Page 10 of Dark Reasons

"Because it's all I care about."

"You should care about living," he thunders.

"Well, I don't. If you're saying you're letting me go, though, I'll be on my way." Grabbing the handle, I start to open my door.

Jamison reaches over me, so close his shoulder rubs over my chest, and yanks the door shut again. We're nose to nose; I see the flecks of onyx in his rich brown eyes. "Learn to have a little fear, Selena. That's my free advice for you."

"I don't wantanythingfrom you."

"You want to become me."

I balk at that. "I don't..."

"You want to become a killer," he whispers thickly.

"Not that I want to, that I have to," I mutter.

He runs his gaze to my lips. "What you desire is insane, you know that."

I swallow at how the worddesiresounds when it comes from him. "I'd never pretend what I'm doing isn't crazy," I admit.

"That's a start. Maybe you're not as hopeless as I thought." Sliding back behind the wheel, he starts the car but doesn't take it out of park. "Do you know where Caruso is?"

I shake my head. "I didn't even know he existed until today." My brain pings. "Doyouknow? Have you heard of him? Does he have anything to do with why you murdered Sanford?"

"Hold on," he says. "Before I answer anything, there's a more important question that has to be asked."

"Okay," I say warily. "Which is?"

There are whirlpools in his eyes. They make them blacker, colder, unavoidable. I stare into them, wondering if I'll be able to break free if he doesn't turn away. "I don't want to kill you. I also don't want you turning me in to the cops."

"I wouldn't—"

He holds up a finger nearly against my chin. "If I let you leave, you're going to fumble your way around the city, trying to find Caruso. You might not mean to turn me in, but a wrong move could put you on someone's radar and drag me down with you." He drums all ten of his fingers on the wheel, tracing the grooves, still holding my stare. "The question you need to ask, is do youreallywant revenge? At any cost?"

"Yes." I don't need time to think it over.

He nods slowly, and I swear to god, he actually looks... sad. But then it's gone, and the car is rumbling forward over the pavement, away from the pier with its glowing lights and ominous ocean horizon. "Then you need my help."

I recoil in surprise. "I didn't say that."

"You did." With a final, sobering look, he faces the street. He doesn't look at me again for the entire ride. It's for the best, because when I turn to the window, some of the tears I held in earlier start to leak out. Frustration, fear, elation, terror, defeat... and hope.

I don't need his help. I don't need anyone's help.

Icando this alone, I'd planned to from the start. But if Jamison insists on getting involved, then for now, I'll bite my tongue.

Especially if this keeps him from killing me.

***

The tattoo shop iswedged between a PC repair store that doesn’t look like it’s seen a customer in a decade, and a laundry mat with windows so dirty they might as well be tinted.

Jamison parks in front, then climbs out without waiting to see if I’ll follow.

“Hey, what are we here for?” I ask, chasing after him.

“Before I can officially help you, I need to get the all clear.”

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