Page 8 of Ruinous Need
I flatten myself under the car, trying to breathe as quietly as possible, keeping my eyes wide open as I watch him drag the body along the footpath until it’s out of sight. I hear the click of a car trunk, another thud, and the trunk closes again.
The whole thing takes place in less than a minute. Ruthless efficiency.
There’s just one pair of boots now, crunching over the footpath as he stalks towards me.
“You can come out now, Lisette.” The voice is low and gravelly. He sounds frustrated with something.
I don’t move a muscle. How does he know my name?
“Or don’t, and I’ll make you.”
I hear the boots advance but I can’t move. My throat is tight. This is it.
A leather-gloved hand grips my arm and hauls me to my feet. I stumble back against the car, my fingertips clinging to the smooth metal for support.
I force myself to meet his eyes and not to break down in tears the way I want to. I don’t recognize him.
It’s not the Pakhan.
He looms over me, his presence swallowing me whole. A man with dark, messy hair that curls around his ears and eyes which are entirely unreadable. Not the black of the night sky, but the flat black of some unchanging mineral from the depths of the earth. Coal black. It’s a harsh, unforgiving face except for the soft fullness of his lips. The sharp edges of his jaw and cheekbones and the carved hollows in his cheeks give him the appearance of a weapon.
Not to mention the black combat gear he’s wearing. No color at all, except a gold chain around his neck.
He narrows his eyes as he looks at me, and I think he’s about to step closer, but he drags his gaze away to look at the horizon.
As he extends his neck, I take in the sharp, dark tattoos that mark his skin. Every part of him screams danger. He isn’t even breathing hard, though the other man was burlier than him.
An effortless killer.
In less than a minute, he had the man with the scarred face crumpled on the ground and then took him away into the trunk of a car. All in near-perfect silence that didn’t even rouse the suburb from its sleepy peacefulness.
I watched it happen. I know this man is a killer. Why am I not screaming right now?
His flat black eyes are pointedly not looking at me. He begins to speak and I find myself staring at those soft, full lips that seem so much more expressive than the rest of his face.
“Go inside. Have a hot drink. And don’t get yourself killed on the way.”
I gulp in a breath of air.
His scent rips through my nostrils, saltwater and firewood.
He’s not threatening me. I know that from his impassive tone of voice, from the way he’s stepping back as if to let me pass, when he could slam me over the hood of this car… I stop that thought before it goes any further.
“Who—?”
He meets my eyes again and cuts me off with a scowl. Those dark eyes are remorseless and angry as they meet mine.
“Don’t ask questions. Take better care of yourself. Next time someone’s behind you with a gun, don’t just freeze up.”
Then he stalks away. I stay leaning against the hood of the car for support until I hear the SUV drive away. I crane my neck tocatch a glimpse of him through the windscreen, but the windows are tinted.
Fate is catching up with me. That’s the only explanation for this.
I sit on the cold concrete steps that lead to the house for a second, catching my breath.
My phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number. The screen is cracked, a jagged line running through it, from when I dove to shelter.
“I said go inside.”
