Page 30 of We Are the Match
“No, I can do that on my own. But someone already wants to kill me. If you help me find out who, it will be easy enough to frame them for my death. And I can give you enough money and resources to get away from the Families and start over,” I promise her. “Or enough power to get a better, higher rank and continue playing the Family’s game. If you help me be free, I can—I can give you whatever you want.”
A smile flickers across her face now. “Yes, Helen,” Paris says. “I think you can.”
She steps back, flicking the knife shut and stowing it in the pocket of her black jeans so fluidly I barely see the movement.
“Should we talk terms?” I ask, my voice shaking more than it has any right to.
Paris steps away, though she remains facing me. She hooks a chair with her foot and pulls it closer to her and straddles it, leaning her forearms on the back. “Sit down.”
I glance at the stool at the bar and the ragged love seat on the other side of the room and then, flustered and uncertain, I sit down on the floor in front of her, folding my legs neatly beneath me. It puts me at an immediate and unexpected disadvantage, because Paris is above me, looking down.
“You don’t—you don’t give the orders here,” I manage. “I need to ensure my father doesn’t find out you’re working for me, rather than him.”
Paris raises an eyebrow and waits.
A blush creeps up my cheeks. “So what is it you want, Paris?”
“Isavedyourlife. So this? This will be on my terms. Do you understand?”
A flash of movement, and her hand flicks out, tracing the place on my neck where she held her knife just moments ago. One of her rings just brushes my throat, the cool metal sending my pulse racing.
“My terms,” she repeats. One ringed finger hooks my chin and tilts it forcibly upward. “Look me in the eye, Princess.”
I swallow, meeting her eyes. My heart pulses against my ribs. I have never ached so much as I do when Paris is staring down at me, fire in her eyes.
But I can do this. With Paris’s help,I can do this.
“Your terms,” I say hoarsely, and she drops her hand from my face.
“Then we have a deal, Helen,” Paris says as she stands, her rings clicking gently, and I notice she’s retrieved her lighter from somewhere. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Your place.”
I nod, push myself to my feet. “Tomorrow,” I say breathlessly.
I hesitate. There is no reason for me to stay, now that I have said my piece.
Paris gives me a searching gaze. “You want something else?”
“I want—”
Paris waits, and when I say nothing, her smile slips into that mocking look again.
She is still watching me when she opens her fridge and grabs a beer. She is still watching me when she sits down on her love seat, twisting the top idly off the bottle and then sips. Her lips part, and her throat moves as she swallows.
“Are you going to talk, or just stare?” she asks me.
“I—that’s all? We don’t need to talk about the bombing? What you already know? I want an update now.”
“I think you’re far too used to getting exactly what you want,” Paris says, any trace of amusement evaporating from her face. She swirls the liquid in the bottle. “I have theories, but nothing substantial. I’ll update you tomorrow when I know more.”
“At least tell me the theories, then,” I tell her. “If we are to work together—”
“If we are to work together,” she cuts me off. “You’ll learn to fucking listen.”
The words sting. Sharply.
“We could be civil,” I say breathlessly.
“No,” she tells me. She is godless, storm weathered, so vividlyalive. “Youcould be civil. But on me, it would look like compliance.”
