Page 14 of Sadist

She seethed in silence, looking as if she wanted to throw her bowl at me.

“Next question,” I said, smiling sweetly.

“Why this job?”

I frowned. “I didn’t choose it. Your file was given to me.”

“No.” She sipped her Coke as she considered her words. “Why doyoudo this. What makes someone decide they want to be a criminal?”

“Floristry kinda wasn’t my thing,” I replied dryly.

She raised a brow over the rim of her Coke, and I couldn’t stop the soft laugh that slipped out.

“The job found me. I just happen to be good at it.”

I saw her lips move in something that looked suspiciously like“debatable”and chose to ignore it, scraping the last remnants of cheese-flavored gloop from my plate.

“You’re ex-military?”

I stiffened, but that was already an answer, judging from how closely she was watching me. And there were no records of my military career left to find anyway, so I nodded once.

“What gave me away?”

She shrugged. “I spent time in Thailand a year back. It’s popular with expats, and a few ex-military were regulars at a barI went to. You all carry yourselves the same way.” She glanced at me again. “What made you go from fighting for your country to…this?”

“These are not the questions I was anticipating,” I said.

“It’s not like you are going to tell me anything that will help get me out of here,” she quipped. “And you seem to know so much about me, it’s only fair.”

“The world is far from a fair place, Octavia,” I said.

“Oh, I am well aware,” she said, her voice turning slightly cold. “As my present company would suggest.”

That made me chuckle as I stacked our now empty plates together.

“I was discharged,” I offered.

“Oh?”

“My commanding officer broke his face in three places on my fist. They don’t take kindly to that sort of thing.”

“So, you have a temper?” she mused. “And let me guess…he deserved it.”

“Oh yes,” I agreed. “It takes quite a lot for me to lose it. I don’t suggest trying to find out how much.”

She reached for the small salt and pepper shakers on the table, deliberately picking up the pepper and sprinkling some on the surface.

I curbed the urge to sweep it into my hand, deliberately not looking at the mess she was now running a finger through.

“How old are you?” she asked, flicking a pepper crumb at me.

I raised my brow at that.

“Would you just like me to give you my birth certificate and blood type while I am at it?”

“Forty-seven?” she guessed.

My mouth dropped open in offense before I could catch myself, and her eyes sparked in triumph.

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