Page 6 of Grit & Glamour

“She’s lying.” The taller man sighs, sounding exhausted all of a sudden. The newcomer seems to hover awkwardly, thrown off balance by the taller man’s snappiness. He turns his now-masked face towards mine.

“Fuck,” he mutters, only just loud enough for me to catch.

“What?” I ask, feeling paranoid.

“Nothing,” he says dismissively. I turn towards Caleb and see the pain in his eyes at seeing me.

“What’s wrong with me?” I demand, turning back to the newcomer. “Tell me now, or I won’t be answering any questions.”

He turns to the taller man, as if silently asking for permission, at a nod from him, he focuses back on me. “You’ve just got a nasty bruise on your face. Can’t you feel it? It’s turned all kinds of purple since I last looked.”

“Oh, just the bruise? Yeah I can feel it.” I sigh. “I don’t pay too much attention to pain after noticing it, I guess I forgot it was there. Sucks that it’s on my face though. I don’t suppose any of you have any concealer handy?” The sarcasm slips out without so much as a thought.

“Enough of this, tie the boy to the chair next to her,” the taller man issues the command to the newcomer of the three in a thundering tone.

“His name is Caleb!” I snap, fuelled by anger and irritation, rather than sense, as I speak out.

“We don’t name our chickens, sweetheart.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demand, guessing that it isn’t anything complimentary.

“I certainly don’t answer the chicken’s stupid questions either.” He turns to the newcomer. “Is he secured?”

“Yeah. No way he’s getting out of those ropes.”

“You also said no way anyone followed us.” The taller man points at the one kneeling. “You, go check his work.”

“So, what, you’re the big boss here then I suppose?” I ask him, trying to get a hold on the situation.

“We’re all equal partners,” he replies in a cocky drawl. I can almost hear the smirk in his voice, and I’d bet all the money I have stashed away that he’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat underneath that ski-mask.

“That didn’t sound very equal to me,” I mutter.

“I’m sorry, are you here to run team-building exercises for us or something? Shut the hell up unless you’re spoken to!” he shouts at me in a thundering tone. The effect of it even seems to stun his own men into silence, as we’re all thrust into a long, awkward one that drags on. It’s fitting he’s the one to finally shatter the quiet as he’s the one that caused it. “We have to kill her.” He sounds resigned. His voice is hollow, though almost a little sad. Nothing like I’d expect when hearing those words from him.

“Wait, what?” I screech, feeling my heart thrash wildly against my chest. My eyes dart to Caleb in panic, before switching back to our captors.

“You can’t be serious,” the newcomer says, shaking his head. Even without being able to see his expression, I can tell he’s a little uneasy. The least professional of the bunch, but he’s built like the real deal at least. Tall, though not as obscenely huge as the leader. His shoulders are broad, and his muscled, fit body is dressed all in black.

“I’m with him. We kill assholes for money, not kids for silence,” the one that was kneeling on the floor before says. Now that he’s standing, I notice he’s the exact same height as the newcomer. Their voices even sound similar.

“I’m not a child,” I hiss, embarrassment flushing my cheeks.

“How old are you, sweetheart?” the tall one presses.

“I’ll be eighteen in—

“How old are you?” he asks again, cutting me off.

“I said, I’ll be—

“How fucking old are you?”

“Seventeen, damn it. But I’ll be eighteen in two days.”

“One day,” he corrects absently, before continuing, “Seventeen. You’re a child. Now shut up and be grateful for that fact.”

“We don’t kill kids. It says so right on our website,” the newcomer points out, and I can’t help but remember seeing it on their site—No celebrities, no minors, and no top-level politicians.

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