His eyes widen slightly, more surprised than scared. It tears down my last shred of doubt. Not a civilian.
“Man, I think you’ve got the wrong…”
I tighten my grip, slamming him back against the wall just hard enough to make the point clear. “Don’t,” I bark. “I know what you do, and I know how this works. So choose your next words wisely.”
His jaw clenches, his gaze sharpening as he studies me more carefully now. He takes in my stance, my grip, the lack of hesitation.
He starts to struggle in my grip. He jabs his elbow into my gut. I swallow my grunt, tightening my hold.I slip his gun out of the holster at his waistband and jam it against his stomach.
“Start talking, or a bullet goes into you,” I warn through gritted teeth.
The man stiffens. “Why the fuck should I tell you anything. Who the fuck are you?”
I give him a chilling smile, jabbing the gun deep enough to hear his sharp inhale. “Obsidian,” I say.
I might no longer be a hitman, but I’m sure that my reputation precedes me. And he confirms it when his eyes widen.
“Obsidian?” he says slowly.
I don’t react outwardly, but internally, everything locks into place.
“Answer the question,” I demand instead.
He finally exhales, tension shifting in his shoulders as he recalibrates. “You’re not on this job.”
“Who. Sent. You?” I follow each word with a jab of the gun muzzle.
“Emerald.”
My expression doesn’t change. For a moment, I just look at him, letting that sink in. My jaw tightens.
“What’s the job?” I ask, my voice quieter now but no less dangerous.
“The girl,” he says finally. “The one inside the café.”
Nora.
Something cold drops through me. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel fear—real, teeth-baring fear. He could have taken her out any day this week, and I’d have been two tables away, none the wiser. The thought has me jamming the muzzle to his temple. No one touches her.
“How much?” I ask.
“Enough.”
I press him harder against the wall, enough to remind him I’m not in the mood for vague answers. “That’s not a number.”
He lets out a small breath. “Six figures.”
Of course it is.
I release him just enough to shift my hold, but not enough for him to get any ideas. “Why?”
“I don’t ask questions,” he replies automatically. “I don’t know. Job came through the usual channel. Target profile, schedule, payout. That’s it.”
I believe him. That’s how it works. Or at least, that’s how it’s supposed to work.
My mind starts running through possibilities, motives, connections. A girl like Nora doesn’t just end up on a list like that without a reason. People don’t spend that kind of money without expecting something in return.
“Walk away,” I say suddenly.
