Page 64 of Hit Man
“I’m presently unemployed.”
The rain picks up. But it’s nothing like the intense, angry stare he pins me with.
Like he doesn’t believe me.
“Wanna know what happened to the last person who lied to me?”
A threat? “Not particularly.”
“I killed him. Snapped his neck with my bare hands.”
I gasp, and stumble backward.
He stalks forward, fingers flexing. “Did you find what you were looking for?” he demands, menacingly.
Holy hell. How do I answer that? But I didn’t find heroin or coke or pills. No thick wad of money, either. The things narcotics detectives seize on busts. I’ve seen enough reruns ofCopsto know.
“I thought you stole drugs from Juan Carlos. I was searching your bag for evidence. You expect me to take you at face value after everything that’s happened? Seriously, what would you do if you were in my shoes?”
I glance down at his feet. Wrong question to ask. Wouldn’t it be pretty damn pathetic having my neck viciously snapped by a man wearing daisy flip-flops? Damn it.Don’t underestimate him. Don’t underestimate your exhaustion and how it underplays the danger your in.
This man is ten times more complicated than being a simple, foulmouthed Romeo. Arrogant. Extremely clever. Powerful. Yet up until right now, I failed to pick up on the savage aura about him. It’s subtle, lying just below the surface.
Menacing.
I should have realized the first time we met, when I asked him if he were a boxer, that I’d instinctually honed in on more than just his muscular body.
Too late.
There’s no escaping him.
“Who are you?” He grabs me by the arms and hauls me up against him.
I blink. “I don’t understand your question.”
He shakes me. “Who. Are. You?”
Call it irrational, whatever, but I’m suddenly furious when I should be afraid. “I. Don’t. Understand. Why. You. Keep. Asking. Me. This.” I enunciate, mimicking his manner.
His releases a hand only to put his fingers around my throat.
Rain pours down on us. Yet it’s not enough to hide the flood of tears rolling down my cheek. Now, I’m scared. Tired. Defeated and confused beyond belief.
“Crying won’t help.”
“Jerk,” I whisper. “Why’d you help me escape if you only intended to kill me? You’re going to snap my neck for taking a peek into your bag? You . . . goddamn . . . rock collector.”
He looks stunned. Then he laughs.Laughs—it’s not even a chuckle but a full belly-induced vibration that rolls up through his chest and escapes through his madman’s lips. His hands drop away. And I step back out of reach, watching as the lunatic continues to laugh while shaking his head.
I pivot on my heels and stalk away. My tears keep me company as I hurry along the roadway, needing to return to Mexico City as soon as possible. Needing to get the hell far away from him.
He jogs up next to me. “I warned you to keep out of my shit.”
I ignore him, and am rewarded with his long sigh. “I believe you, you hear me?”
“I don’t care what you believe. You threatened me with bodily harm. I can’t trust you.”
“Fine, but . . . I lied,” he murmurs. “The last man I killed wasn’t by choking him.”
