Page 7 of Sugar

The light comes on as I enter, and I walk over to the mirror, removing my contacts and washing my face before patting it dry with a towel. I stare at my reflection and feel a mix of appreciation and anger at the woman staring back at me.

With the blonde wig and blue contacts, it’s easy to pretend I’m someone else. Now, looking at my chocolate locks and dark eyes, I’m reminded of who I am and why I’m here. The truth is that my anger stems from my own stupidity. If my plan fails, the house of cards I built my life upon will all come tumbling down. I knew better than to make decisions based on emotion.

I pull back my fist and punch the glass. It shatters on impact, but that doesn’t stop me. I keep hitting it over and over, slivers embedding themselves into my knuckles. Once my anger is spent, I drop my arm and flex my fingers with a wince. Blood drips from my shredded skin into the sink, the red liquid standing out starkly against the white porcelain.

I run the water and shove my hand underneath it, knowing I’ll require tweezers to remove all the shards of glass, but find that I just don’t care. I turn off the water and wrap the small white towel around my hand. With a sigh, I clean up the broken mirror before walking back into the bedroom.

I place a call for room service and order a bottle of champagne. After all, it is my wedding night. I lie back in the bed and stare up at the ceiling and huff out a laugh.

I’m spending my wedding night alone with a fucked-up hand in a country I never wanted to return to, but it’s still a thousand times better than the last wedding night. There’s a lot less blood involved too. I let my eyes slip closed, refusing to go back to that time. It does nothing to swim in memories that only serve to try and drown me.

The way I look at it, this marriage is a business transaction. I need Calix, and I’m willing to be the wife he wants, within reason, to get what I want. When it’s all over, we can get divorced, or I can just kill him.

My cell phone chimes. I reach over for it and look at the screen. When a familiar number flashes, I place it back on the nightstand and bite my lip to distract myself from the ache in my chest. Ignoring the throb of my hand, I climb off the bed and strip out of my clothes. I hang them up and slip on a robe, forgoing the belt when I’m unable to tie it because my hand refuses to cooperate.

When the knock at the door sounds, I hold the edges of the robe closed and peek through the peephole. Room service stands with a silver cart carrying a bottle of champagne. I take in the attendant and frown. My eyes move over the uniform—down to his sneakers and back up—pausing on his hand, which rests on the cart.

“Crap.”

I blow out a breath and pull the door open, keeping myself just behind it.

“Hi, come on in.” I motion for him to enter. He hesitates for a second before pushing the cart into the room.

With his back to me, I close the door and grab the bottle of champagne, swinging it hard against the side of his head as he reaches inside his jacket pocket for his gun, and he drops to the floor like a rock. Surprisingly, the bottle doesn’t break. I look at it in appreciation before taking in the now-prone figure.

I roll him to his back with my foot and bend down to search him. I take the gun he was reaching for and spot the silencer on the end. Not an amateur, then. I search the rest of him and don’t find any other weapons. I pull the belt from my robe, and ignoring the screaming pain in my hand, I roll him back over so I can bind his wrists tightly behind him.

Once that’s done, I sit him up against the wall, the unconscious man missing out on the free show I’m putting on as my robe falls open. When I have him where I want him, I go over to the closet and pull out the bag of toys I used on the warden and rummage through it until I find the items I want.

I start with the ball gag, placing it in his mouth and securing it snugly behind his head. It wouldn’t do if he woke up and started yelling before I was ready. Then I take the cock cage and smirk. It takes some maneuvering, but I manage to get the man’s pants down far enough for me to put the device on him before he wakes up.

When he starts moaning, I walk back over to the closet and start to get dressed. I slip on underwear and a tiny pair of black workout shorts, along with a black sports bra. I opt for a red long-haired wig this time, already arranged in Viking braids. I lay it on the bed, ready for when I’ve finished.

I pack the rest of my things, moving around the room to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything before taking a damp cloth and wiping down the areas I’ve touched. I clean up the blood in the bathroom and shove the towel I wrapped my hand in in my bag. I don’t worry about my hair being found on anything—it’s a hotel, after all. Nothing found here DNA-wise would be considered anything other than circumstantial. Besides, I’m not in the system. Once the large gym bag is packed, I place it beside my wig and add the guy’s gun to it.

I know the hitman is awake when I hear his moaning turn to muffled yelling. I turn to find him struggling to free himself. With a smile, I walk toward him and sit crossed-legged just out of reach.

“Hey there.” I wave before my eyes drop to his lap.

His eyes follow suit and widen at the cage attached to his dick and he struggles harder.

“Damn, that must be embarrassing for you. It’s not like we can even blame the cold because it’s always warm here.”

I can’t make out his reply because of the ball gag, but I’m sure it wasn’t nice.

I step closer and cup his jaw. “I’ll take this out so we can talk. And if you’re a good boy, we can both go our separate ways once we’re done. However, if you piss me off…” I leave it hanging. He can make of that what he wants.

I wait for him to nod, but he just glares at me.

“Or I can just put a bullet in your brain now. It’s entirely up to you. I can kill you with your own gun, stage it to make it look like a suicide, and leave a note saying you helped me.”

His eyes widen at that.

“Of course, that means once news gets back to who you work for, they’ll go after your family. But that won’t be either of our problems, now, will it?”

He shakes his head, grunting.

“So, what’s it going to be? Blink once for talk.”

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