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I lean against the counter and stare through the dark window.

I wonder what Callie's doing.

Whether she's thinking about me. Probably not.

Why would she? I fucked her and left while she was sleeping.

That was a dick move. Necessary, but still a dick move.

Even though I don’t want to, I let myself imagine what happened after I left. Callie wakes up, reaches across the bed, and finds it empty. Her smile disappears.

Something heavy settles in my chest.

Fuck. Maybe I should've left a note.

I immediately reject the thought.

What would I have written anyway?

Thanks for stitching me up and letting me fuck you. Sorry I can't tell you my last name. I kill people for a living. Occasionally, people try to kill me.

Yeah, that would've gone over well.

Leaving was the right decision. She doesn't belong anywhere near my life. Bishop was right about that much.

Callie is safe.

I'm hidden.

The job is contained.

In two weeks, I'll leave Vermont and forget about her. Just like she’s forgotten about me.

Exactly how it should be.

I look out the window again.

For some reason, none of it makes me feel better.

It only makes the cabin feel even fucking quieter.

12

CALLIE

I put on a horror movie, crawl into bed, and try to forget that I fucked a hitman and he disappeared.

He has to be a hitman. No one at the festival recognized him. And you don’t forget a tall, built, imposing man like Roman.

I roll onto my side and snatch my phone from my nightstand, staring at his photos. If only I had insisted on getting his last name. But no, I was too busy dying for his cock to worry about something as trivial as his last name.

Fuck!

I roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. There’s got to be a way to find him.

I toss and turn some more, but the only thing solution I come up with is to keep asking around town. Hollow Creek is small. Someone has to know who my hitman is. I'm sure as hell not waiting nine damn years like my sister did for Drew.

Failure is not an option.