Page 82 of Crossfire

As Grayson closed the distance between us, a dread unraveled in my stomach.

I could see the resolve in his features, a dark promise that this was far from over. The moment his fingers brushed against my skin, aiming for the tape that covered my lips, an involuntary shudder coursed through me, and I recoiled.

He froze at my movement, his focus fixed on me, his expression unreadable. Was that…pity in his eyes?

It couldn’t be.Killers don’t have emotions.

“I’m going to remove this now,” he said, clutching the corner of the tape between his fingers. “If you scream, you will be punished.”

Punished.

What in the name of all that’s sacred did that mean?

I was lying on a bed.

He wouldn’t…would he?

With the sharp sting, the duct tape ripped off my mouth while Grayson loomed over me like a dark force shadowing my existence.

“I’m going to ask you a series of questions,” he said. “You’re going to answer them.”

“Why?”

In lieu of an answer, his chest swelled.

“Your goal is to kill me.” I searched his features, longing to hear assurances he wouldn’t do it—no matter what.

Instead, like a knife to the bone, he said, “My goal is to find out information.”

My throat burned in betrayal. Why would I have expected anything different? Because we shared some moments together? Because he had seemingly gone out of his way to try to help me with my grandmother’s bill?

Because for the first time for as long as I could remember, my heart had warmed. If I were being honest, my feelings for Pete had faded long ago and never burned that bright to begin with. Grayson had sparked something inside of me that I hadn’t known existed.

And damn it to hell, he’d made me feel a flutter of something other than decay and agony.

Just to turn out to be a killer.Mykiller, to be more precise.

“What information?” I failed to hide the bite in my tone.

“I need to understand more about your life so I can figure out why you’re a target.”

“We did this already. I showed you my phone and proof that someone lured me to that garage.”

“No,” he said. “You’re going to tell me what I want to know. From your lips to my ears.”

“I told you I’m not a criminal.”

“And yet here we are.”

“What’s the point of asking questions? No matter what I say, it won’t change whatever you believe.”

“Because if you are a criminal, you’re going to be the one to tell me that.”

“Why? So you can sleep at night once you end me?”

No response.

“So, if I answer your questions,” I continued, “and you don’t believe me, you’ll kill me?”

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