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“P-please.” He collapsed onto his knees, trembling hands clasped together. “I didn’t see anything. I didn’t.” His voice shook so hard it was difficult to form words. “I don’t want to die.”
The man shrugged and lifted the gun.
There was no moment as helpless as this one.
One time, Win had been stranded by one of his johns. Left almost a hundred miles away from any kind of familiarity with no clothes, no shoes, and no money. And this moment right here was still the worst. He could barely make out the gun or the stranger’s features through the tears in his eyes. Nobody would miss him. No one would know what happened to him.
“Please. I can—I can fuck you.” His brain wasn’t working properly, struggling to come up with anything to save his life. “You can fuck me. Use me any way you want. I’m a good fuck.”
The man laughed and Win blinked up at him. When their eyes met, a chill shot through him. The man was dressed in a suit, one hand—the one holding the gun—covered in a black glove, a sardonic smile on his handsome features. Unlike the john that lay dead on the floor, Win would’ve likely been eager to hop into a vehicle with the man standing over him.
Except for his eyes.
They were so cold.
Unfeeling.
Nothing human about them.
He was death come to life, beautiful and dark.
There would be no reprieve for Win. The truth of it sank in and still, he begged. “I’m nobody. I’m a whore. No one would believe me if I said anything. You don’t—” He held his hands up. Surrender. “You don’t have to do this.”
The man’s cold gaze swept over him, taking in Win’s nakedness with a wrinkle of his nose. He must have smelled the piss on Win. He appeared to be someone who loved that, instilling fear, watching, waiting. Win hated him and wished he had the balls to fight back, but he didn’t. The fight had left him years ago, and he’d been waiting for death to show up ever since. Now that it was here though, he just couldn’t stop begging for mercy.
The man stepped forward.
One step.
Two. Then the gun was at Win’s forehead. The metal was heavy and surprisingly warm on his skin. He sobbed brokenly, squeezing his eyes shut. His bladder was empty otherwise he knew for sure he’d be pissing himself again.
“I didn’t see anything. I d-didn’t see anything. Please! Please!” A noise sounded, a loud bang, and he flinched, sure death had arrived.
“Stavros.”
Another voice? There was another person in the room?
Win’s eyes flew open as the man with the gun sighed.
“This doesn’t concern you, Mathieu.”
Mathieu, the newcomer, stepped into view. Dark skin, hair styled in a fade haircut. He was in a suit too. There was a marked difference between the two. Mathieu didn’t have the coldness that the gunman—Stavros?—had. He wore a mask of indifference as he took in the scene.
“You know better than that.” Mathieu folded his arms and leaned against the nearest wall. He never looked at Win. “Your permission extended to Nelson Croft only.” His gaze flicked briefly to the dead man. “You handled your business. The whore lives.”
“I don’t leave witnesses,” Stavros said calmly.
“This time you do. Now get the fuck out.” Mathieu still hadn’t raised his voice. Tension simmered in the air, thick enough to crawl along Win’s skin. Stavros was cold and deadly, period. Mathieu was the same, but he at least bothered to give off the illusion of something…other.
Maybe compassion?
Stavros stared down at Win, gaze boring into him as if he was attempting to read Win’s mind and discover his every secret.
“I know who you are.” The words were the least non-threatening threat Win had ever heard and they rattled his bones. “Remember my face, because I will never forget yours.” Then he turned and walked out of the room.
Win couldn’t take the time to exhale, to relax. There was still a dangerous man in the room with him. Not to mention the dead body. Mathieu, whoever he was, had saved Win’s life, but could Win afford the price he knew he’d have to pay?
“Name?”
