Page 3 of The Killer's Payment

I thought she was a kid. A child. A proper chubby-cheeked, snotty-nosed little child.

First glance told me I was mistaken. A teenager, at the very least.

It’s only on the double take that I realize she’s older than even that. It was her height—or lack of it—that had me temporarily confused. And also the way she’s glaring up at me like she’s fucking fifteen and I’m the dad who has just grounded her until Christmas.

But she’s not. I’d bet my fortune that she’s older—the teenage angst is almost certainly because of her upbringing and not her age. Spoiled and pampered, no doubt.

I step aside. “In.”

The little brat doesn’t break eye contact for a second as she marches up the steps with a pout on her face, and I won’t be the one to break it—despite the urge to take a closer look at what I can only see in my peripheral.

As soon as she passes and looks away, I slam the door and round on her, only to find she’s already walking down my entrance hall like she owns the damn place.

I clear my throat, taking in the tiny, white, almost see-through dress she’s wearing and the tanned figure it does nothing to hide. I let her get all the way to the kitchen before I can’t bite my tongue any longer. “Daddy lets you walk out the front door like that, does he?”

The highlights in her dark blonde hair shimmer under the cool spotlights as she turns around, and I almost choke at the sight of her perky little tits. I quickly learn I was mistaken and there is nothingalmostabout the opacity of that fucking dress.

“Daddydoesn’t get much say in what I wear to bed,” she shoots back, folding her arms across her chest when she catches me looking.

I saycatchesas if she caught me, but it’s not like I was even bothering to hide it.

Fuck that.

She’s the one who chose to wear it. Maybe she’ll think twice next time, now that she’s learning actions have consequences.

“Was I supposed to have known to expect company?” Her eyes—I think they’re brown—seem to darken and harden as she deliberately slips her arms back down to her waist and tilts her head at me, almost as if she’s inviting—no,daring—me to keep staring.

Any casual observer would think she’s trying to taunt me. Or tease me.

Provoke me.

The fact that I want nothing more than to rip that sorry excuse for a dress from her body, torment her, terrorize her, and—if I’m being completely honest—brutalize her before delivering what’s left back to her fathermightmake me a monster, sure. I accept that. Fully. But it’d be worse than monstrous not to spell all this out and give her the opportunity to change course before I’m left with no choice but to indulge those desires.

“How much do you know about that father of yours?” I ask her.

She smiles without teeth, like a goddamn angel. “A question to answer a question. Interesting.”

I take a step toward her, and she doesn’t budge. “It’ll become even more interesting if you don’t learn,quickly, who asks the questions and who answers them.”

Anybody of her size and in her predicament should show at least one sign of apprehension. Apparently, she’s too naive for that.

Or maybe just spoiled? Maybe she thinks things like this don’t happen to little girls like her.

“Maybe it would help if you asked more specific questions?” She blinks innocently, like I was correct about the naivety and wrong about the spoiled.

This girl.

This fucking girl.

Forget the fact that she’s got a face like a doll and a body specifically molded for the bedroom—her attitude is driving me bat-shit insane.

She’s playing with me.

Playing with me as if I’m not ten—fifteen?—years her senior, a full foot taller, twice her size, and barely capable of keeping the demons in my head on a tight leash.

Either she’s dangerously blind or she just doesn’t care.

And there’s a part of me genuinely enjoying it.

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