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Her eyes widen, understanding exactly what that means. “But then—”
“Yep.”
“Shit.”
Getting bored of her line of questioning, I pull the door back open. “Are you going to get out of here, or would you prefer to hang out and wait for the hitman to come and confuse you for Oakley?”
Her eyes widen, and within the span of two seconds, she dashes into her room, grabs a set of pajamas, her Kindle, and her vibrator then makes a break for it down the hall. I don’t close the door until I hear Sawyer’s front door closing behind her, then wait a moment later, listening for the soft click of the lock and deadbolts.
“Alright,” I say to Cross, closing the door behind me and flicking each of the locks. “Let’s do this.”
Knowing any trained hitman would be watching the apartment from a distance, we make a show of turning on the TV and sporadically flicking a few lights. Then wanting to get this show on the road, we turn them all off. Anybody looking in from the outside would assume the occupants of the apartment have gone to bed.
Whoever this guy is, he clearly knows which bedroom belongs to Oakley, so Cross and I slip into her room, leaving her door cracked and the window unlocked, almost making it too easy for the bastard.
We wait a little over twenty minutes before finally hearing a scratching noise from the living room, and a sick enjoyment fills my veins. I move into position behind the door, covered in shadows as Cross readies himself by the window, covering all our bases.
The room is pitch black, darkness clouding every corner, without even a hint of moonlight streaming through the window. It’s perfect. Just how I like it.
There’s a soft whir of the window being opened before an even softer thud as the hitman lands on the living room floor. He moves around the apartment, checking the coast is clear while leaving the window open for an easy getaway.
Excitement thrums through my veins, and I reach for my gun before thinking better of it. A gun is too easy, too forgiving. This is an attack on me, so I’m gonna make it count. I’m going to use this to send a message. Anyone who tries to fuck with me will suffer at my hands.
My palm closes around the hilt of my dagger, and the cool iron feels like victory in my hand, the anticipation sending a wave of adrenaline pulsing through my veins. It’s addictive, a fucking rush, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
The bedroom door creaks open so slowly that the wait to end his life is almost painful.
The hitman takes a step and then another, and my hand flexes around the hilt of the dagger. He moves past me just enough that I step in behind him, his eyes locked on Oakley’s bed. He doesn’t hear me behind him, and he sure as fuck doesn’t see Cross by the window. We were trained better than that—better than him, apparently.
I move with him as he takes a closer look at Oakley’s bed, realizing something isn’t right. Her bed is empty. I can also feel the panic firing through his veins. His body straightens, and just as he’s about to bail, my arms snap out.
One curls around his forehead, gripping his hair and yanking his head back in a death grip while the other shoots to the base of his throat, my blade resting against his skin. The need to interrogate him is strong, but with his gun firmly clutched in his hand, I’m not taking any chances. Just because I’ve got the advantage, doesn’t mean he can’t free himself of this.
There are other ways for me to get the answers I’m looking for, and this isn’t it.
Cross steps out of the shadows, and without even a hint of hesitation, I let my blade fly free, slitting his throat as effortlessly as carving a Thanksgiving turkey.
The hitman falls to the ground, and the familiar gurgling of blood is like music to my ears. I meet Cross’s stare, and just like that, he nods before pulling out his phone and ordering the clean-up crew. He steps around the body, and as he moves out of the room, I realize just how far I would go for this.
Nobody is going to stand in my way. Not The Circle, not the members of Empire, and definitely not Oakley Quinn.
Come the night of the sixtieth moon, I will carve her beating heart out of her chest, and her sweet screams of agony will be the greatest reward I’ll ever receive.
Chapter 10
OAKLEY
Asoftmetalthudsounds through the cell, and my eyes fly open, my heart racing like never before. I was asleep. How fucking stupid could I have been to allow myself to fall asleep? Fuck.
Fear overwhelms me, and I quickly glance around the cell, my eyes snapping from side to side.
Dalton is gone, his cuff dangling against the wall. How could that be? What have they done to him?
The heavy door begins to open as fear paralyzes me, and instead of trying to fight back, I close my eyes, pretending to sleep as I listen to every last sound around me. I hear two people walk in, and despite my closed eyes, I can feel their intense stares locked on my face. “Fuck, is she still sleeping?” Dalton’s voice murmurs through the cell.
An irritated scoff sounds through the cement prison, and I try to figure out who it belongs to. “For your own sake, you better hope she is,” the voice responds. Maybe Sawyer? I don’t know. I haven’t been around them enough to recognize their voices. All I know is that it’s definitely not Zade. “Otherwise, you’re fucked.”
“Tell me about it.”
