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A thousand questions rush through my mind after that, like a damn rupture, all rushing to the tip of my tongue, where they die.
Advancing with a purpose, the hitman’s knees brush against the bed’s edge, and his measured steps carry him around the perimeter. Throughout his movement, his inscrutable gaze remains locked on me, the glass lenses of his glasses adding an extra layer of intrigue to his already enigmatic presence. His attention, wholly captivated by my form, sets my nerves on edge.
As he draws nearer, I involuntarily tilt my head backward, a mixture of anticipation and apprehension rising within me. My heartbeat reverberates through my chest, each thump resonating in time with the pulse of the room. Strangely, though, fear isn’t the primary emotion coursing through me.
His question, laden with a raw intensity, fills the space between us. “Are you asking me if you’re safe, dove?” His words, gravelly and threaded with an unsettling promise, accompany his motion. His gloved hand, wrapped in supple leather, snakes out to encircle my hair, exerting a gentle yet commanding force that tilts my head farther back, exposing my vulnerable throat.
“Yes,” I whisper, my entire body coming alive in the worst possible way…or the best. It’s wrong. I know that logically. I should scream for those cops I know are sitting out front or beg him to leave us alone, cry, or whimper.
I don’t do any of those things, because for some reason, this taboo moment electrifies me, and for the first time in my adult life, I feel arousal so sharp that my core aches with pain.
I don’t want to dive into all the reasons that there is something fundamentally wrong with me, and luckily, I don’t have to.
“No,” he murmurs, leaning in until our faces are mere inches apart. Tension coils within me as he breathes his words against my ear, his lips brushing against my skin. “No, dove, safety is not what you’ll get from me.” His tongue traces the curve of my ear, sending a shiver down my spine and a rush of sensation through my body. “But if anyone else dares to…” His chuckle is tinged with darkness, a chilling sound that wraps around me like an unbreakable chain, constricting until every breath feels strained. “Glance your way,” he murmurs, his tone a deadly whisper, “then the last image they’ll ever know is yours.”
I don’t plan to give him any reaction, so when I moan at his words, shock ripples through me, and he tightens his grip on my hair, causing the strands to pinch. He isn’t gentle. He isn’t kind.
I battle to rein in my visceral response, fighting against the tide of both fear and an inexplicable attraction that courses through me. There’s a potency in the air, something beyond the realm of primal urges.
A stranger entered my sanctuary, and a hitman, Sal’s executioner, intervened. In the wake of such a surreal turn of events, I should be succumbing to the grip of terror. I’m not, and I need to assess that.
“Who was he?” My voice quivers as I strain to turn my head, hoping to glean even the faintest detail from my savior. All that greets me is the eerie resonance of his laughter, each exhalation a dark note that seems to deepen with every breath. He defies comprehension, even lacking a distinct scent. He’s a void, an enigma, an unsettling presence beyond explanation.
“Not your problem,” he says harshly, jerking my head back until I look at him. With the bandana down around his neck, I can barely make out the scruff on his face, his lips that tick up into a sinister smirk, and his nostrils, where a septum ring tugs at a faint memory.
“A man breaking into my home is my problem,” I hiss at him in the dark. My palms slap at his chest to keep my balance as he tugs me closer. My torso stretches as he drags me higher, straining my muscles.
“And now he is mine.” I watch as his lips form the words, his voice rolling over me in a carnal way, a way that lights me up inside and dampens my panties.
He radiates danger, an aura so potent that it seeps into every crevice of the room. It’s a strange allure, like a forbidden elixir that beckons to me. In just a few heartbeats, he’s managed to dissolve my self-preservation, quell my anxiety, and override my caution.
At this moment, I’m not Charlotte. I’m just a woman with a reckless fascination with a man who’s taken the life of someone dear to me. Logic should shake me from this madness, this surreal state I’ve fallen into, but as he leans closer, sinking his teeth into my lip, I’m ensnared by a charge that’s as intoxicating as it is dangerous.
What the hell is wrong with me?
A searing pain sparks on my lip, and I taste the metallic tang of blood as he licks it away. My eyelids flutter shut. How can his touch be both menacing and electrifying? What’s wrong with me? Is my need for attention so deep that I find myself drawn to a killer? This must be a dream. There’s no other explanation that fits this twisted reality.
“Why?” I ask, searching his face when I open my eyes again.
He doesn’t smile, doesn’t laugh as he pulls away. We both know what I’m asking.Why me? Why let me live?
“I spare the innocent,” he whispers into my ear, his words sending shivers down my spine. He leans back slightly, his lips grazing the curve of my earlobe. A thrill courses through me at his proximity, his dark desires hanging in the air like a tempting scent. “You,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with want. “You’re a portrait of innocence.” He groans, the heat of his tongue tracing my ear’s contour, sending jolts of sensation through me. “And I ache to unravel every layer you hide.”
“Please.” My nails sink into his shirt, gripping his flesh beneath as I hold on to him for all I am worth.
“No,” he denies me, withdrawing with a predatory chuckle that stirs both fear and a strange yearning within me. He guides me back onto the bed, the tension in the air electrifying. “Soon.” His word hangs like a suspended promise, shrouded in mystery and darkness. I’m left wondering whether it’s a foreboding threat or a whispered invitation.
As before, he presses his finger to his lips, a haunting gesture of secrecy. He fades into the shadows, leaving my room with the door ajar, a silent invitation to a world I never imagined I’d step into. Down the staircase, his footsteps are as soundless as his intentions, melting into the night like a phantom.
I don’t even hear him enter the basement, but I hear the rumble of a car, and that’s when I creep toward the front of the house and the bathroom window, where I look out to see my hitman toss a body into the trunk of a car. He walks around and leans down toward another car—the police cruiser.
From the dark shadows of my bathroom, I watch as he slips inside the car before it takes off down the street and into the night.
Whatever is happening in this town, the police know about it.
Does Agent Hayes?
Rushing back to my room, I pick up the business card he left me. On the back, his phone number tempts me to call him.
