Page 38 of Eyes in the Shadows

“Why are you here to kill Rossi?”

“I told you; he’s going to sell those—”

“No, I mean, why areyougoing to kill him?”

“I kill a lot of people, darlin’. It’s what I do. And I get paid a lot of money for it.”

I close my eyes. There it is. There’s my reality check. “How many people have you killed? Five? Ten?” I demand, before I lose my nerve.

“Eleanor—”

“Dozens?”

His face screws up in a look that’s half resignation, half cringe.

“More?” I breathe, my lower lip starting to wobble. What started as an antagonistic line of questioning got real a little too quickly.

“Probably more in the hundreds at this point. I haven’t really kept track.”

“You don’t keep track?!” I squeak out. I’m not really sure why that detail makes the fact that he’s killed so many people worse, but it does. Like it’s just further proof that human life means nothing to this man. He clearly feels no remorse.

“Yeah, well…” he huffs a sigh and runs a hand through his hair. “One man dying is a tragedy. A hundred is a statistic.”

My blood runs cold. “Did you just quote Stalin?”

His eyes cut briefly to me before returning to the road as he turns into a neighborhood, and he actually fucking smirks. “Paraphrased.”

Oh God. He is a psychopath. I can’t believe I let my little fantasy go so far. I’m such an idiot.

Well, for whatever reason, this psychopath hasn’t shown much interest in killing me, so there’s that. That means that, for right now, he’s my best bet for surviving whatever situation this is. Because I’m severely out of my element, and I’m trusting his guidance. I can’t go home, I don’t know how to disappear from anyone looking for me, I don’t know how to fight off anyone who might attack me…

He eases the car to a stop at an intersection where the homes are bigger than my entire apartment building. “There’s one more thing I need to know before we get there, darlin’. Why didn’t you go to the police? After I let you go.”

I almost snort, angry as I am at myself. “And say, what exactly? That a man broke into my apartment, tied me up and I watched as he shot people through my window with a sniper rifle?”

He glances at me from the edge of his vision and his expression is tense, guarded, but curious. “Exactly that, yeah.”

I turn to him full-on and scowl. “Because that is crazy. That sounds crazy. Even if they took me seriously, I had no proof and no real information for them. And I’m not an idiot, Mac. I followed the local news afterwards; I know there’s a reason I never heard about a shooting or a murder. Someone covered it up, or the police never even knew about it to begin with. And if it’s being covered up and I’m the one who reports it… I don’t know, it just seems like a bad idea to be on the bad side of someone who has a sniper after them.”

I am trying to convey that, while I’m not strictly on his side, I’m also not a threat. It feels right to try to show the psychopath who doesn’t blink at murderthat you’re not a threat. After a few seconds of studying my face, during which I suck in a breath and wait for his reaction, he barks a laugh and I feel my chest contract.

“If there’s one thing I like in a woman, it’s a strong sense of self-preservation.”

I inhale again, more shakily this time, and look back out the window, trying to focus on anything other than what he’s giving me. Because he says I’ve got a strong sense of self-preservation, but the way I reacted to that kiss… the way I can’t help but notice his chest pressing against his shirt—a shirt that is already straining against broad muscles—as he laughs, and the smile curling those lick-able lips, and the sparkle in his brown eyes as he looks at me now…

Yeah, I wouldn’t call this level of attraction to a literal murderer something that is in my own best interest.

“And if there’s two things… a strong sense of self-preservation and a great ass,” he says with a wink, making a little clicking noise with his tongue.

My heart flutters. Is he… does that mean he thinks my ass is great? Or is he trying to fluster me again, throw me off? It’s like, the second I decide to build some emotional distance, he starts dialing up the charm. It’s too coincidental not to be a manipulation.

But, a small voice argues, he stared, back in the sauna. It wasn’t a quick glance, the surprised, automatic reaction of someone unexpectedly confronted with a full-frontal. It wasn’t a mildly-disappointed-yet-still-half-interested look, like a stranger from a dating app taking what they can get for the night. It was a stare with open, fully masculine appreciation.

I just wish I had any clue what to do about it.

“My ass is pretty great,” I agree, crossing my arms over my chest.

He inhales noisily through his nose and I feel his eyes on me, even though I’m not looking. It brings a rush of goosebumps to the surface and I try to hide the little shiver. “The third thing would be confidence. That’s so fucking hot.”

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