Wicked Sexy (Wicked Games #2)(66)

Tabby vibrates fury. That and misery. She withdraws her hand from mine, sits back in her chair, and exhales hard, as if expelling a poisonous breath from her lungs.

“Because of you.”

“Because of me,” S?ren slowly repeats. He lets it hang there, damning as a confession of murder.

Tabby says nothing. She doesn’t move, with the exception of her lower lip, which starts to tremble.

I’m going to kill him.

The thought is bright and dangerously sharp in my mind, a knife blade catching the light.

Even if I never find out the details of what happened between them, it’s clear as day that this motherf*cker wrecked her in some profound, irreversible way. And so I’m going to kill him, and present his head to Tabby on a metal spike, and then feed his body to a pack of rabid dogs.

The thought makes me feel a lot better.

I rest my hand on her shoulder. Tabby blindly reaches up, grabs my pinky, and holds on tight.

“I saw what you did,” she says, struggling to keep her voice even. “On the news, that movie studio in Los Angeles, the press conference. I knew it was you when they talked about how they’d been hacked. That’s why I’m calling.”

S?ren says nothing.

His silence seems strategic, as if he’s waiting for her to keep talking, to blunder, to give something away. Or maybe I’m just imagining it. Maybe he’s just sitting there frantically jerking off to his reflection in a mirror and I’ve built up this whole vision of him as the great and powerful Oz because that’s how Tabby thinks of him, when really he’s just some insecure * pulling levers and operating machinery from behind a curtain.

Maybe he’s all smoke and mirrors, and she’s never been able to see beyond the screen.

Chan points to his watch, signs the numbers two and zero, and then gives a thumbs-up.

I squeeze Tabby’s shoulder. Twenty seconds. Keep him talking for twenty more seconds, sweetheart, and then we can nab his smug, psychotic ass.

“Do you remember what I told you the last time I saw you?” asks Tabby.

She’s beginning to look drained. Even this small amount of contact is taking it out of her. How must it have been for her living with him for an entire year?

I want to kick my own ass for doubting her.

“Yes,” replies S?ren. “Perfectly. You know I do.”

“So you know what has to happen next.”

“I know what you think has to happen next. But consider: Who would you be without me? No one. Just another squandered talent in a world littered with the corpses of the could-have-beens and the almost-hads and the settled-for-second-bests.”

Chan taps his watch, signs, Ten.

“But you’re none of those things,” continues S?ren, his voice growing softer with every word. “Are you, pet? You’re not the frightened little lamb I saved all those years ago. What are you now?”

Tabby’s voice cracks over her answer. “Frankenstein’s monster.”

“No, liefde. You’re a survivor. You’re a hunter. You’re a lioness. And we both know what do lions do best.”

Chan raises his right hand. All five fingers are splayed. He makes a fist, displays four fingers. Another fist, three. Then two. Then one.

Tabby whispers, “They hunt.”

Chan shakes his fist. He turns to O’Doul. Exultant, he mouths, We got him!

In a voice throbbing with intensity, S?ren says, “So let the hunt begin.”

And just like that, the line goes dead and he’s gone.





Twenty-Four





Tabby




I’m shaking so hard, my teeth chatter. A trickle of cold sweat runs down the back of my neck. My heart is like a rat trying to claw its way out of a cage, and there’s an invisible vise winching tighter and tighter around my lungs.

It’s been nearly a decade since I’ve heard S?ren’s voice, yet it still has the power to shatter me like a hammer slammed against bone.

“Where is he, Chan?” barks O’Doul.

“Miami. South Beach.”

Miami? S?ren hates the beach.

I’m vaguely aware of Connor’s hand on my shoulder, of O’Doul calling for the agents to return to the room, of a swarm of excited activity around me as everyone starts talking at once. Words tumble over me like water, a meaningless jumble of noise.

“I’ve missed you so much. My fierce little warrior. My love.”

Air. I need air.

I lurch to my feet. Connor follows.

“Tabby?”

His voice is tight with worry, but I can’t think about that now. I can’t think, I can’t breathe, I can barely put one foot in front of the other holy shit get me out of this room before I scream—

I’m scooped up in a pair of strong arms.

“Wha—”

“I’ve got you,” says Connor. I realize I’d been just about to fall. My legs are as wooden and useless as the rest of me.

As if he knows instinctively that I need to get as far away from this room as possible, Connor strides out of the office, carrying me in his arms. In the hallway, he pauses, looking left and right.

“Outside,” I say, panting fast, shallow breaths.

Connor squeezes me. “You’re hyperventilating. If you don’t get your breathing under control, you’ll pass out.”