Chapter 5
Henley
Grace’s slumped form where she was tied to the chair in front of me shouldn’t have satisfied me. It should have pissed me off.
The woman had tried to kill me, for fuck’s sake. She shot at me while I was running errands, then tried to surprise-stab me in a goddamn alley. Creative? No. Ballsy? Yes.
And it kind of turned me on.
Blood was crusted to the side of her face, a stark contrast to her pale skin. More was matted in her black hair, a streak running right through the tattoo behind her ear.
If I were a nice guy, I might’ve cleaned her up while she was passed out.
Maybe I wouldn’t have held a gun to her head in the first place, or fantasized about keeping it there as I kissed her.
Grace was the kind of girl who screamed I don’t give a fuck what anyone does on the outside, but then opened her mouth and came off soft-spoken.
So seeing her with a knife in her hand, poised to sink the blade into my fucking neck?
Surprised, but not shocked.
I leaned back against the wall across from her, arms and ankles crossed.
I didn’t bother checking the time on my phone; I had all night.
But shit, this girl could sleep. It had to have been at least three hours since I brought her here.
I had a little storage unit in town for some odd hobbies I’d tried to pick up but then easily let go.
Forging was about the only thing I took a liking to, taking my supplies out in the nearby woods to make things like knives and little sculptures from scrap metal.
When I wasn’t using them, they stayed tucked away in here.
It was an excuse to get away from the guys and off the ranch that was slowly starting to feel like it wasn’t my own.
Finally, Grace’s fingers moved the barest amount. It wasn’t much, but enough for me to know she was waking up. Minutes passed, and she didn’t lift her head. She’d likely come to by now and was quietly trying to figure out where she was without making her coherence obvious.
But I knew. I’d studied her still form for hours now.
“I know you’re awake.”
Her shoulders rose in a deeper breath before she slowly lifted her head.
She blinked, eyes adjusting to the light.
They squinted as she took in her surroundings.
The majority of my shit was behind her, so it looked like I had her in a somewhat empty storage container.
That was done purposefully. If she was scared, she might talk.
And she wasn’t leaving until she did.
“Why’d you hit me?” she asked, voice raspy. Her lashes fluttered like she was either clearing away the fatigue or her vision was still unsteady from the hit.
“Why’d you try to kill me?” I shot back casually.
Some of that earlier fire came back into her eyes, and she sat up straighter.
When I was met with only her silence, I shoved off the wall. “Was I not supposed to defend myself? Would that have made your job easier?”
Her features shuttered for a fraction of a second before she masked whatever she was thinking. “No one hits me.”
I cocked my head to the side, sensing a lie. But I’d play along if that made her talk. “Consider me your first.”
She sneered, but I had to give her credit. Her gaze never left mine.
I crouched between her parted, restrained legs, a few inches from actually touching her. “Why’d you try to kill me?”
She looked away, stubborn as ever.
My tongue ran over my upper teeth, sucking on them. “Alright, little killer. We’ll do this the hard way.”
I stood, moving out of her sight as I went behind her. I picked up a blowtorch, lighting the end of a pair of tongs. Once the tips glowed bright orange, I crossed back to where I’d been. With one hand, I slid the fabric of her black sweatshirt up the length of her stomach, exposing creamy skin.
Her breathing picked up as she yanked against the restraints, the rope making the flesh around her wrists turn red. She tried to mask the panic on her face, but her effort was futile. “You won’t burn me.”
“Won’t I?” I brought the tongs closer until they hovered over her skin. The heat likely seeped into her torso from this distance, giving her a taste of what was to come if she didn’t open her pretty mouth.
Her hand flexed as she tried to pull harder, the muscles in her stomach contorting as her breathing picked up.
“Last chance, Grace.”
Her nostrils flared wildly as she tried to keep her mouth shut.
With a shrug, I lowered the tongs.
“Wait!”
I paused mere millimeters from her flesh.
“D-don’t burn me. Please.”
Sweat dripped down her brow, mixing with the dried blood and rewetting it. I had to force my tongue not to glide over my lips at the sight.
I hesitated for dramatic effect, then finally pulled back the tongs and held them at my side. The hem of her sweatshirt fell, leaving only a sliver of skin exposed. It was an effort not to grow distracted by it.
The heated tip of the metal hovered close to her knee, letting her know I wouldn’t think twice about doing it again.
“It’s my job,” she said, the words quick and quiet.
I stared at her blankly, waiting for her to go on. She attempted to catch her breath, her worried gaze darting between the tool in my hand and me.
“I-I kill people.” Her voice turned to a near whisper, like she was worried others might hear her.
I made a dramatic show of looking around the space. When I returned my focus to her, I said, “Sorry, I didn’t quite hear that.”
Her lips rolled together, a flash of annoyance flickering in her eyes. “I kill people.”
The confidence with which she repeated it had pride rearing its head inside me. “Atta girl. Now, tell me why you chose to try to kill me.”
“I didn’t choose to,” she corrected. “I get jobs from people.”
My jaw clenched. “What people?” The demand came out a little harsh, but who wouldn’t be pissed after finding out someone wanted you dead?
“My boss,” she answered. Was that shame in her voice?
“Why?”
A crease formed between her brows.
“Why?” I asked again, then I waited.
She seemed to ponder her response before landing on, “I don’t need to answer that.”
My eyes shut for a moment, a sigh passing my lips. “I can torture you all night, Grace. Don’t think I won’t.”
Her swallow was audible. “All I get is a picture, and then I find them.”
I took note of her clear avoidance of telling me why she chose to murder people as a profession. “So you received one of me.”
