Page 102 of Beneath the Light of the Moon
“Changing your name certainly didn’t erase your smart mouth.”
“And your last name didn’t give you any IQ points,”she shot back.
The gun slipped further up her arm, goosebumps rising in its wake. “My men and I don’t take lightly to threats.”
“Obviously,” she muttered, if only to intensify his glare in the shadows.
“Are you the one killing them, Anika?”
“You’re such a well-rounded guy, Mikko,” she threw his name back at him, “an entrepreneur, a scammer, a stalker,andan investigator. Do you do time at the police station on the weekends? Volunteer work? I’m sure theyloveyou there—”
“Zamolchi.” Be quiet.
“Oh, and bilingual, how could I forget.”
“Answer. The. Question.” She couldn’t see his jaw, but she’d bet money it was clenched, his words tight.
She huffed. “No.”
“No, as in ‘no, I didn’t kill your men,’ or ‘no, I’m not answering?’”
“I’ll let you guess.”
“And I’ll let you guess if this gun is really loaded.” He nudged it harder against her bare skin.
“I always keep one in the chamber. But you won’t do it, you value this too much.” Her hand gestured between them, and she knew the insinuation would rile him up. Anika pressed her lips together to keep the smug grin off her face.
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” his hulking frame was hard to discern against the shadows ensconcing him. “I can still get what I want from you if you’re wounded.”
“Seems like you got a type: wounded women so they can’t run from you.”
He removed the gun from her arm before backing away. Despite the lack of light, she could see the slight shake in his hands. She’d hit a nerve.
Tucking it back where he’d had it before, Mikko strode a couple feet away before bending down. There, in the darkness, he’d dropped a duffel bag.
“Aren’t you just a little planner,” she taunted, squinting in an attempt to see what he was rummaging for. She could’ve used the time to run—to escape past him and back through her house, but a small part of her knew he could shoot her without killing her, and shereallydidn’t want to know what that felt like.
The thought alone drudged up memories she longed to keep buried. Images of blood splattered carpet flashed across her mind, taking her to a place far away—a place where her parents’ memory lived. A piece of her heart withered away, but if this is what she needed to do to avenge her parents, then she would do it.
Shaking her head, she decided to remain seated. Maybe if she cooperated, he’d think she was complacent and docile. Anika stifled a snort.
“My father was good for some things.” Bitterness coated his words.He straightened, items dangling from his gloved hands. Tucking them beneath his arm, he ducked farther into the inky depths of the doorway leading down to her basement.
Anika sighed. “Can you at least turn the power back on so I can see you as you antagonize me?”
His words were almost lost to the sound of the rain pelting against the glass windows and surrounding vegetation outside. “Could’ve been the storm.”
“And the street light that’s still on outside?”
“An anomaly.”
“More like a giveaway of your desperation,” Anika said, words dark and bitter.
“Maybe, but by then, it was too late, wasn’t it?”
A softclickwas audible before all the lights that had been on in her house previously flashed back on. The harshness of it cut through her brain, her eyes watering at the visual intrusion. Spots swam across her eyesight, blurring the man before her.
Risking a bullet to her body, Anika’s arm instinctively came up and sheltered her eyes from the brightness. “Damn, warn a girl first.”
