. The pointed tip of her delicate nose. The two lines between her brows. Her fucking hairline.
Everything about her is fascinating.
Sensing she’s being watched, she peeks up at me.
My heart skips a beat the same way it does every time we lock eyes.
Slowly, so I don’t startle her, I reach up and run my thumb across her plump bottom lip.
“Tell me, Harlow Kraemer. How does a pretty young woman such as yourself, with the entire world at her feet, come not to fear death?”
Her mouth parts, her jaw slack as she leans into my touch.
“What’s to fear?” she asks in a tone far too calm. “We all face death eventually. For some of us, it’s not just the end of life. It’s the end of a hell we desperately wish to escape. A release from the chains we’ve been shackled to since we were born.”
“You want to die,” I say somberly, my chest tight with an emotion I’m not ready to label. “Why?”
Her eyes become glassy and round.
“The reason is simple. Because I have nothing to live for. And I never will.”
I spend the next hour giving Harlow a tour of my home. Thankfully, she doesn’t protest when I show her the master bedroom and tell her that’s where she’ll be sleeping until I can figure out how to handle the mess I’ve gotten myself into.
I admitted to Severo that I’m delaying the job. But if he knew I’m full-blown protecting the girl I’m supposed to be taking the life of, he’d lose his ever-loving shit.
Which is exactly why I’ve formulated a plan to ensure by the time he finds out about this, whoever wants Harlow dead will be six feet under.
It’ll be messy, sure. But that’s the nature of the business.
Taking a seat at the desk in my office, I grab the remote and power up the monitors hanging on the wall. Several images of my house, both inside and out, blink to life.
I flip through them until I find the one I want—the master bedroom—finding it vacant with the door wide open.
Which means Harlow is roaming around freely in my home. I wonder briefly if she’s scared but stomp that thought down as quickly as it arrives because she doesn’t seem to fear a whole hell of a lot.
Curious as to her whereabouts, I start flipping through the rooms, my gaze obsessively fixated on the screens as I search for the girl who’s doing my head in.
“Quite the setup you’ve got there,” she says coolly from the doorway of my office.
I spin in my chair and take her in.
She’s leaning casually against the trim, her arms folded across her chest and her long, silky hair tied up in a high ponytail with a few loose tendrils framing her bare face and showcasing the faint smattering of freckles across her cheeks.
Swamping her body is a pair of my gray sweatpants and a hoodie she must’ve dug out from my closet.
The sight of her in my clothing makes my dick twitch.
“Tell me, Lynx, do you plan on watching me get dressed? Because if so, I’ll happily set that alarm system off and wake the entire town. I’m sure your neighbors would be absolutely shocked to find they have a killer living right next door. Or do you prefer hitman?”
She cocks a brow and waits for me to respond.
I don’t bother gracing her with an answer.
Instead, I set the remote down on my desk and saunter over to her.
“I see you’ve made yourself at home,” I drawl, flicking my gaze over her body.
“Well, I wasn’t about to lounge around in a leather bikini for god knows how long, was I?”
“I suppose not.”
“Which leads me to my next question. My stuff.”
“Stuff?”
“Clothing. Toiletries. Lady products. Birth control. You know … stuff.”
My jaw ticks at the mention of birth control. Is she sexually active? She must be if she’s taking birth control.
I stamp down the urge to ask her for the names of all her ex-lovers and respond tightly, “We’ll get your stuff tomorrow.”
She stabs me in the chest with a pink-painted fingernail.
“If I miss even a single pill, I’ll have my period by morning.
And since you don’t have any feminine hygiene products kicking around your man cave, that means I’ll be bleeding all over your expensive bedding.
Plus, I know how men are about period blood. ”
I angle my head at her, signaling for her to elaborate.
“Oh for crying out loud.” She throws her arms in the air. “Don’t pretend you aren’t grossed out by it.”
“It’s just blood, Harlow. Any man who’s grossed out by a woman’s menstrual cycle isn’t a man at all.”
“It’s not just blood. It’s tissue and gunk and stuff. Even I’m grossed out by it and it’s my own body.”
“Have you forgotten what I do for a living, pretty girl?”
She blinks. “No.”
“Then you’ll remember that blood doesn’t exactly make me squeamish. And don’t worry about my bedding. I have plenty of spare sheets.”
Her expression falls flat. “I still want my stuff.”
“I know. And we’ll get it. Tomorrow.”
She releases a frustrated growl that’s about as scary as a kitten, spins on a heel, and stomps off down the hall.
I hear the bedroom door slam shut a moment later.
It’s followed swiftly by the smell of smoke.