Her chin dipped in a small nod.
“Who’s your boss?”
“I don’t know.” There it was again. That little deflation of her voice. She sounded like a kicked puppy, and it pissed me off. If you’re going to be a killer, then be a killer—own it.
“I don’t believe that.” I did, but instilling distrust in her might make her tell me more.
Her breathing picked up pace again. “I’m telling the truth.”
“Should I believe you?” I inched closer, towering over her. She kept her pretty mouth shut, so I grabbed her chin, yanking it up so she’d look at me. Dangerously intoxicating green eyes stared up at me. “Should I?”
Her nostrils flared again. “Yes.”
My teeth ground together, my thumb digging into her jaw. She fought against the pain my touch inflicted, her confusing strong-but-not-strong persona fucking with my head.
“How do they contact you if you don’t know who they are?”
“It’s all done on a burner phone. I change it out every so often, give the number to a contact at the club, and a day or two later, I get a text from an unknown number.”
Was anything in life ever fucking simple?
“Where’s the burner now?”
Her lips formed a thin line, reluctance to tell me battling with the fear of what I might do if she didn’t. Finally, she gave in.
“In my pocket.”
I dropped the tongs with a clang, the sound causing her to flinch.
With my grip still on her chin, my other hand moved up her thigh, feeling the many pockets her black cargo pants held.
Something about my touch seemed to affect her, but I chalked it up to fear of me being wholly in control of her right now.
A lump the distinct shape of a phone met my palm by her waist. With how she was sitting, the angle of the pocket was too tight to fit my hand inside. Letting go of her face, I grabbed her hips and pulled. Her limbs strained against the ropes, a surprised gasp escaping her at the force.
The material had enough give for me to slide my fingers in and pluck the phone out. I left her uncomfortable and attempting to straighten herself while I clicked on the phone. I pulled up the texts and found it empty. The call log was the same.
Slowly, my gaze lifted from the device to her. “You lied.”
Though I came across calm, her rapidly accelerating breathing told me she could see the irritation beneath. “No, no. I didn’t lie. I delete the texts after they come through in case anyone ever gets ahold of the phone.”
I fought the urge to shatter the device in my grip. I’d need it if what measly plan I’d just come up with was going to work.
“I’ll make you a deal,” I told her, tossing the phone on her lap. “You help me find who wants me dead, and I won’t kill you. Yet.”
Her thighs clenched together as best they could to keep the phone from sliding to the floor. “Oh, how nice. You’re prolonging killing me until you get what you want.”
I thought I heard her mutter something like typical man under her breath, but decided to ignore it. She had no problem murdering me, yet I wasn’t allowed to feel the same for her?
Double standards much?
“Consider that generous. You’re lucky I’m not going to kill you right here. Fortunately for you, you’re probably the weakest hired killer anyone could’ve chosen. I can’t say I’d catch anyone else in the act of ending my life.”
Some inner part of her flinched subtly, but she covered it up with a smirk. “Who’s weak?”
I chuckled, shaking my head. “You’re not in a good position to be acting like that.”
“Like what? Do tell.” She sat back like she was lounging on a sofa.
My gaze ran down her body, lingering on her tied ankles. The longer I stared, the more uncomfortable she grew. Finally, she shifted restlessly.
I didn’t even need to say a word.
Like I said. Weak.
“Here’s the plan, little killer. You’re going to come on a little field trip with me while we wait for someone to text that phone. Chances are, the person I pissed off enough to have hurt their ego is a regular at the pool hall.”
“What do I have to do with any of that?”
I pulled a knife from my pocket and unfolded it. “We’re going to see if anyone takes a special interest in you.”
Her throat bobbed as she glanced at the knife. “Why?”
Crouching, I pointed the tip in her direction. “Because that means they either want to fuck you, or they know you. And if they know you, they may lead us to whoever is on the other end of that phone. Whoever wants me dead clearly knows someone that works in your fucked-up chain of command.”
Bravely, she didn’t look at the blade again. “Who are you trying to find? My boss, or the man who wants you dead?”
I cocked my head. “Should I be hunting your boss for a reason other than arranging people’s deaths, Grace?”
She blinked. I would’ve never looked into that small shutter, but the soft side of her I’d gotten a glimpse of before this had me questioning things. She clearly didn’t want to do this job, but she had to. Why?
“No,” she answered. “Unlike you, I can’t afford to be unemployed.”
I chuckled. “I’m a rancher.”
The confident tilt of her chin was amusing. “Isn’t it the cows doing all the work?”
Her remark was meant to come off sassy, but all it told me was she had no clue about what we did. In one quick movement, I sliced the ropes on both her wrists, then moved to her ankles. “Let’s keep the brains of this operation to me, yeah?”
“If you’re insinuating that I’m dumb, you’re sorely mistaken.” She slid her wrists from the sides of the chair, doing the same to her legs as I finished and stood. The redness on her pale skin had my jaw clenching.
“We all excel in our own areas. No need to be ashamed of that.”
She scowled at me, shoving to a stand. She swayed, her eyes narrowing slightly like her head hurt. I’d honestly be surprised if she didn’t have a concussion. I’d hit her pretty damn hard.
I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out to steady her with a hand on her waist. The moment she was stable, I released her. Now, she avoided my eye contact.
“Tomorrow night, meet me in the alley beside the pool hall.”
She crossed her arms, either out of sass or discomfort, I wasn’t sure. “And if I don’t?”
With my back to her, I moved to the rolling door of the storage unit and pulled it up, letting the bitter air drift in. When I looked back at her, I found she hadn’t moved.
“You’ll be the one with a hit on their head.”