Page 15 of Memphis

Upon lifting his head and noticing me, his steps faltered, his eyebrows lifting and surprise illuminating his eyes.

“Miss Johnson,” he said, a key in his hand as he eyed me. “Were you waiting for me?”

I nodded. “Yep.”

“Well, I would tell you to schedule a meeting, but you’re not an on-campus student of mine.”

In reply, I stared at him, hoping to convey that I wasn’t about to play some dumb ass game with him. Evidently, he got the message as he unlocked the door and invited me inside the small space.

Dropping in the chair behind his desk and placing his backpack on the floor beside him, the fit older man nodded toward a chair sitting in a corner. “Have a seat.”

“I’ll pass,” I said with venom in my voice.

“Okay. Would you mind closing the door?”

I did, spinning around with my trusty pepper spray in my hand and leaning across his desk, placing the canister mere inches from his face as I growled, “Who the fuck are you, and what are you trying to get me into?”

He blinked a few times. “He told me about the pepper spray, said you really fucked him up.”

“Yeah, you want some?”

“Nah, it’s a bitch teaching classes with fucked up eyes.”

“Then talk!”

“Okay…I, uh…noticed your talent. You’re lethal. You were lethal when you joined my class. You’re smart and fast with an appearance that belies all of that.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “You’re gorgeous.Blackand gorgeous. That alone is the perfect cover in this line of work. Black men will see you and want to fuck you. So will white men. White women will find you interesting, but they won’t see you as a threat of any kind, and black women? They’ll notice you, but the last thing they’ll see you as is a killer. In a word, Miss King—I mean, Johnson—you’re perfect for this job, a job that is very lucrative. In a few short years, you’ll be able to stockpile enough money to live the life of your dreams.”

So, he knew my real name just like his buddy did.

I eyed him as my brain completed a puzzle. “You…you are a…” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “…hitman?”

He smiled. “Now, I can’t tell you that.”

“And I can’t just kill someone!” I uttered.

“Really? No one? There’s no one in the whole world you want dead?”

Well, there was one someone, but he deserved it.

I must’ve unconsciously said that out loud because he pointed out, “Then youcankill someone.”

My brow wrinkled, exposing my confusion, or maybe I was conflicted? Whatever it was made me pocket my pepper spray and hurry out of his office.

9

Now…

Hostage log, day three:

I lay in his bed in the thick darkness of night with his body wrapped around mine. His warm, rhythmic breaths caressed my back as he slept. His hard dick was pokingme in the ass. He felt…good, but that was nothing new. He always felt good. I just didn’t want him to.

When I attempted to move, he groaned softly and kissed my back, his voice groggy as he inquired, “Where you think you going?”

“To pee, fool. Damn!” I snapped.

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