Page 5 of Dark Reasons

The knife glows inthe rays cast by the standing lamp. The man holding it turns it at an angle, eyeing the blood that's coating the edge. Sanford, the source of the blood, is limp on the floor.

Holy shit. Holy shit.

I can't help it; I run my fingers over my throat, checking to be sure he didn't slash me too.He moved so fast, he COULD have cut me, and I wouldn't have known.My nostrils flare, I'm trying to get my breathing under control, but my body is rebelling.

And I can't stop staring at Sanford.

I'd planned to kill him... but seeing it happen, the aftermath, isn't what I imagined. There are knots in my guts that won't unwind. I press my palm on my belly as if the lumps can be felt on the surface.

Focus... I'm in danger here.

The mysterious man pulls out a cloth from the pocket of his long jacket. It reminds me of a duster, except for the hood, which I now see is actually part of a hoodie layered beneath. He's turned so I can't see more than the side of his jaw and tip of his nose.

Maybe he's forgotten about me. He's busy with the body, I can get to the door and get out.

"Stop." He says it as firmly as someone cracking a stick over their knee. "Don't move. You've caused enough problems for me."

"I have?" I laugh anxiously. "I don't even know who you are or what's going on."

"Exactly. You stepped into the middle of something you shouldn't of." He shifts, suddenly facing me. He seemed small when he was crouched in the window, but now that I'm sitting on the bed, he's taller than a mountain. His brown eyes stab into me, and it hurts like he's using that knife of his. He begins cleaning it with the cloth. "Tell me your name."

"Why should I?" I taunt. I stepped into something I shouldn't of? So did he, and I'm pissed that he's thrown offmyplan. "You don't get to boss me around."

His head cocks to the side. The lamp light reaches into the hood, revealing his features fully. His jaw is defined, the edges squared off, perfectly symmetrical. Hair darker than an artist's charcoal pencil curls across his forehead and temples. I swallow at the sight of him. After doing such an ugly thing like murder, I expected him to be more frightening. Not to say he isn't scary—he definitely has me on edge—but are killers allowed to be this handsome?

He takes a step toward the bed; I scoot higher up it until the headboard is against my shoulder blades. "Tell me your name," he says again.

"Give me a good reason to."

"It would help the police identify your body."

My skin goes icy.

"Or," he sighs, "maybe making you vanish is easier. I hate leaving a trail, makes people not want to hire me again."

Hire him?Little neurons in my brain connect. "You're an actual hit man," I whisper.That means someone besides me wanted Sanford dead.

His left knee settles on the mattress near my feet. On impulse I tense up, ready to drive my heel into his face if he gets closer. But he stays where he is. Just watching... waiting... probing me in a patient way that saysYou aren't in control here."Your name. Now."

"Polly."

"Try again."

He has a top tier poker face. I don't know if he heard me scream my name earlier, or if he's guessing, but I slump against the pillows. "Selena. What about you?"

"You're not getting my name. You don't need it."

My heart is twisting inward on itself. "You're really going to kill me."

He glances at Sanford's body as if to sayare you shocked by this?"Did you rent this room under your real name?"

"No, I paid in cash," I say quickly. "I'm not an idiot."

"If you went through with shooting him, what were you going to do with his body?"

"Leave it here."

"Along with all your DNA? And the camera footage showing you entering the room with him? Blood splatter on your clothes? Gun powder residue, which would be hard to explain away once everyone came running at the sound of a gunshot?" His attention is on Sanford as he coldly lists off all of my mistakes.

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