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I force a smile and nod. “Yes, it has.”
His hands stay respectfully in the middle of my back as he pulls away and looks down at me.
“Let’s sit.” He gestures to a restaurant inside the station.
I follow along, continuing to let him hold my hand while we approach our table. I sit to the left of him as his grip seems to tighten on my skin. Swallowing the growing lump in my throat, I’m nervous about what he needs from me.
“The farm says the mission is not complete.” He runs his thumb over the top of my hand. “There are issues.”
“It’s all done,” I say, trying to defend myself. “No loose ends left.”
“Where is Kevin? You need to…” Looking around, he searches for Kevin.
Stealthily, I remove my hand from his and place it on the upper left side of his stomach, near his ribs. His body becomes stiff, knowing what position he has now been put in. I wasn’t the top fighter in my class, but pressure points fascinate me, the way a simple “slap” can have the body contorting in pain. My mouth salivates in homicidal lust. Today is not the day for me to be handled. Tomorrow isn’t looking good for Louis, either.
“Do not talk about my brother. Do you understand?” Giving him fair warning. “I have zero qualms about knocking you out if you so much as mention his name. If I find out you so much as approached him to say hi. Mark my words, your wife will be planning your funeral, and I will attend the ceremony and will be the one to place that fallen star on the wall.”
“Fuck, Reese!” He shakes his head, pushing my hand away from his side. His face burns red. “Do not talk about my wife! I swear—”
“Those will be the last words you speak,” I cut him off. I am not one to play with. “Kevin is not a threat. Adam is dead. Can I not have a fucking second to breathe?!”
“You know that’s not how this works! Adam left a tornado of shit in his wake, and we are still cleaning up his fucking debris. DuPont’s wife is causing an issue and has cast doubt on the prosecutor’s case. She’s a pain in my ass but she just needs one juror to win over to cause the entire case to fall to pieces.”
I am burning with the desire to cut a bitch, and this man is looking pretty good for a slashing.
“You look like you want to kill me—use that on the missus.”
“Let me think about it,” I say.
He places a kiss on my temple and whispers in my ear. “Good girl, I know we can count on you.”
That does it.
He had tried to take advantage of me when I first started at the CIA. Young and insecure, he gave me the right attention and tried to leverage that within the agency. I finally saw him for who he was before he could make me a notch on his bedpost. Then, using his friendship with the director, he became my handler. I stayed on the road or undercover as much as I could so I wouldn’t be near this man.
Adam unknowingly released my inner demon. I will put him in his place.
I quickly jab my hand into his side with enough pressure to fracture his rib. He grunts in pain while I push my forehead against his. Smiling at him and knowing the pressure put on his spleen will be enough to put him in the hospital for quite some time, or he will visit the morgue. How quickly he seeks help will determine which scenario he will face.
He pushed too far. I am not his good girl nor his puppet. I want to be free from the circus … I just need to find my path of freedom.
I pat his thigh and get up as he struggles to breathe, holding his side and painfully trying to talk. I smile at him. I grab his phone and dial the police.
“Yes… Fifth Street Train Station. A customer at the restaurant is struggling to breathe!” I fake a concerned voice. “He is turning purple! Hurry!”
Winking at him, I then disconnect the call and place the phone at the other end of the table. He would need to move and reach for it, causing an immense amount of pain. This should give me a head start on my getaway, time to find a safe place.
“I told you, I will think about it,” I firmly raise my voice above a whisper. “I will be in contact.”
I strut away, not daring to look back. Today has been an emotional ride. Happy, sad, then angry, causing me to be pushed past my breaking point. Good luck to the poor souls who dare to cross me.
Louis—fuck you. Mrs. DuPont—my “wonderful” therapist—you are about to get mindfucked back to the tiny cell you deserve to call home.
CHAPTER 34
MOVING ON
Kevin Grafton
