Chapter Twelve
“Oh shit,” I rasp, catching Emma as she loses consciousness. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” She’s limp in my arms, and my body reacts in a strange way, my pulse hammering in my ears. “Emma,” I draw out, shaking her as I sweep her up into my arms. “Wake up.”
But she doesn’t.
“Let’s go,” I bark back to Major, and he picks up his pace beside me, wagging his tail like it’s just another game of chase. I knew there was a chance she’d bust the window. I knew there was a chance she’d slip out, but I didn’t think she had the guts. It was a pleasant surprise to see her on the cameras, my phone chirping with the notification…. But this isn’t the ending I had in mind. Maybe killing her, finally, but not me carrying her unconscious body back to the house with worry in my head.
I kick the front door open and step inside, closing it after Major trots in. It locks automatically and I head for the basement, moving quickly through the house. Emma begins to stir in my arms, but by the time her eyes flutter open, I’m already laying her on the daybed.
I don’t want her to die from a medical condition—if that’s what this is. And why wouldn’t I know she has one? Manny puts together extensive information on our targets, and we always violate HIPPA laws. What the hell is wrong with her? And why the fuck do I even care?
Grabbing the chain cuff, I lift it, hovering over her ankle. I should put it on her. I should beat her skull in with it for running, but I’m too hung up on what’s wrong with her.
Water. I should get her water.
“If you run, I’ll kill you,” I tell her, though my voice sounds abnormally quiet.
“Guard her,” I tell Major, who followed us down the stairs. He happily obliges but chooses to jump up on the bed and lay down beside her. I watch him for a moment, wondering if he can sense something I can’t.
Probably. She’s probably about to fucking die or something.
I race up the stairs and go straight to the fridge, pulling out multiple bottles of water. I could get an IV and hydrate her that way, but it would take hours to have someone here.
Fuck. I load my arms with water and grab a few protein bars. I don’t know what the woman needs—and I don’t know why I care. If she dies, she dies. Good riddance. But my body betrays my mind, trotting back to the basement.
“Off,” I command Major.
He doesn’t listen.
“OFF,” I growl at him.
He scoots closer to Emma, resting his head on her arm. I get closer, and as I do, I see that her eyes are open, staring blankly at the ceiling. It’s the same deadpanned expression she had back at her house, the one that perplexed me and drew me in.
I swallow hard, not sure what to expect from her. “Here,” I say, holding a bottle of water out to her. “You said you need water.”
“Why won’t you just kill me?” Her voice is blank, dead, and confusing as fuck. “Why?” She turns her head to me, her eyes dull and red.
I don’t know. I want to shout at her, shake her senseless, and then kiss every fucking inch of her body. It’s the most confusing, infuriating feeling I’ve ever felt.
“Coward,” she whispers.
Coward. My face grows hot beneath my mask. I want to rip it off, so I can breathe, but the light of the stairwell is too bright. Emma rolls her eyes at me, and turns to face Major, who’s watching her intently. My hands begin to sweat, my nostrils flare, and as rage rolls through my body…
I launch the water bottle into the wall above her.
On impact, it explodes raining down water on both Major and Emma. She winces, sucking in a sharp breath. I don’t miss the tear rolling down her cheek—and I hate that it makes me feel so damn guilty.
“I should’ve fucking murdered you when I caught you the first time,” I roar at her, my voice feeling like a train whistle in my ears. “You fucking whore.”
She doesn’t look at me and she doesn’t react. “The only whore in my house had a dick.”
“What the hell are you saying?” I demand, wanting to put my hands on her. I’m angry enough right now, I could kill her—but here she is, giving me just enough that I want to bite.
“I said,” she draws out. “The only whore who lived in my house had a dick.”
I don’t know why I didn’t get it in the first place, but now I do—and I don’t know why it makes me feel sick. “Your husband.”
“My ex-husband in thirty something days.”
“Thirty-four days?” I throw it out there with caution.
“Yeah, sure. But you’re the one with the file on me,” she scoffs, wrapping her arms around herself.
“You got a prenup?”
Her brow creases. “Yeah. Of course, I do.”
Holy shit. It clicks in my head. Is it the husband trying to cash in? It’s always the husband. I know that, but the way Jared so desperately acted like he wanted her back…
“You love him?” I blurt out as I think about her reaction to him, bile rising in my throat. It’s immature to ask, and stupid. And I don’t care about the answer. I. Don’t. Care.
“No, not anymore… I don’t know,” she hums, her arms still wrapped around her small frame. She’s not the most petite woman I’ve ever seen, but she’s smaller than me, her curves soft and feminine. She’s weaker than me. Physically. Probably mentally. “I loved him for a long time—until I broke.”
I shift uncomfortably. I don’t talk about this kind of shit. I’ve never had a broken heart. God knows what would happen if I did. I used pussy for what it was, and never thought twice about the woman who provided it. But I hadn’t even gotten my dick wet in hers.
