Page 21 of His Passerotta

Maybe she didn’t lie about any of it.

That thought seems unlikely, but it sobers me some, smoothing out my relieved smile. If she wasn’t lying, that makes her partially innocent. Which would mean she doesn’t deserve to die.

And I’ll have to kill her anyway.

I sit up straighter and stare into the rearview mirror. The memory of her pouty lips, pressed against my cheek, comes into my mind and has my stomach twisting all over again, the brief minute of reprieve over.

I shouldn’t think about what I’ll need to do later. Only what I need to do now.

And right now, I need answers. Maybe less answers than I thought.

Before I even realize that’s where I’ve been headed, I’m pulling up to my apartment building, the last place I should bring a prisoner.

But she isn’t just any prisoner. She’s a criminal. She’s a criminal who knows who I am. She knows what happens if she screams or tries to run. What will happen to her loved ones.

Her silence suddenly makes sense, even if she doesn’t.

I pass the parking garage and pull into the alleyway behind the building before parking my car and walking to the trunk.

Nothing but silence.

What if something’s wrong? What if she’s dead?

Surely, I’m not that lucky.

I click the button to pop the trunk, trepidation winding my shoulder muscles. I lift the lid and am met with the prettiest gray eyes I’ve ever seen. They swirl with fear that matches the girl’s tense body, her arms wrapped around her chest.

She’s… God, she’s pretty. The kitten in the box I just can’t help but take home.

My shoulders relax, giving away the relief at her liveliness that my mind isn’t yet willing to admit to.

“Get out.”

She flinches at my harsh tone and scrambles to obey the command, only slowing once she’s out of the trunk and looking around. I slam the lid before locking the car.

“Where are we?” she asks, slowly turning in a circle as if she’s trying to figure it out for herself.

Instead of answering, I put my hand on her back and hastily lead her to the back door of my building, pulling out my key card as I walk.

Her stiff muscles and wide eyes tell me she’s scared, as any sane person would be, but I’m a little amazed at the stillness of her body. She doesn’t shake as we walk to the elevator and take it to my floor. Her breathing is erratic but quiet enough that no one would notice if they weren’t studying her the way I am.

She’s brave. Either that or she doesn’t see me as a threat.

My brother’s words enter my mind, calling me soft, and I grind my teeth, taking the girl’s arm to harshly lead her to my apartment, as if the slight amount of roughness will prove something to myself.

Who am I kidding? If my brother was wrong, we wouldn’t be here. We would be in the middle of the desert where she’d be digging her own grave.

When we’re in my foyer, I let go of her arm and lock the door, the insidious click bringing me relief but her obvious anxiety.

“Go to the couch.”

Again, she immediately obeys.

Hmm. Maybe she is afraid of me.

I follow behind her and sit on the opposite end of the couch, as far from her as I can get. It’s done before I realize why I’m doing it. Even my subconscious recognizes how tempting she is.

Her gray eyes curiously dance around while her hands rest carefully in her lap.

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