Page 69 of His Twisted Game
I needed answers, a clue, a sign, anything telling me how to make sense of what I had seen. I wanted him to admit that the video was him. But I couldn’t make myself ask him to explain what I had seen. I didn’t know what the truth would do to me.
Instead, I made up an excuse.
“You need help with anything?” I asked. Why couldn’t I make myself say those words?Hey, Sawyer. Why do you have a snuff film of a guy dying? Was that you, playing the part of a killer? Is that what your family business actually specializes in, or are you just into horror films and special effects? Please say you’re into horror films.
“You’re not my assistant yet, are you?” he snickered.
“Yet?” I asked. “I haven’t said those two words.”
But I wanted to.
Please, Sawyer. Tell me you’re not a killer.
He let out a breath, not finding my joke funny. “You’re not my assistant, Fiona,” he said. “I don’t need your help.”
Those words crushed me. I was trying to make excuses for him, but he didn’t need me. Maybe he wanted nothing to do with me.
“Let’s go out to dinner,” he said, interrupting the silence. “Tomorrow. I’ll make it up to you. Things are tight at work, but we can do something tomorrow. And once you finish up your program proposal, I’ll find something for you to do for me.”
“With the library?” I asked.
“With your job, yes.” He huffed out a breath. “All right. I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”
As I hung up, Erica eyed me, judging as if she knew what was on my mind. The frozen computer. The encrypted file. Looking up Sawyer’s father. But I let her go. This was aboutSawyer.
He wasn’t the man I thought I knew. And yet, he had never tried to pretend around me.
I’m a blood-thirsty leader of an assassin company,like he was proud.
I killed him,as if he was glad he did.
Why hadn’t I believed him?
CHAPTER 16
Sawyer
When we finally made it to our dinner date, Fiona fidgeted across from me, anxiety twitching through her limbs. Perhaps she was concerned that I would clear the table and eat her pussy again, this time, in front of everyone. Or perhaps she had finally watched the video. Her posture was stiff like she was holding something back, always on the tip of her tongue. I should have asked her what was going on.
But why was I even with Fiona when I should have been out there, killing Roth myself? But I knew why.
Because I had given her my word, and I wasn’t going to let her down.
Because I loved her.
She twirled her fork in the pasta, the strips of sundried tomatoes and darkened basil coloring her plate.
“You’ve barely eaten,” I said.
“I’m not that hungry.”
I cleared my throat. Was she playing games with my head? Trying to make me worry about her?
Dessert came, then: two creme brulees.
“You’re thinking about the managerial position,” I said.
She concentrated on the caramelized crust, then nodded slowly. That hesitation—she was lying. But ifthat’swhat she wanted to claim she was upset about, then I would go along with that. I didn’t have time for drama. I needed to finish our meal, so we could move on and I could kill Roth.
