Page 26 of The Hand that Frays

I nod. Still, something in my gut is gnawing at me, clawing for attention when this seems like an open-and-closed case.

Cecily makes her way back through the darkness, and Neo and I remain silent, both lost in our minds for a beat.

“When do you want to do this?” he asks me.

I’m gaping, grappling with what to say in reply. “So, you’re going through with this?”

He tosses his arm in the direction Cecily made off in. “I told her as much, stupid girl. Were you not listening? How unlike you.”

I roll my eyes. “I heard you, but you don’t worry that it’s too easy? Too convenient. Her story was… I don’t know if there’s something we’re missing.”

Neo stands taller, looking down at me with eyes that say he won’t be questioned. “I’ve already given much more time to this than I should’ve.”

“But what if they’re innocent?” I ask. It’s a stupid question because I didn’t look into some people I’ve killed recently, but it slipped out either way.

Neo snarls and wraps his hand around my throat, nearly lifting me off the ground with his grip. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” I manage, gripping his hand around my neck.

“You always want to kill. You’re always bloodthirsty. What has changed?”

“I just…” When I stutter, he tightens his grip on me.

“You just what? I’m growing tired of this game.”

“Something in my gut says there’s more to this than meets the eye. We’re in another country; this is unfamiliar territory. Let’s tread lightly.”

He seems to weigh my words for a moment before he eases me back onto my feet and releases my throat.

“We’ll do this both ways. We still prepare for the kill, but we stay alert.”

I nod, gripping my neck as he leans down and takes my lips with a fevered kiss that feels as powerful as a lightning storm.

I live in a dangerous world with a dangerous man at my side, and I think I’m only just realizing it.

CHAPTER EIGHT

NEO

Hanging back, I tug my hat down lower over my face. I blend into the darkness surrounding me. Not that it matters. Carl Hatt is unaware, anyhow. He hasn’t felt my looming presence in the slightest. He hasn’t looked back even once—ignorant little prick.

Lyla is back at the hotel, finding whatever she can on the couple as I follow Carl around town. So far, he’s gone to work as usual, even with everything in his life. He’s headed home now, but he stopped for two drinks before heading into a taxi.

I note that.

Why would he need liquid courage before going home?

Shouldn’t he be thankful his wife is home?

If my wife were just getting back from a stint in lock-up for five years, I’d be buried so deep in her cunt that I couldn’t see the fucking sunshine.

Though, if my wife were in lock-up, I’d most likely burn the fucking place to its foundations to get her back. No one touches what belongs to me.

Even the fucking government.

My guttightens when he steps out of the taxi in front of his ridiculous-sized mansion and storms up the stairs.

Are any of his grandchildren in there? Are any of his children in there?

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