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“I didn’t threaten him,” I correct. “I warned him.”
“But you’ve shot him before?”
“He was in my way.”
Ezra shakes his head, chuckling. “You shot him in the leg? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Yeah,” I drawl, then repeat, “He was in my way.”
“That’s what he said when I asked him about it Thursday night,” he mentions. “Almost the exact same words, too.”
“What else did he say?” I murmur.
“That Quin should feel lucky he wasn’t home alone when you showed up. We saved his life after he pissed you off.” Ezra scrunches his nose. “Maybe you should have shot him. He might have learned his lesson quicker that way.”
I wobble my head. “There were a few moments where I thought about shooting him, but nothing serious enough to threaten his life. The last thing he needs is people falling over themselves to make sure the rock god isn’t more damaged than he was before.”
“Who are you, Gemma Smith?”
“Riley asked me that once…” I muse. “Well, like a dozen times in one sitting.”
“What answer did you give him?” he whispers, the low hum of his voice changing the tune of our conversation.
“Two truths and a lie.”
Ezra leans forward, dark hazel eyes pinning me in place. “What were they?”
“My name isn’t important.”
“Lie.”
I smile. “That’s presumptuous of you.”
“Gemma Smith isn’t your name?”
“No. But the real one isn’t important to you.”
His brow furrows, eyes narrowed on me. “How do you know?”
“Because if it were important for you to know, then you would be here to kill me.”
“And you know I’m not because?” he exaggerates the last word, giving me a haughty expression.
“You‘re too sloppy to have been sent for me,” I declare, turning his arrogance against him. “You came up in the elevator, careless of all the cameras tracking you, even though there are none inside the stairwell. That’s a major red flag, definitely something a trained killer would know before stepping into the building. Though I doubt one would do that either. They’d post up in the building next door, ready to shoot me through my bedroom window.”
“It’s windy outside,” he half-ass argues, grinning at me.
I scoff. “You’re in way over your head if you can’t account for the wind when aiming.”
“You prefer a rifle?”
“I prefer my hands.”
“And knives?” he adds, trying to sneak the question by me.
“Only in a pinch,” I reply, then give him a little more than I should. “Or if I need answers quickly.”
Ezra nods. “You’re the enforcer. That makes sense.”
