Page 24 of Sweet Lies

Stepping out into the cool September air, I lean against the brick building, pull the flask from my jacket, and drink deeply, as if it were water instead of vodka, and I’d just hiked ten miles rather than killing a man, though I like to think they’re the same. I laugh to myself. I return the flask to its home and push away from the brick as the back door slams open.

“You stupid bitch!” I hear the hiss from the man before I see them. He shoves the woman out the door, and she falls to the ground, attempting to curl into a ball, as if she’s used to protecting herself in this manner. They have yet to notice me.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpers as he takes another step closer.

I don’t have to see the man’s face to know it’s twisted into a scowl. I shouldn’t get involved. It’s none of my business, and one thing I’ve learned in this life is not to involve myself in matters that don’t concern me. But there’s something about the woman that draws me in. I have a desire to protect her, my blood on fire with the need.

The moment the man bends down to hit her, my decision is made. Stepping up behind him, I grab his arm and hold it back before he can make contact.

“What the fuck?” he growls, twisting to look back.

“Walk away,” I answer coldly, hoping he has some intelligence and listens.

But from the glare on his face, I can tell he’s as dumb as I’d first assumed.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he says, pulling back his other arm to hit me. Twisting the arm I have, I break it with a simple move and he howls in pain.Music to my ears.

“Should have walked away,” I state as my fists beat his face.

Each blow causes his head to snap back till finally it’s covered in blood, his face unrecognizable.

Gripping his collar, I see my hands are a mix of both our blood. “Next time, walk away,” I growl into his face before dropping him to the ground. He makes no noise as he lands—either he’s in too much pain or he’s already passed out.

Bending down, I get a better look at the woman and reach out to help her up. Her terrified eyes meet mine, and recognition rocks me to my knees. Her name spills from my lips in disbelief.

“Rebecca.”

She’s dead.

They’re all dead. Adrian Regio made sure of that when he blew their home to dust with them inside. If they were alive, people would know. Adrian would never have let them live. He would have hunted them down to the ends of the earth. But her eyes…I would recognize them anywhere. I grew up with these eyes following my every move, daring me to get closer.

Rebecca Rossi always intrigued me. Hell, I’ve loved her most of my life, and the urge to protect her rushes up as if it had never left. Her lips part with astonishment as recognition fills her eyes, along with increased fear.

“Come on,” I say as gently as I can, given the range of emotions I’m processing.

It must not have been all that gentle because she flinches. Frustrated, I pull her to her feet and practically drag her to my car. She puts up no fight, as if she’s too tired even to try. It’s as if she’s used to just going where she’s ordered and it pisses me off. She should at least drag her feet, but no, she just pads silently behind me.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, I shove her into the passenger side of the car. I catch her folding her hands neatly and staring at her feet as I shut the door.

Slamming my hand on the trunk, I try to figure out what the fuck I’m going to do with her now. It’s not like I can take her back to my hotel room. I guess I could, but what the fuck will I do with her then?

Just fuck me. I don’t need this complication in my life. Rebecca Rossi is alive. What next?

* * *

She’s silent on the trip back to the hotel. We get looks as we pass the hotel staff because of her outfit; there’s no hiding her occupation in that get-up. The staff here are unused to her kind walking through the lobby. I’ve become accustomed to staying at the best of the best five-star hotels. Just because I kill for a living doesn’t mean I need to stay in roach-infested motels. I get paid more than enough to stay in the nice parts of town and see no point in not using my blood money to enjoy some of the finer things in life. Crime does in fact pay if you find the people willing to pay the big bucks.

Ignoring the looks, we step into the elevator. There was a time when so much attention would have stressed Rebecca out, but it seems she no longer cares. That makes my stomach swish uncomfortably—that she’s become so numb to everything going on around her. She’s broken, and I don’t know if I can mend her.

I’m broken enough for the both of us.

The elevator stops at the tenth floor, and I tug her out and along to the room. I slide the key card in, then slam the door open unintentionally. She flinches, and I curse myself. I’m on edge, and I don’t care for the feeling. Being on edge causes distraction, and distraction gets people killed. Control is useful.

“Take a shower,” I order, shutting the door.

Her eyes widen at the command.

Trying to soften my words, I add, “Alone. Please. You need to calm down, and I need time to think.”

---