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“You okay in there?”
“Yes. Just getting washed up.” I turn the faucet on and nudge my purse to the side, blocking the view of the gun in case he walks in.
“Alright. Well time is money.”
Way to warm a woman up there, asshole.
His attitude is just the ammunition I need to feel good about all this.
I slide the .22 off the counter, feeling the cold steel in my hand, the heaviness of the death that lies before me. I tuck it in the waist of my skirt, right at my lower back.
And I walk out of the bathroom to join Chris.
The hallway is darker than it was moments ago. When I round the corner, I see a shadow lurking, cast from the light of the main room. Coldness grips me by the chest as the shadow moves in my direction. Chris appears at the end of the hallway and a shiver wiggles down my back.
“What took you so long?”
“Was I that long? I just wanted to be sure everything was in mint condition.” I pause several feet in front of him and my eyes adjust to the lighting.
He looks weird. His eyes are like two round ice cubes floating inside of a skull.
“Take off your shirt.”
My back stiffens. I start to ask why but that would be stupid. He’s literally paying me to get naked.
I swallow my fear. “Whatever you want, babe. You’re the boss tonight.” I loosen the buttons and let the soft fabric fall to the hardwood floor. All he has to do is walk to me and put his arms around my waist to feel the 22. My heart drums as his gaze dances over my chest.
“I’m getting a weird vibe from you.”
Everything in me freezes. I tilt my head. Force my lips up into a smile. “Because I was in there too long?”
He nods. “What were you doing?”
This guy really is paranoid all of a sudden. I mean, he is about to have his brains obliterated. But still.
“If you must know I did a few bumps. I’m happy to share if you like.”
“Show me,” he grits out, taking a few steps in my direction.
I step aside, waving my arm toward the bathroom. “Go ahead. Take a look for yourself.”
His brows knit together in doubt, but he walks past me, taking the bait.
I walk behind him, reaching for my gun. He pauses at the doorway like he forgot something, turning back around and looking right at me. Half his face is lit up and I see his eyes move to my right arm hiding behind my back, then back up to my face. There’s this split second where I can choose to react or to relax and not assume the worst.
And it’s in those split-second realms where my fate is being determined more quickly than my mind is capable of working.
My fingers grip the steel and I attempt to slide the weapon from its hiding place. But I am not fast enough.
Chris charges me and his hand flies around my throat, pushing me against the wall and pinning my arm in place. The little bit of light spilling from the bathroom is giving me a good look at the real Chris. The one that is filled with rage. I wonder if this is the same face his wife saw before her world went black.
“Who sent you?” he snarls.
“No one,” I choke out.
His eyes narrow into slits.
I reach up to wrap my fingers around his wrist but his free hand quickly pins my left arm to the wall above my head. The .22 presses into my lower back but I’ve still got my fingers around the handle.
