His footsteps click against the cement floor as he walks closer. “If I had the list I’d destroy it. I don’t, but I need you to find out who it is and get it for me. You’ll, ofcourse, be paid handsomely.”
I regard him, assessing. Then I release a humorless huff. “Don’t want your money, and that’s a no.”
“I’m not asking.”
I sigh. “You can’t touch me.”
“You’re right. I can’t. I can, however, touchher.”
I don’t have to ask whoheris. I shrug and try to look unaffected while my heart slams against my chest.
“I’ll pin everything on her father, every last sin he helped me commit and at the end of the day I’ll make it so painful for her to live that she’ll think twice about why she even bothers.”
“Bothers?”
“Breathing.”
“Nice.” I say through clenched teeth. “So, I find this list or you what? Make her miserable? Make it impossible for her to get a job?”
He laughs, actually laughs at me. “No, no, no, nothing like that.” He walks over and taps his knuckles against the countertop. “Brake lines are surprisingly delicate things. Onelittle cut and nobody asks questions. Tragic accident. It happens every day.”
I’m going to kill him with my bare hands.
But not yet.
He’d see it coming. He wants my reaction.
I cross my arms and lean back and finally look up at him. His mustache is gray along with his hair. He looks older than the last time I saw him, more set in his ways, more heartless and terrifying like he’s done so much evil he doesn’t even recognize what’s good anymore. He’s not a man I should cross, I’m not afraid for myself, I’m afraid for Lilah, a man with no heart still might change in the end, a man with no soul has no reason to anyway. He lacks both. “When do you need this magical list by?”
“The sooner the better. Don’t make me wait, Jude. I hate waiting, and so do the people who want to burn this thing to the ground. Don’t disappoint me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I sigh. “We done now?”
“Yeah.” He flashes me an icy smile. “Good seeing you.”
“Can’t say the same. I’ll be in touch.” He nods and walks out of the room leaving me alone with my racing heart and fucked up emotions.
He’ll do it. He’ll hurt her.
I have no clue how to get the list other than to do exactly what it wants me to do. Play right into his hands, choose her and just hope whoever’s behind it will sense my desperation.
I quickly pull out my phone and shoot an email to the tip line. It could be fake, it could be real, either way, I have to try.
I drop my phone back onto the table and flip it over then dig my hands into the clay. I push and pull, I tug and hit.
He’s a monster.
A demon.
Satan himself.
Fuck!
I feel her before I see her.
It’s been hours, and all I have in front of me is a sculpture—a rough one—of her face, all beautiful sharp angles and full lips. I was waiting to do the eyes. For what, who knows?
“Am I an idiot for making a sculpture of you like a coward before calling or seeing you? For touching this clay instead of the real thing but dying a bit inside because it still gives me peace?” I say.
