Page 28 of Killing Emma

“POTS. I have POTS. You probably wouldn’t find it in my medical file because it was diagnosed through a holistic doctor. All the others failed me.”

I don’t know what the hell she’s talking about, but I make a mental note to look it up later. I tell myself that I don’t want it to kill her, because it would steal the fun from me, but that might be a twist on the truth. I don’t know anymore.

Emma drinks the entire bottle of water and then lets out a sigh. I hand her another, opening it for her. She drinks that one, too. In silence, we continue the exchange until she’s finished off three and started another. She sets the fourth on the nightstand and rolls away from me, her body trembling.

I run my hands down the thighs of my sweatpants, fighting an urge I’ve never felt before. My forehead beads up with sweat, and my heart starts to race. I turn my back to Emma, like she just did me and I rip my mask off, sucking in a deep breath. I feel like I’m suffocating. I can’t go soft on her. I don’t recognize myself anymore.

“Guard her,” I repeat my command to Major, my voice pained. I leave the two of them and head for the stairs. I’ve never failed a job. I’ve never left a target alive, but I’ve also never wanted to save someone so badly.

I wish Victor was still alive. I wish he hadn’t died to save me, leaving me in a complex that I haven’t been able to break free from in years. He was the epitome of ruthless, cunning, and sadistic—but he chose death for me. Ever since then, I haven’t been able to function correctly. I don’t fuck. I don’t party. I don’t do anything but wonder why he preached no mercy and then gave me nothing but mercy that night.

You fucked this hit up, kid, he had told me as he laid there, bleeding out on the floor. But you’re my greatest accomplishment. I’m proud of you, son. Do something better than this. And never trust Ivan.

I’ll never get those words out of my head. He’d never said anything like that before. He wasn’t my real father, and that was the first time he’d called me son. He had taken me in as a street rat and trained me to be a cold-blooded killer—the same as Ivan had done with Manny. We were their legacy.

And then he told me to change myself and never to trust the man who he’d called his brother. On his fucking death bed.

Well, here I am. Changing away, pops.

Chapter Thirteen

Emma

The hot breath of the dog draws me out of my heavy sleep, the sleepiness being something that happens a lot after an episode. It’s different for everyone, but this is how I function with it. I feel better, and as I roll over, blinking the grogginess away, I see my captor, mopping the floors of the basement.

And there’s no hooded mask on his head.

I grow still at the sight, taking in the thick of his neck, the tone of his beautiful olive colored skin, and the darkness of his short hair. I don’t have to see his face to know he’s handsome.

“How long have I been asleep?” I ask him, hoping he’ll turn around.

“Almost thirteen hours,” he answers me. “There’s food on the nightstand for you. You should eat. I won’t skip any meals from now on.”

I sit up carefully, seeing the plate of breakfast food and two bottles of Gatorade. “The sodium is helpful,” I think aloud, eyeing him.

“Yeah, I read that.”

I bite back a small smile. For someone who was going to murder me, it seemed strange to read up on medical information. I grab my food and force myself to eat the eggs and toast, tempted to ask the man if that’s all he knows how to make. I don’t, however, deciding that silence is probably better.

“What else was in my file?” I ask him, tempting a conversation. He listened to me as I droned on about my grief, so maybe this is the way to escape him. Maybe I can make him think we’re friends. Or something. Obviously, the window escape isn’t going to work.

“Uh,” he falters, keeping his back turned. “Just information—whatever would help find you.”

Find me.

“Were you…” My voice trails off as I put the pieces together, my heart jumping to my throat. “Were you hired to kill me?”

He’s silent, but that’s enough of an answer. That’s what he meant when he said he didn’t choose me. Maybe he hasn’t killed me because he doesn’t want to. Excitement pulls at me. Maybe he can become an ally. It’s a reach. It’s a long reach.

“Do you know who hired you?”

“No, well…” He pauses, shaking his head. “None of this information will change the outcome for you.”

“Okay, so then tell me the truth—so I know. Let me die knowing… And with a shower, preferably.”

He chuckles. “Go take one. You won’t get through the window now.”

I finish my food and down one of the Gatorades, easing myself up and off the bed. I feel stiff, like I’ve slept for days. My eyes drift down to the pin pricks on the top of my hand, and I pause, recognizing the marks. “Did you give me an IV?”

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