Page 49 of Enemy of the State

Suddenly, this makes sense. She’s never once balked at my darkness. In fact, it’s never appeared to have bothered her in the slightest. Wanting to be sure I interpreted her revelation correctly, I ask, “You’re a serial killer then?”

We’ve had a few serial killers come through here—not many, but a few—but none of them have ever acted like Lou. I’m dying to find out everything I can about the enigma sitting before me. She’s so unlike anyone I’ve ever met.

Looking up from her overgrown, dirty nails, she smiles at me. “I prefer assassin, but if you want to get technical, I suppose I could probably fit both definitions. I kill for money, though, not because I simply feel like it, although sometimes I do. However, I don’t kill for the emotional or sexual thrill like most serial killers.” Her bottom lip juts out in a pout. “Assassins get a bad rap. Just because I like my job doesn’t make me a serial killer.”

Fuck me to Hell and back because I think I understand what she’s saying perfectly. Shame over my sadistic tendencies and the darkness that lives within me remain strapped to my shoulders; but seeing her so freely accept her own proclivities reminds me that I don’t have to feel bad about who I am either.

“What’s your kill count?”

She smirks, her voice light and giggly when she replies, “Don’t you know it’s impolite to ask a lady her number.”

I say nothing, only giving her a flat look, holding my breath as I crave her answer. Lifting her hand as high as her restraints allow, she waves it through the air nonchalantly, her chains jangling with the movement. “One hundred seventy-two. Actually, wait, that’s not right. That guard made one hundred seventy-three.”

I blink at her, disbelief rippling through me. “One hundred seventy-three people? You’ve killed one hundred seventy-three people?”

Her eyes narrow, and I know she’s about to call me out for my hypocrisy. “Hello, pot. Meet kettle. How many people have you tortured?”

“Touché.” I huff, mirth edging into the sound. “You’ve got me there, Lou. But I don’t know the answer. I’ve never counted.”Nor have I counted the number of men I’ve killed at the request of the government, both here and during my time in Special Forces.While Lou might be comfortable with the knowledge of her kill count, I wouldn’t be. That would surely fuck with my valuable sleep.

As if understanding how bad counting my victims would be for my psyche, she nods slowly. Until Lou, I’ve never really allowed myself to stop and think about my victims as anything other than prisoners worthy of the most horrific suffering and death. I’ve never wanted to count them before, and if I let myself go there now, it wouldn’t be good. I’d drown in that bottomless black hole.

“What happens now?”

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly, the rise and fall of our chests seeming to synchronize as we stare at each other. Her filthy black hair has grown out a little, and a thin layer of dirt is painted over her skin, but even through the mark this place has left on her, she’s still so beautiful.

As I stare into her eyes, the tiniest glimpse of uneasiness flashes across her vision, and it grips my chest in an iron grasp. The need tocomfort her, to assure her that she can depend on me overwhelms me, and I tell her, “I’m going to figure it out. Trust me.”

She laughs, the sound darker than her last giggle, any trace of possible anxiety gone in an instant, like autumn eating the last remnants of summer in the blink of an eye.

“I’ll prove that you can trust me, Lou.”If she’d simply give me the chance.

Now I just need to ensure I don’t let her down. I’m going to get her out of this mess and earn her trust, no matter the cost.

Louhi

Honey Eyes took me back to my cell where I’ve been replaying my conversation with Digs for the last few hours. Even if I had something better to do—which I don’t—I’d still be analyzing every word he said and the ones he didn’t, dissecting each pause, and examining all his expressions.

I spent the first however long thinking about how hesort ofapologized for torturing me. I come from a world where apologies don’t exist and the people who screw you over die instead. Forgiveness is a foreign concept to me and not something I’veevergranted someone. If you wrong me, that sentences you to death. I don’t know what it’s like to let go of the bitterness and indignation I’ve held toward someone other than to kill them. But as I paced the three steps forward and back—four, if I take tiny steps—within my cell, I realized I don’t hold any resentment toward him for what he’s done to me. Am I still irritated that he took my toenails and lit my skin on actual fire? Hell yes. But do I hold that against him? Not really. And that shocks me to my core.

There’s a kinship I share with Digs. His beast is so like mine: thriving in the dark, feasting on blood and depravity, aching to be unleashed to wreak bloody havoc on the world. I saw it in his eyes as he sat across the table from me. I could also see that he’s strugglingto carry the shame of that darkness. I’m years ahead of him in that department, but I remember the desolate isolation that would trickle into my mind. Thank God I had Mercer to help me navigate those emotions and embrace myself for who I am. It took me years to fully accept myself and my abnormal feelings, but once I finally did, the world became my oyster. Too bad I can’t help Digs find a way to get there too.

I’m not doing quite as well with the other information he divulged. I didn’t anticipate him working out that I shouldn’t be here, and I’m not sure how that will affect me or Mercer. I didn’t want to ask about my brother since no one has seemed to work out thathe’sthe one who should be here instead.

Then there’s the information I chose to reveal. Something about his sincerity and the softness in his gaze had me opening my mouth and spouting truths I had no intention of sharing.

I don’t know what Digs plans to do with my admission, but I’ve never shared my kill count withanyone; though, I keep a careful mental count. I don’t know what I’m going to do when I hit two hundred, but maybe I’ll host a party or something.If you’re still alive, my brain supplies unhelpfully.

Lying down on the damp, moldy floor of the cell, I stretch out diagonally and close my eyes, thinking through a way of escape. Iwillstay alive.

I wasn’t lying when I told him that I wasn’t going to allow myself to be killed at the end of the week; I am simply too determined to see the outside world again. What Iwaslying about was taking Digs down with me if I get caught. I wanted that declaration to be true, but even as I said the words, they tasted like acid on my tongue.

What is this man doing to me?

Would Digs be willing to help me escape? I can’t imagine that’s what he meant when he said he’d figure it out. But what if it was? Every time I’m with him, I can’t help but feel as though the darkness residing within each of us is drawn to the other like a magneticpull. I wonder if he feels it too. Although, what if our inner beasts aren’t calling to each other like I originally thought? What if it’s our souls fighting and clawing to get closer? What if it’s a mating call, one soul to another, and we’re destined to respond?

I’ve never been one for fate or destiny. The only compass or divine sense I follow is my gut. She’s never wrong. Ever. And right now, she’s telling me that Digs is Team Lou. I should trust that, right? But that’s crazy. Trusting my enemy would be ludicrous.

I’ll doanythingto secure my freedom, but something tells me Digs would have lines he wouldn’t be willing to cross; I shouldn’t put all my eggs in that basket. I need to make plans of my own. After all, I’ve always had my own back.

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