Page 129 of Buried in Blood
I try to nod, but my muscles feel disconnected.
He moves to the cabinet behind his desk, opens it, and pulls out a soft black clutch. It’s elegant. Shiny. Looks like it would belong to any guest at a wedding.
Heunzips it.
Four small devices sit inside. Black. Matte. No bigger than a lipstick tube. Each one marked with a tiny strip of color-coded tape.
“They’re triggered remotely,” he says. “You’ll leave the clutch in the reception tent once you’re finished. One of my men will retrieve it.”
I stare at the devices. “Will anyone get hurt?”
His eyes find mine.
Still.
Cold.
Flat.
“That depends,” he says, “on whether they’re in the blast radius.”
I look down at the paper again, my breath caught between denial and inevitability.
He lifts the clutch and walks it over to me, placing it carefully in my lap.
“I chose this job for you,” he says softly. “Because I wanted to believe you were still capable. Still worthy of the trust I gave you.”
I whisper, “And if I am?”
“Then I might reconsider your expiration date.”
I rise slowly, fingers curled around the clutch, heartbeat thundering beneath my ribs.
He moves behind me, opening the door dismissing me, like I’m just another servant leaving after orders. I step forward, mechanical, silent.
But before I reach the threshold—
His hand slams the door shut beside me.
I flinch.
“I didn’t say you could go.”
I turn slowly, pulse skyrocketing, body going cold all over again.
He steps closer. Each footfall deliberate. Controlled.
“There’s more to loyalty than obedience,” he says, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “And I’m not finished with you yet.”
He leans down, lips near my ear.
“You’ll stay the night. Here. With me. Like old times.”
My stomach drops.
He walks past me toward the bedroom at the back of his office suite, pausing in the doorway without turning around.
“Come,” he says.