“When my mom got sick, I changed. He saw me change, and he tried to be there, but I wouldn’t let him in. She was my best friend.” Her voice trembles. “I shut him out. I shut Lydia out.”
Lydia. The name makes my stomach hurt.
“I didn’t let anyone in, and he found someone else who would. I can’t even blame him for it… But I realized that I didn’t want to fix it either. I just wanted to be alone. I sabotaged him. I cut off his access to my accounts. I treated him coldly—and that was before I ever saw that he was with her.” The tangible pain in her voice is troubling, but not nearly as troubling as what it’s doing to me.
“I hated him because I could.”
“I hate everyone because I can,” I reason, admitting the uncomfortable truth. “I prefer to stay here. In this place. I used to throw parties. Now I let other people throw parties at my house, and I stay here.” I don’t know why I tell her, but it feels safe. It’s not like this woman is ever going to leave this room alive. She’ll die with my truths.
“I hate parties,” she whispers, rolling over to face me. “And I hate you.”
I press my lips together, her words stinging. I don’t care if she hates me. I’m a fucking monster—and she reminds me of that every time she looks at me. I was numb before these last forty-eight hours.
“Why did you pick me?” Her eyes search my mask, like it’ll give her some kind of expression.
“You’re not special to me,” I force the words out. “I didn’t choose you. I didn’t search for someone who looks like you. I didn’t target you because there was anything that stood out about you.” I didn’t have a choice. If I did, I wouldn’t have taken it.
Her face falls, her eyes dropping to the floor. I tracked dirt in when I carried her here, and I see the remnants of it around my feet. I’ll clean it later—when I have to seal the window back up.
I clear my throat. “You should drink the water, Emma. I can’t get someone here for an IV for another few hours. I don’t know what you need.”
Her face contorts with confusion. “Why are you even worrying about that if you’re going to kill me? You make no sense.”
I know I don’t. I don’t even make any sense to myself. Maybe I just want to fuck her. Maybe that’s my problem. Maybe I should just do it and kill her right after. Ivan did it. Victor did it. Manny has killed multiple women after sex. My mentor always pushed me to take what I want, and show no mercy doing it—as long as I separated from my emotions.
“Can I have one?” Emma slowly sits up, still shivering. Her shirt is soaked from the water I threw at the wall, and I feel guilty. Again. But I also feel angry. Angry at her for making me feel things. Angry at me for not killing her sooner. Angry at whoever the fuck put this hit on her—a person who I’m certain I saw at her house that night.
I open the bottle of water for her and hand it to her, our fingers brushing. My cock stiffens at the minor touch, and I damn near roll my eyes at it. Maybe I will fuck her, but not like this. If I have to fuck her and then kill her, I want her to at least put up a fight.
“Thank you.” Once again, she’s showing gratitude, and while it irks me, I don’t run.
“What’s wrong with you?” I ask her flatly. “Why’d you pass out? There’s no medical conditions listed in your file.”
“My file?”
Shit.
“Just answer me.”
“POTS. I have POTS. You probably wouldn’t find it in my medical file because it was diagnosed through a holistic doctor. All the others failed me.”
I don’t know what the hell she’s talking about, but I make a mental note to look it up later. I tell myself that I don’t want it to kill her, because it would steal the fun from me, but that might be a twist on the truth. I don’t know anymore.
Emma drinks the entire bottle of water and then lets out a sigh. I hand her another, opening it for her. She drinks that one, too. In silence, we continue the exchange until she’s finished off three and started another. She sets the fourth on the nightstand and rolls away from me, her body trembling.
I run my hands down the thighs of my sweatpants, fighting an urge I’ve never felt before. My forehead beads up with sweat, and my heart starts to race. I turn my back to Emma, like she just did me and I rip my mask off, sucking in a deep breath. I feel like I’m suffocating. I can’t go soft on her. I don’t recognize myself anymore.
“Guard her,” I repeat my command to Major, my voice pained. I leave the two of them and head for the stairs. I’ve never failed a job. I’ve never left a target alive, but I’ve also never wanted to save someone so badly.
I wish Victor was still alive. I wish he hadn’t died to save me, leaving me in a complex that I haven’t been able to break free from in years. He was the epitome of ruthless, cunning, and sadistic—but he chose death for me. Ever since then, I haven’t been able to function correctly. I don’t fuck. I don’t party. I don’t do anything but wonder why he preached no mercy and then gave me nothing but mercy that night.
You fucked this hit up, kid, he had told me as he laid there, bleeding out on the floor. But you’re my greatest accomplishment. I’m proud of you, son. Do something better than this. And never trust Ivan.
I’ll never get those words out of my head. He’d never said anything like that before. He wasn’t my real father, and that was the first time he’d called me son. He had taken me in as a street rat and trained me to be a cold-blooded killer—the same as Ivan had done with Manny. We were their legacy.
And then he told me to change myself and never to trust the man who he’d called his brother. On his fucking death bed.
Well, here I am. Changing away, pops.