Page 12 of The Players

He looked shocked, but he had to be toying with me.

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” I said. “It happened when we met your little lackeys in the parking lot. It has your name written all over it.”

Easton blinked, before nodding. “Yeah. Well, imagine what else I’m capable of.”

“I remember what you’re capable of,” I said, the rage building. “You pulled out that hose. You almost killed me. If it hadn’t been…” A sob caught in my throat. I struggled past it, swallowing hard. “You have given me one of the worst experiences of my life, Hill,” I said, putting a finger in his face. “And with my shitty life, that’s saying something. I don’t know what you think you can do to me, but I have to tell you, there’s nothing new under the sun. I’ve been through it all. There’s nothing left.”

I got up to leave. I’d said my piece. He could chew on that for a while.

“I have information.”

I skidded to a stop and turned to look at him.

“What did you say?”

“Information about your parents' murders.” His gaze didn’t waver. The beer bottle stayed on the table.

He was not bullshitting me.

My body began to tremble. He’d said murders, not murder/suicide. “Speak.”

“No. Not here. Not now. This information is going to cost me a lot, so you have to pay, too. You have to do something for me first.”

I gave a mirthless laugh. “You gonna bury me alive again?”

He shook his head. “But I want you to play again.”

“Yeah, right.” I started to go.

“I’ll play fair this time,” he said. “I’ll keep to the rules. No coffins.”

“Why would I do this?” I asked, honestly trying to figure it out myself.

“You’ll do this because you know you need the info I have. You’ve wanted it for a long time, and you’re willing to do just about anything to get it.”

I bit my lip. The little pissant was right. I did want this info. That is, if he really had it. And if he did, he knew I’d play his game.

“I want proof.”

He sipped his beer. “I have proof.”

“Send it, and then we’ll talk.” I whirled to go.

His hand shot out. Cold fingers gripped my wrist and held it, keeping me pinned. When I turned to face him, he was there, just feet away.

He had a magnetism I couldn’t ignore. No girl could. It was his cruel beauty, like a poisonous drink that begged to touch your lips. You knew one taste could kill you. You also knew it would be delicious.

“Let me go,” I whispered.

He stared hard into my face, his blue eyes pinning me, undressing me. “You don’t want me to. I can tell.”

“I do,” I said, wishing my voice had more conviction. I was hypnotized by his steely gaze. My pulse sped up as my chest heaved up and down.

He shook his head. Then he tossed my hand away. “As you wish. Get out.”

I grabbed my wrist as if he’d hurt it, which he hadn’t. I could still feel his fingers on my skin.

“I hate you,” I whispered.

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