Page 6 of Wicked Me
The pain in my hand was starting to lessen. I wasn’t so sure that was a good thing. The stink of my own blood inside the heated car rolled my stomach. Sweat trickled into my eyes.
Go,Paige.
“So predictable.” Hill took the crowbar from my hand then leaned between the seats to open the glove compartment. “You didn’t think to secure it better before your jaunt into the library? Maybe I need to start adding interest to the debt that’s owed me so you’ll take better care of what’s mine. Or maybe we need to end our little arrangement, and I’ll just turn over all the photos—”
“We made a deal.” I tore my gaze from Paige to stare him down. “And interest wasn’t part of it.”
“Neither was missing our appointment.”
Paige turned back around and disappeared behind a van.
“I’ll do better next time,” I said again, unable to keep the relief out of my voice.
“See that you do.” He dislodged the crowbar from between my knuckles.
I fell back in my seat and groaned. Blood leaked from my hand in sticky, nauseating pools that soaked through my jeans. Oh, how I wanted to kill him. Then there would be no more Hill, no more hell for the part of my family I cared about most, no more hidden secrets.
Hill dropped another package into the front passenger seat, this one wrapped in plastic and smaller than the one he’d taken, and readjusted his dinner jacket. “You’ll make the delivery tonight at a yellow house. Give it to Slim and no one else.”
He rattled off an address that I committed to memory around the haze of pain. I nodded my understanding.
Then, with his white, spotless gloves, he slithered out of the car, only to lean back in seconds later. “Let’s behave ourselves, shall we, Sam? Because when I add interest to debts, I usually take a few fingers, too.”
2
Paige
WHAT IN THE ACTUALhell?
I was pretty sure that when I’d stepped back in time to the city streets where I grew up, the molecules in my body had merged with someone else’s, someone much more daring and flirtatious than I ever was. That was not me in the public library back there, caged between a stranger’s well-muscled arms and a shelf of Lisa Montgomery paperbacks, while I wished he would just kiss me already.
But holy shit, it had been hot.Hehad been hot, with his mirrored sunglasses and the way his just-woke-up blond hair fell over them, that stubble along his chin that had lightly scraped against my cheek when I turned my head, and the way he kept looking at me. Even with those sunglasses hiding most of his face, the power of his gaze slid up and down my body like an actual caress. I couldstillfeel it, and it pulsed a hum between my legs that refused to go away.
And he knew my name. How could it be that he was a stranger to me, but I wasn’t to him? Did I know him from somewhere? Surely I would remember meeting someone who looked like they’d just strutted out ofLick Me, I’m Gorgeousmagazine.
Between the enigma that was him and the D.C. heat on a late May afternoon, my brain was thoroughly scrambled. I’d forgotten what this kind of sweltering heat felt like. Humidity swelled the air so thick, I could hardly breathe.
