Page 36 of Queen of Spades

In no universe do I want to be considered an accessory to whatever that is.

Finally catching the handle, I pull it closed way too loudly. I’m pretty sure that’s Larry. The guy who went missing when he accosted me after work.

Grady’s low chuckle fills the air behind me.

My chest rises and falls in rapid pants as I spin around. He’s got his hands in the pockets of his jeans, and he gives me that same aww, shucks smile that he always does when he thinks I’m going to be mad.

“You have a cell in your house,” I whisper before I can hold the words back.

“It sure looks like I do.”

My eyes widen. “Is that the guy who grabbed me at the club?”

“Yup. He’s also missing the hand he used to try to restrain you. I thought that was poetic. Don’t you think?”

“Are you a serial killer?”

One eye squints, and he pulls up a hand, wobbling it from side to side. “Maybe if you wanna get technical under the terms of the law, but no. I’m for hire—a professional.”

Just like my brother.

All the times my instincts have tried to convince me there’s something off about him play through my mind like flashes of a murder mystery or thriller movie.

Holy fucking shit.

How did I continually ignore the signs?

I convinced myself I was delusional so many times, it’s embarrassing.

Then something would pop up and set off my instincts all over again.

And I still ignored it…

“You’re very good,” I reluctantly admit.

“Thank you,” he says, giving me a cheesy smile. “I like to think I do a pretty good job at faking being normal.”

I don’t have the first clue what I’m feeling.

On one hand, it hurts that he’s not who I thought he was. He’s the first person I started to let in after abandoning my old life, and I truly don’t know him at all.

What kind of long-game bullshit has he been playing?

On the other hand, he has always looked out for me.

My instincts find it strangely romantic…

He removed that guy’s hand for touching me.

Even now that I’ve discovered his secret, I don’t feel threatened, like he’s ramping up to murder me to keep it.

I guess it is a possibility, though.

I’m also weirdly relieved that he’s not the happy-go-lucky ex-military guy I thought he was. He’s much more dangerous than I gave him credit for.

“What’s in that bedroom?” I point to the door next to the one holding his motherfucking prisoner.

“Well, if you didn’t like my second bedroom, I’m not sure the third will be much of an improvement.” He chuckles. “But in the interest of full transparency, I won’t stand in your way if you want to check.” He points at my chest. “As long as you never try to accuse me of cheating on you again. I’m a damn good boyfriend, even if you keep trying to say we aren’t dating.”

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