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I’m acutely aware of Adrian watching me, his fingers casually interlaced on the table. They’re lean, masculine, and have veins etched across the surface.
And now I’m ogling them.
I can’t believe I’m ogling the same fingers that held a gun to my forehead. Or maybe I’m watching them because of that fact. I know people like him exist, but I’ve always wondered how they could so easily end lives. Do they not feel, or have they become desensitized to it like I have to haters?
However, when I had that question, I never thought I’d ever be this close to one of his kind.
Adrian taps his finger once against the wooden surface. “You have an expressive face. Did you know that, Lia?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do. Maybe it’s not visible to others, but it’s almost impossible for you to hide your emotions.”
“Is that why you brought me here? To tell me I have an expressive face?”
“I told you why I brought you here. To talk.”
“Then talk.”
“I would rather you do the talking. Tell me more about yourself.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because it’ll determine whether you get to walk out of this restaurant breathing or not.”
My chest jolts and I bunch a napkin in my fists to stop my hands from shaking. “Why are you doing this? You already let me go.”
The dark depth of his gray eyes is similar to deep cloudy skies—blank, composed, and cold. “I only let you go until further notice. Now is the time for that notice. Are you going to tell me about yourself?”
There’s no winning with this asshole, is there? He’s already come with a purpose and he won’t stop until it’s met.
“What do you want to know?” I snap so he’ll get it over with and let me go.
“I don’t want to know anything in that tone. Repeat the question without the anger part.”
“Do you enjoy this?”
“What?”
“Being the Grim Reaper over others’ lives.”
“Not if I can help it, no. Being the Grim Reaper doesn’t actually give me answers…just bodies.”
A lump rises in my throat and I stiffen at his unspoken threat.
The waiter returns with a bottle of wine and my salad. Adrian motions at him to leave when he opts to open the bottle.
As soon as the waiter is gone, he does it with sure movements. He doesn’t hurry or get flustered, like a typical person who’s confident about himself and his surroundings. While I’m usually the same in my own world, I seem to lose all my confidence in his company.
Being held at gunpoint will do that, I guess.
Adrian pours me a glass and one for himself, and although I wasn’t planning on drinking, I need some liquid courage right now.
I take a long sip, then sigh. “What do you want to know?”
“What’s your last name?”
“I’m sure you could’ve figured it out on your own. It’s all over the rehearsal hall.”
