Page 16 of Stalk

“I asked you first,” the mystery man says, pulling me out of my trance.

I shake my head. “You’re the one who attacked me and crushed my airway. You go first.”

The stranger mercilessly stares at me with his arms crossed. It doesn’t escape me that he’s sizing me up, too. His gaze flitters to what I’m wearing, back to my face, down to my shoes, and then back up again.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“What areyoudoing here?”

He scoffs.“Testardo.”

I know whatever he just mumbled is more than likely an insult, and I’m mad that I’m not affected by it. If he didn’t have that pretty accent, I’d probably feel differently.

I don’t know who this guy is, but by the way we’re practically dressed the same, and how we both came into the apartment without belonging here, I figure he has to be in the same line of work as me, or he’s a drug dealer who needs payment. My hunch tells me it’s the former.

“I think you and I both know why you’re here and why I’m here,” I whisper.

He quirks a thick, dark brow. “Why is that?”

I would groan as loudly as possible right now if I could. “You have business with Helena. I have business with Helena.”

The guy looks like he’s about to deny it, but he concedes with a simple nod.

“Drug related or something else?” I ask. I have to be as vague as possible given my line of work, because if he’s not what I think he is, and I give too much away, I’ll be fucked.

“Not drugs.”

“Okay. So?”

“So?”

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter. “You and I are both being weirdly secretive and paranoid and it’s not going to get us anywhere if we just stand here like a couple of idiots. I’ll tell you if you tell me, okay?”

He stands there, mulling my words over before responding. “Fine.”

“You already saw my knife,” I say when I realize he must have. Come to think of it, where…

He reaches into his back pocket and hands me my blade. I take the handle in my palm and stare.

“Drugs?” he asks.

It takes me a minute to understand he’s asking me the same thing I asked. I shake my head. “No.”

“You are here to execute Helena.”

“So are you.”

Finally, he admits it. But not before exhaling a long sigh. “Yes.”

“Okay, then.”

“Are you local?” he asks.

I nod. “I take it you aren’t?”

“No, I’m not.”

We stand there for what feels like a million years. I don’t know what to say, and I’m sure he doesn’t either. Eventually, he looks away and swallows roughly. I can’t help but stare at the span of his neck as he does so.

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