Chapter Six
“So, what was the point of playing doctor?” Manny asks as I reappear from the stairwell, locking the door behind me. “Seems a little…ironic.” He bites down into an apple as he says the words, leaning against my kitchen counter. His hair is blacker than mine, but his eyes are much lighter, taking on a shade of blue, while mine are dark with streaks of gold.
I pull my mask back over my head and drop it onto the counter. I don’t have a good answer for him, so I don’t bother saying anything. I shouldn’t give a shit if her feet get infected from the fact that she ran into the mess she made on the sidewalk—and I don’t care, but I still cleaned her up and left her feet unbound. For whatever reason.
The same reason she’s in my basement right now.
“You sweet on her after getting your fingers wet?” Manny bursts into laughter, tossing his apple into the trash can, half eaten. “If you are, I can fix that. Give me thirty minutes with her, and you won’t be able to touch her without getting my cum on you. Maybe it won’t feel like such a love affair then.”
Inwardly, I recoil at the thought of him touching her, but outwardly, I remain unbothered. “Go for it.”
“Maybe later. I have shit to do today.” He runs his fingers along his light wash jeans. Manny is as big as me with similar Italian roots, and if we had to go head-to-head it would be a close match—though I’d like to think I’d win. His ego catches him more often than not. “Have you talked to Henry?”
Shit.
“No, I haven’t,” I answer him, my eyes drifting back to the basement door. “Are they back in California now? Or did they settle in Oregon?”
“Jude said they’re staying in California for a while. You know Henry’s gone soft, right? That bitch did it to him.”
“Henry’s always been too soft,” I chuckle. My best friend—or whatever you want to call him—is wicked and sick in his own way, but then he met Lydia…and that was it. Now they’re playing house with her funny looking dog.
I glance over at my own canine, Major, sleeping like a fucking rock on his dog bed in the corner. The black Malinois was a gift from my father six and a half years ago, and though I hadn’t been thrilled with him at the time. He’s like the kid I never wanted, and now I’m glad to have.
“You’re off your game, Luca.” Manny’s words draw me out of my thoughts. “Ever since you got back from Georgia with the tramp. What’s going on with you? The fact you finger blasted her or—?”
Once again, I internally bristle. “I’ll work it out.” He shouldn’t be annoying me to this extent. I shouldn’t be so…bothered. I’ve taken a hostage before—when it was asked of me. I’ve never taken one on my own accord, however. It’s not my style.
“Maybe you should start by getting laid? And maybe use someone other than the ginger in the basement? I think she’s getting under the devil’s skin.”
I blink twice, trying to pull myself from my thoughts. “Maybe. You gonna stay here and babysit?”
“Call Jude.”
“No way,” I tell him, shaking my head. “The last thing I need is to hear Jude’s good guy talks about how you shouldn’t kidnap and torture someone you’re supposed to kill. He’s not into cruelty.”
“Yet his business partner stalks and slits throats.”
“To each their own,” I breathe out, lingering there in the kitchen. Really, I want to go back down to the basement and pick at Emma a little more. I want to know why she suddenly talks so damn much—and why someone wants her dead. She’s seemingly harmless, but again, I shouldn’t care.
“We can’t take another job until you’re done with her,” Manny comments, grabbing his phone from the gray granite countertop and sliding it into his pocket. “So, this is like a vacation for me. Take your time. We have a month. You know I’ve always wanted to spread this shit out. It gives me a break instead of spending twenty-four-seven digging for intel.”
“You’re going to have to keep an eye on all of this.” I fold my arms across my chest. “Someone will notice she’s gone—not to mention the man behind the computer is going to notice we haven’t finished.”
“The big man, shot-caller,” Manny jokes, rolling his eyes. “Too fucking scared of his contractors to show his face, but ballsy enough to let them try to kill each other.”
“Yeah, well you can’t live our life and not eventually have a target on your back. It’s just part of the job.”
“Especially for you.”
“Because I knowthe man behind the computer—whoever the fuck he is—hates me,” I grunt. “That’s why we have to make sure we don’t cut this too close to the deadline. It could end with trouble, and as much as I like trouble, I don’t feel like playing Kill Bill with the Big Man right now.”
Manny chuckles. “Yeah, I gotta agree with you there. Nothing like wannabe Craigslist-ninjas coming through your window in the middle of the night, but lucky for us we don’t have to worry about that here.”
