Page 34 of Enemy of the State

Tipping his head back, he closes his eyes as he soaks up the rays of the late afternoon sun. “The file says 108, but I’m not sure I believe that.”

“You think it’s less?”

He lifts his head and stares at me flatly, as if I might be the stupidest fucker on planet earth. “No, shithead, I think it’s way, way more.”

“Why?”

“Flip to page eight,” he instructs before settling back into his previous position to stare at the cloudless sky.

I’m beginning to think he did more reading thanskimming, but I follow his instructions. The second I turn to the aforementioned page, I’m hit with a list of photos of various victims, as well as a list ofsomeof his reported methods of execution that range from basic stabbings to poison andeverythingin between.

There’s a photo of a middle-aged woman clad in red lingerie, whose skin has a bluish tint to it and vomit pooling around her mouth. The caption below the picture names her as Judy Calperson, a Congresswoman from Pennsylvania, found dead from tetrodotoxin poisoning.

At the bottom of the page, there’s yet another image depictinga man lying in the snow, a hole in the center of his forehead. The description names him as James Vungaärd, a businessman with ties to the Bratva, found with a .223 round embedded in his brain.

The next page boasts a picture of a dead man in his mid-thirties, naked and bound on a bed, covered in blood with his dick grotesquely cut off and lying next to him.I DON’T KNOW HOW TO USE THISis printed on a piece of paper and stapled to his detached member.

Mercer has one hell of a dark sense of humor. That must run in the family, too.

The pages of victims go on and on, but I don’t need to see them all to understand the depravity that Mercer obviously possesses. There’s seemingly no rhyme or reason to his kills and no job he won’t accept.

“Do you think he knows anything about his sister’s little act of terrorism?” I voice aloud.

“I have no idea, but according to that file, he lives in London and wasn’t in Boston when Lou planted or attempted to detonate those explosives. Did we ever learn why she chose the Federal Reserve?”

“They were moving a large sum of money that day—we’re talkingbillionsof dollars—but robbery doesn’t seem to fit with her modus operandi.”

Jace chuckles. “I love it when you talk fancy to me, Digs.”

I snort, rolling my eyes, though he’s still not looking at me as he adds, “Sounds like we may need to get to know Lou a little better.”

“Uh, about that…” My throat feels tight as I force myself to breathe through the apprehension of my impeding confession.

Eyebrows raised, he rolls his head toward me then, waiting for me to continue, but I avert my gaze, staring out at the vast blue ocean.

“She sort of sucked my dick yesterday.”

He laughs out loud, a full belly laugh. I’m glaring at him by the time he regains his composure, and I snap, “Why is that funny?”

Of all the reactions I thought I’d get from Jace—censure, disappointment, disgust—amusement didn’t make the list. If I’m honest with myself, I’m not nearly as ashamed as I probably should be, and I’m not the least bit remorseful. If anything, I’m tempted to do it again.

I know it was wrong, but that didn’t diminish how good it felt.

“It’s not, but I definitely saw that coming. I’m jealous. Lou’s fucking hot and I bet she sucks cock like a pro.”

She does, but for some reason, I don’t want to affirm that fact. Jace and I have shared women before—more than a few times—and we work well together since we understand each other’s preferences and less-than-savorytastes. But when it comes to Lou, I want to keep her to myself.

Louhi

Hours later, I’m still struggling to comprehend what-the-bloody-fuck happened with Digs. He’s a puzzle I can’t assemble, the shapes of the pieces constantly evolving and morphing into an entirely different picture. I locked down my feelings the second I came, throwing up that external mask so that I could sort through my own thoughts. The last thing I need is to be vulnerable.

After I sucked him off, his demeanor seemed to shapeshift into something…softer, dancing on the line of reverence. Sure, he was rough and dirty—he is who he is—but his touch was full of admiration. No one’s ever touched me that way before. I feltappreciated.

The skill with which he set my body alight was unmatched by any of my previous partners, even those who left me thoroughlyand sufficiently satisfied. Those who didn’t aren’t around to disappoint anyone else.

I was wholly enjoying our session until he ruined it with more of his questions. When is the tosser going to learn to stop asking such stupid questions? I’m growing bored with his games.Fine, maybe notallof his games.

I told him the truth. He’s not on my list of people who could even begin to get me out of this situation. He can’thelpme, and just because I think he’s hot and enjoy his company to some degree, doesn’t mean I want his assistance. But, fuck, is he attractive. I could feel the hard lines and planes of his face through his mask, and I’m certain he wouldn’t be disappointing to feast my eyes upon.

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