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“Shouldn’t be any lasting damage.”
Repeats in my head over and over.
Maybe not physical damage.
I sob again. My phone dings in my purse and my cries lessen, a chill running through my body. The doctor eyes me wearily before excusing himself, stating he’ll check on me in about an hour to discuss discharge depending on how I’m feeling.
Once he’s left the room, I turn to Tyler. “Could you grab me my phone?” I sniffle, gesturing toward my purse strewn on one of the empty chairs. He extracts himself from my hand and grabs my purse. I let out a little giggle at his refusal to dig through it.
“Bitch.” He teasingly mutters under his breath.
“Asshole.” I tease back, trying to smile up at him but the amusement doesn’t quite break through my internal panic. Pulling out my phone, my heart stops. I can faintly hear themonitors beeping like crazy from the abrupt change to my vitals. Clicking open the message, my breath catches in my throat.
Unknown number:
Be good, baby girl.
My head shoots up and I look wildly around.
He can’t see me. He doesn’t know where I am. Does he?
My eyes return to my phone and the message above glares at me.
“I’ll know.”
I try to steady my heart and breathing, suddenly desperate to be anywhere else but here.
I didn’t say anything.
I reassure myself but it’s a hollow comfort. It doesn’t matter if I said anything or not. It only matters if Killian thinks I did.
I can only hope he doesn’t.
Chapter 8
Killian
I can’t get the infuriating girl out of my mind. Every time I close my eyes I see her lying lifeless on the table, face relaxed from her orgasm even as she died.
Groaning, I adjust my cock and return my attention to the screen. It doesn’t help matters that I don’t have a job to focus onright now. Andrew hasn’t sent over any new hits since he fucked up on my last one, no doubt wanting to hide from the shame.
I should be impressed that after almost a decade of working together that he has only made the one mistake but I’m not. In our line of work, you can’t afford a single mistake. Screw ups are what get you caught or killed and I have no desire for either of those, especially now that I have an intoxicating woman in my life.
Sighing, I push away from the desk. No point just staring at the blank screen all day. If I’m being honest with myself, it’s just a way to justify what I’m going to do next. What I know Ishouldn’tdo next.
Snatching up my keys, I make my way out of the condo. I have a luxury penthouse on the top floor of a large skyrise overlooking Seattle. I didn’t get into the hitman business just for the thrill, though that is a factor. No, that shit pays and it pays well.
The entire ride down the elevator I try to talk myself out of what I’m going to do next.
You need to get your shit together. You never should have left her alive.
I cringe as I remember that I did so much more than that. I went against every instinct and actively brought her back, all because I’m now apparently pussy whipped by the little vixen.
Rolling my shoulders to release some of the tension building up in my body, I stride out of the lift the moment the doors ding open.
The doorman greets me with his little half-bow that I never much cared for. “Mr. Wells.” He purrs as I pass. I ignore him, not breaking my stride.
The only downside to this place is the unfathomable need the owners have to cater to every possible whim of their residents. One of which was having a blasted doorman and valet. I can’t complain too much as the need to bend over backwards for usmeans that I have complete privacy. It’s in my contract which includes a NDA clause that all the other inhabitants were forced to sign versions of when I moved in. So I suppose I can deal with a few inconveniences.
