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“What the fuck are you?” he said, eyes wide as he stared at me in horror.
“I’m nothing you’ve ever come across before.” I kept my voice abrasive, even though weariness was beginning to pulse through my body. I couldn’t keep this up much longer. Going from barely ever using my Aedh skills to using them several times over several days had taken more from me than I’d imagined. And the lack of sleep wasn’t helping, either.
“Look, I don’t know much.” His words tumbled over one another in his haste to get them out. “We got the job offer and took it. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“So you’re thugs for hire?”
“Not thugs,” he said. “We’re private investigators. Of sorts.”
They weren’t particular in the sorts of cases they took, in other words. “So you were asked to follow us? Then what?”
“Nothing. I swear, we were just asked to follow you and report back.”
“To whom?”
“He gave us a phone number. That’s all I know, honestly.”
I believed him. The stink of his fear rode the air, and there was too much horror in his eyes for there to be any room for lies.
“So how were you supposed to be paid?”
“He’s already deposited the money into our account.”
“What phone number did he give you?”
“I don’t know it by heart,” he said, seemingly unaware of the irony, “but grab my phone out of my right pocket. It’s there.”
I shifted my leg slightly and then, with my free hand, dragged his phone out of his pocket. I opened it up, brought up the contacts list, and glanced at him. “Which one?”
“It’s under Jones Job.”
I snorted softly. How original. I scrolled down, found the contact and the number, then closed his phone and shoved it into my pocket.
“Hey, that’s—”
“Mine,” I finished for him. “The price you pay for following the wrong people. Is the number they gave you to contact the same number the caller used?”
His lips twisted. “No. It came up as unlisted, but we ran a cracker program and got it, just in case.”
“Then give me that number, too.”
He did. I withdrew my hand from his chest and reformed my flesh, then patted his cheek with cold, somewhat shaky fingers. “Consider yourself lucky that I’m not taking anything more vital than a phone.”
With that, I rose. My limbs trembled and my head felt ready to explode, but I ignored both as I looked down at him. “If I catch you following me again, I won’t just threaten to squeeze your heart. I’ll rip it out of your fucking chest.” I paused, watching him. Watching the threat sink in. “Okay?”
“Okay, okay,” he said. “I get it.”
I turned around and walked away, my footsteps echoing softly in the concrete emptiness surrounding us. I kept my head down, letting my hair swing over my face, and avoided looking at any of the cameras. I hit the stairwell but didn’t stop, scrambling down the stairs two at a time even though every step made the ache in my head and the turmoil in my stomach worse. As I neared the ground floor, the door was flung open and two laughing teenagers all but fell into the stairwell. They looked me up and down and snorted softly, distaste evident in their expressions. Which said a lot for the state of my clothes if a couple of kids barely wearing rags were giving me disgusted looks.
I headed out into the mall and quickly found a bathroom. A quick glimpse at the pale face in the mirror proved the teenagers were right to laugh, but I tore my gaze away and all but bolted for a stall—where I lost everything I’d eaten over the last day.
God, I’d put my hand in that man’s chest.
I’d felt his fucking heart beating.
My stomach heaved and I spent the next few minutes unable to think as my empty stomach kept trying to jump up my throat.
The reality of it was much more terrifying than the knowledge.
