Page 21 of Stolen By the Hit Man
“What are you?”
After what feels like an eternity, and long after the shooting stops, he finally says, “I think they gave up for now. But there will be more. To answer your question? Let’s just say if you’d have let me handle the situation back there, they’d all be dead by now.”
“I didn’t mean for us to kill anybody,” I say.
“Yeah, but they’re dead. And now we have to go to my safe house.”
“Shouldn’t we go to the police? Give a statement to let them know I was kidnapped and those guys are dead because we acted in self-defense?”
His jaw is tight, and his knuckles are white on the wheel as we bound up the mountain.
“In my line of work, we don’t involve the cops. Ever. I just get the job done and disappear until the smoke blows over.”
“Your…line of work.”
He turns to me and finally speaks plainly. “I’m a hit man, Jasmyn. A hired gun. People hire me to do what the justice system won’t do. I kill for money.”
I blink at him. The mystery of my own life has already clicked into place.
And now the mystery of this man is finally solved.
“It feels weird.”
“What does?” I ask.
“I’ve never said that out loud so directly to anyone. For obvious reasons,” he says.
I should be repulsed. Horrified that I’ve learned that I’m keeping the company of a killer. Shocked and upset that I’ve gone from the clutches of kidnappers to another, more dangerous type of criminal. Frightened knowing this hulk of a man could murder me and make my body disappear, and no one would ever know the truth.
Would they do one of those frustrating Dateline episodes about me? The kind that makes everyone upset because the pretty CEO who disappeared on a work retreat was never found?
Focus, Jasmyn. Focus.
A sane woman might feel all of those things. And yet, I feel…the opposite.
I feel perfectly serene, alone with a hit man.
Best of all, I have my fucking memories back.
Chapter Ten
Joaquin
In my life, I’ve done bad things for good money. Awesome money, in fact. Most of the time, I don’t feel any kind of way about it.
Every so often, I feel a sense of responsibility on behalf of the people who hired me.
I tell all of this to Jasmyn, explaining precisely what I do for a living to her. Or what I did. Because I’m not going to do any of that anymore.
None of those events can compare with the emotions roiling through me right now. If those polygamists had hurt Jasmyn—well, I just can’t bear to think about that.
I reach over and take her hand as we pass through the security gate.
“Where are we?” she asks.
It’s dark now, and we’ve been driving for an hour on dirt roads through the wilderness. “Somewhere safe. No one gets throughthe gates. Cameras everywhere, and the fence is solid. If they try to climb over it, I’ll get alerts.”
“I’m not poor by any stretch, but I’m in the wrong business,” Jasmyn breathes as we approach the rear garage. When the journey is finally over, we’ve come through the steel door that automatically shuts behind us as light floods the spotless four-car garage. I watch her take in her surroundings—the Range Rover, Lexus SUV, and the tricked-out four-wheeler. As I cut off the engine, the sound of the loud metal locking mechanism echoes through the garage.
