Page 26 of Killing Emma

He stops, spinning around. I collide with him as everything goes black.

Chapter Twelve

Luca

“Oh shit,” I rasp, catching Emma as she loses consciousness. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” She’s limp in my arms, and my body reacts in a strange way, my pulse hammering in my ears. “Emma,” I draw out, shaking her as I sweep her up into my arms. “Wake up.”

But she doesn’t.

“Let’s go,” I bark back to Major, and he picks up his pace beside me, wagging his tail like it’s just another game of chase. I knew there was a chance she’d bust the window. I knew there was a chance she’d slip out, but I didn’t think she had the guts. It was a pleasant surprise to see her on the cameras, my phone chirping with the notification…. But this isn’t the ending I had in mind. Maybe killing her, finally, but not me carrying her unconscious body back to the house with worry in my head.

I kick the front door open and step inside, closing it after Major trots in. It locks automatically and I head for the basement, moving quickly through the house. Emma begins to stir in my arms, but by the time her eyes flutter open, I’m already laying her on the daybed.

I don’t want her to die from a medical condition—if that’s what this is. And why wouldn’t I know she has one? Manny puts together extensive information on our targets, and we always violate HIPPA laws. What the hell is wrong with her? And why the fuck do I even care?

Grabbing the chain cuff, I lift it, hovering over her ankle. I should put it on her. I should beat her skull in with it for running, but I’m too hung up on what’s wrong with her.

Water. I should get her water.

“If you run, I’ll kill you,” I tell her, though my voice sounds abnormally quiet.

“Guard her,” I tell Major, who followed us down the stairs. He happily obliges but chooses to jump up on the bed and lay down beside her. I watch him for a moment, wondering if he can sense something I can’t.

Probably. She’s probably about to fucking die or something.

I race up the stairs and go straight to the fridge, pulling out multiple bottles of water. I could get an IV and hydrate her that way, but it would take hours to have someone here.

Fuck. I load my arms with water and grab a few protein bars. I don’t know what the woman needs—and I don’t know why I care. If she dies, she dies. Good riddance. But my body betrays my mind, trotting back to the basement.

“Off,” I command Major.

He doesn’t listen.

“OFF,” I growl at him.

He scoots closer to Emma, resting his head on her arm. I get closer, and as I do, I see that her eyes are open, staring blankly at the ceiling. It’s the same deadpanned expression she had back at her house, the one that perplexed me and drew me in.

I swallow hard, not sure what to expect from her. “Here,” I say, holding a bottle of water out to her. “You said you need water.”

“Why won’t you just kill me?” Her voice is blank, dead, and confusing as fuck. “Why?” She turns her head to me, her eyes dull and red.

I don’t know. I want to shout at her, shake her senseless, and then kiss every fucking inch of her body. It’s the most confusing, infuriating feeling I’ve ever felt.

“Coward,” she whispers.

Coward. My face grows hot beneath my mask. I want to rip it off, so I can breathe, but the light of the stairwell is too bright. Emma rolls her eyes at me, and turns to face Major, who’s watching her intently. My hands begin to sweat, my nostrils flare, and as rage rolls through my body…

I launch the water bottle into the wall above her.

On impact, it explodes raining down water on both Major and Emma. She winces, sucking in a sharp breath. I don’t miss the tear rolling down her cheek—and I hate that it makes me feel so damn guilty.

“I should’ve fucking murdered you when I caught you the first time,” I roar at her, my voice feeling like a train whistle in my ears. “You fucking whore.”

She doesn’t look at me and she doesn’t react. “The only whore in my house had a dick.”

“What the hell are you saying?” I demand, wanting to put my hands on her. I’m angry enough right now, I could kill her—but here she is, giving me just enough that I want to bite.

“I said,” she draws out. “The only whore who lived in my house had a dick.”

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