Page 13 of Restrain Me


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When I walk into her bedroom, I notice all the underwear is missing. I stop by the side of her bed and ask, “Are you okay with a gun beneath your mattress?”

“The cleaning staff might find it.”

Christ, Maurice didn’t tell her.

I shove the gun beneath the mattress then say, “The cleaning service has been canceled until I have time to do background checks.”

A frustrated expression tightens her features, but not saying a word, she turns around and walks out of the room.

As much as I prefer to do my job and not interact with Camille on a personal level, I know it’s impossible.

Honestly, it’s downright unsettling being around the woman, knowing I shot her, and she has no idea who I really am.

She’d fucking lose her shit if she were to find out I’m an assassin by trade and the person responsible for the bullet that almost ended her life.

I follow her to the kitchen and say, “I’ll make the coffee.” While I take two cups from the cupboard, I ask, “What do you want to know?”

“Do you have family? Are they in Russia?”

I shake my head. “I lost my sister to cancer fifteen years ago, and my mother died the year after. My father passed when I was young, and I don’t remember much of him.”

In my world, it’s a rare thing to grow old. Eventually, the lifestyle catches up to you, and the hunter becomes the prey.

Silence follows my words, then Camille murmurs, “I’m so sorry to hear that. It must’ve been hard.”

I shrug as I watch the cup fill with dark liquid. “It’s life.” Not wanting to come across as the coldhearted bastard I am, I add, “Sure, I’d love to still have them around, but it is what it is. I’ve moved on.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence before she clears her throat. Her tone is filled with compassion when she asks, “Do you have friends?”

I set the coffee down in front of her, my eyes meeting hers. “I have one friend.”

She looks relieved as she picks up the cup to take a sip.

“So you grew up in Moscow?” she asks.

I nod. “Until I was thirteen. I attended a private school in Finland, and after that, I spent a couple of years in Switzerland.”

Camille seems to relax, her green eyes bright with interest where they’re glued to my face. “Do you like traveling?”

“It loses its appeal after a while,” I admit.

Honestly, I plan on retiring at forty-five and finding an island or a cabin in the woods where I don’t have to interact with people unless it’s during a trip for supplies.

She draws my attention back to the conversation with her next question. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-eight.”

“Really?” she gasps. “You look younger. I thought you were thirty-three-ish.”

I drink the last of my coffee then start to load the dishwasher with the plates and cups littering the counter.

“You don’t have to do that.”

I almost let out a chuckle but quickly suppress it. “Judging by your bedroom, you’re not a fan of chores. I like things neat, so I’ll keep the place clean.”

I feel Camille’s eyes burning on me, and when I look at her, it’s to see anger tightening her features.

She seethes for a moment before she snaps, “I didn’t ask for any of this. I’m happy with my life and don’t need you criticizing it. If I want to do dishes every other night and leave my clothes lying around, then that’s what I’ll do.” Standing up, she walks away before stopping and laying into me. “I was happy. I could do what I wanted in my own space, and now I have to share it with a mountain that’s colder than the North Pole.”

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