I nod, slipping past him to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. As I pull it out, my stomach flips. I should take Emma water. She probably needs food, too. I glance over my shoulder at Manny, not really wanting to play hospitable kidnapper in front of him. I’m on edge, and maybe the answer is to just take care of her.
“I’m gonna head out. I don’t wanna stay out here in BFE when there’s a party going on at The Den.”
“Yeah, have fun with that,” I quip, thinking of the strip club he frequents. It’s exclusive and VIP only, but it’s still seedy—and Ivan will be there. “I need to stay here.”
“Enjoy her.” My partner pats my shoulder. “But save some for me.”
My fists clench at my sides. I never share anything with anyone. Not even my partner, but…Am I growing too attached to Emma? Or is it the innate need I have to transfix on my target until they’re dead? Because once the light in her eyes is gone, there are no more secrets. No more fun. Just another successful job done and on to the next.
My hand relaxes and I grab a second bottle of water. I set it on the table, crack open mine, and down the contents. I don’t want her to see my face. It’s too fucking personal. I’ve never shown my face to a victim, just like I’ve never shown the monster inside of me to anyone without it.
I put my mask back on, toss my water into the trash, and grab the unopened bottle. The last hostage—and first—was a high-end jewelry retailer. I kept him for seven days while his wife paid up a big ransom amount, and then I dropped him off in downtown LA in the middle of the night.
Oh, and then I shot him down by Skid Row. The police went round and round, and watching it play out was like watching a movie. That’s what it’s like to be untouchable—well, mostly untouchable. No one is ever truly untouchable, but we have a lot of connections.
I make my way through the walk-in pantry. On the far back wall is the door to the basement. However, to the naked eye, you wouldn’t know it. It’s shelved like all the rest. I set it up that way when I built this place. I don’t spend all my time here, having a beachside mansion not far from Henry’s place on the coast, but this is where I go when I’m either on the list to die, or just don’t want to deal with anyone.
Punching in the code, I creak the door open, staring down into the dimly lit stairwell. The water bottle sweats in my hand, and apprehension pulls at my gut—and my cock. Yet again, I’m fucking annoyed. Maybe it’s not Manny. Maybe it’s just me.
My gaze lands on Emma, my eyes able to freely rake down her body without her knowing that I’m drinking every inch of her in. Her head hangs, her wild hair covering her face. She once again appears like the broken, miserable Emma—the one I thought would just lay down and die. She doesn’t look up as I step toward her.
Is she sleeping? Or did she die?
I really don’t trust myself with chloroform, and no one should. The shit either does nothing, or damn near kills whoever breathes it in—or leaves them with so many medical issues they might as well be dead.
It would be easier if she was dead…
I almost feel relieved at the thought.
Emma lets out a sigh that startles me and I straighten up. I approach her, taking in her rumpled T-shirt and shoulders pinned back at what must be a painful angle. I consider just letting her loose. She can’t get out of here, and then she would be able to change positions…
“Why are you just standing there?” Emma’s voice cuts through the air, groggy and fatigued.
I raise my brows, letting out a sharp breath, but I don’t give her an answer. She’s trying to get under my skin, and while I might have some inner shitstorm going on, Emma won’t get what she wants out of me.
I close the distance between us and pop the seal on the water bottle. She whips her head up, her eyes red and puffy. She blinks her eyes up at me, and parts her lips, like she might say something. But she doesn’t, her eyes dropping to the water in my hands.
“Here,” I mutter, removing the lid and holding it out to her. “Open up.”
“Can’t you just let me drink my own fucking water?” Emma sneers, her blue eyes laced with an iciness that causes me to smile beneath the mask.
“I could,” I say wryly. “But you could also open your mouth like a good girl.”
“No thanks. Not for you.”
I laugh. “Oh? Then who would you do it for, Little Red? Jared? Would you let him tie you up and take—”
“Shut up,” she cuts me off, a new sharpness to her tone. Once again, she proves her weak spot is her estranged, clingy husband, but I don’t think that’s the whole story.
“I guess I could not give you water.” I shrug, turning to go, but then change my mind. Instead, I grab another chair from the small table in the corner and set it directly in front of Emma.
She eyes me with weary caution as I take a seat, sitting so close to her that her bare knees brush the fabric of my jeans. She shivers—or maybe it’s more of a shudder—but I still smile at the reaction.
“You just going to sit there and stare at me?” Emma cocks her head, her mascara streaked beneath her wild eyes and full lips in a flat line.
“Depends.”
She narrows her gaze. “On what?”
“On whether or not you’ll open your mouth for me.”