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I slept overnight in the best hotel the town’s got, though that ain’t great. Betty’s Inn. Big letter B’s on every window and door of the place.
I woke up this morning same as yesterday, in a bed next to a small refrigerator that’s stocked with light beer. Luckily there’s a liquor store not far from here so I’ve been able to have a decent drink in relative comfort the last couple of nights.
There have been some jobs I’ve had to sleep in my car, staking places out for days on end. Or when I’ve been waiting to take someone out, I’ve spent hours nestled in piles of trash, the only parts of me visible being my eyes and the barrel of my DSR-1, imported straight from Germany for the times when I must not miss. Not that I ever miss.
I’ve been around the world staying in five-star luxury and roach-infested dives. Woken up with rats biting my ankles more than once.
This is the New York Hilton in comparison to some of those. No rats, no cockroaches crawling over me, no bedbugs, just a humming neon sign outside and a TV that only gets three channels. I won’t miss the place but it’s better than it could have been in a town this small.
Today’s jobs are to retrieve the necklace from Chloe and then the file from the sheriff.
I’m due to go see Walter this morning. All I’ve got to do after that is find a way to get the necklace off her.
She’s not supposed to have it. The sheriff was supposed to be keeping it safe. An insurance policy for my boss. Only now it needs collecting and Walter’s boy has gone and given it to Chloe.
He presumably has no idea how important it is. Nor does she. Andrew just thought it would help him get laid. I’ll make sure he can never use his prick again if he gets anyway near Chloe again.
She deserves better than a liar like him.
Like me?
I’ve lied. I’ve cheated. I’ve stolen. I’ve got so much blood on my hands, I’m surprised they’re not bright red.
But I’ve not lied to her. Nothing I’ve told her has been untrue. I’m keeping things from her, sure, but only to protect her from the painful truth. She doesn’t need to know what happened to her parents. Let her live in hope that they’ll show up again if that’s what keeps her going.
I’ll have to break into her place to get the necklace. I can’t risk seeing her again. One more look at those soft-looking lips of hers and I’m going to have to fuck her. Do that and a whole world of complications opens up right in front of me.
I know how freaky I’ve been with women before but that was just playing compared to this. Those occasions have been nothing compared to how I could feel for the right woman, the one who brings out the real Dom in me. That part of me that isn’t interested in playing.
The real me wants more. A lot more.
That’s who I am.
Obsessive. Dominating. Overwhelming.
The best way for me to control my urges when I’m on a job like this is to stay away from the target. Don’t let emotions take control of any situation. Be willing to walk out of there and leave everything behind, let it all go.
If I fuck her, I’ll want to keep her. Do that and I’m likely to get her killed. There’s no possible happy ending for us. The best I can offer is that I leave her and she gets on with her life. I must not hang around here any longer than it takes to get the job done. Too much risk involved.
I’ve already said too much to her, telling her everything I like to do in the bedroom.
Seeing how she reacted did not help with the whole walking away thing. Only made me want her more.
I’ve never felt like this about any woman before. Never felt like possessing their soul, running my hands through their hair, keeping them for more than a few hours.
I used to mock any man who kept a woman for longer than a day. Two at most. But now I can see it. A lifetime wouldn’t be enough to possess every part of her, to dominate her the way she needs it.
Bad idea. Very bad idea.
All I’d do is break her at best, get her killed at worst. And for what? Just to satisfy my selfish urges?
Shit, I’ve never cared about this stuff before. Why do I care now? What is it about her that’s making me feel… anything at all?
I swing my legs out of bed and stand up, the soles of my feet feeling the cigarette burns on the garish purple and green carpet.
I move through to the bathroom and take a shower. As I wash, my hands run over my scars, each one a story of its own, a misfortune, a piece of luck. I’m here despite every attempt to kill me. There’s a reason for that. I am Death. I bring slaughter wherever I go.
One more reason to stay away from her.
