Six(61)

Was he testing me? Or was he trusting me?

I could easily grab a gun and shoot him the moment he walked through the door. I could be free of him.

But.

The flip side was a great unknown.

I let the warm water beat down on my back as I stared at the blonde tips of my hair resting on my breasts. Another bit of evidence of my unending change, but could it be reversed?

Sure, if he was dead I would be free, but then what? There were three other highly trained killers who knew of me, and had the ability to track me down. Six wasn’t the only one I had to worry about. After seeing Jason, and hearing what he told Five, I was certain the rest of the Killing Corps knew about me.

That was if I could even do it, could kill him.

I stepped out of the shower and grabbed the towels hanging, patting the water droplets before wrapping it around my body.

Could I do it? Kill Six?

I threw my hair up into another towel and stared at my reflection. Let the feelings take over. Noticed the vice around my chest at the thought of him being gone.

He was going to kill me and had no qualms about it. Even after almost two months, it would be nothing for him.

I was nothing but another body in his wake. The latest in a long trail of blood.

He was a good actor—something I had to remind myself of. The moments where he seemed real, somewhat sweet, were nothing more than a ruse.

He didn’t care about me.

My face scrunched up and tears welled in my eyes.

“Get a grip, Paisley.”

It wasn’t logical, made no sense whatsoever, but the thought of being without him caused me pain and sadness.

I was a rational being. The emotions brewing within me were chaotic and stronger than comprehension for a man who had done terrible things and in the end, would snuff out my life.

Moving back into the room, I hauled my suitcase onto the bed and opened it up. With no idea what the day held, I threw on some panties and a tank top to wait for him to return.

I was running a brush through my wet hair when I heard the door click and turned in time to watch him glance first to the bed, then around the room.

“Hi,” I said as I continued with my task.

He stepped in, a few bags in tow, and shut the door.

“You’re here.”

I quirked my brow, knowing what he meant, but still playing confused. “Where else would I be?”

The corner of his mouth twitched up, his head nodding. “I wasn’t exactly sure.”

“But you thought I might test the boundaries?”

“Wouldn’t that be the rational thing to do?”

“Perhaps.”

“Are you no longer a rational being?” he asked as he handed me a paper bag and a bottle of water.

“Oh, I am.” I sat down on the bed and took a sip from the bottle. “I’m rational enough to know that there are three other highly trained killers who would be after my ass, plus your threat of killing my ex-boyfriend. That results in a pretty easy answer that the devil beside me is my best bet.”

He moved to the table and opened a second bag. “Okay, I’m glad we’ve come to an arrangement.”

“So, what’s on the agenda?” I reached in and pulled out a container with a fork and some napkins.

“Waiting to hear from a contact.”

I pursed my lips, thinking about the boring afternoon ahead. “There’s a lot of waiting in your line of work, isn’t there?”

“The more information you have, the better prepared.”

“Ah, the control aspect you’re so fond of.”

I opened the container and took in a whiff of the most wonderful smell, my mouth salivating. “Where did you get a tenderloin sandwich out here?” The thing was huge, taking up the entire container and then some.

“There was a place around the corner.”

I picked up the bun to survey the giant breaded hunk of meat. It was two meals or more worth. Spots of red caught my eye and I stared down, trying to figure out what was on it.

“Ketchup?”

“Hm?”

The corners of my mouth turned down as I scraped the bun off on the container.

“What the hell? You don’t put ketchup on a tenderloin!”

Ew, just ew.

“Why?”

“You just don’t. I’ve never seen ketchup on a tenderloin, it’s just not done.”

“How are you an expert?”

“My grandparents lived in Indiana. The tenderloin is like the state sandwich, if there was such a thing.”

He shook his head at me and took a bite.

I let out a moan at my own bite, memories of a different life flooding in.

It was a surreal moment. Sitting with the man who kidnapped me, almost as equals eating a sandwich that reminded me of my former life.

I was still there because I didn’t leave.

I was still there because I couldn’t.





In the early evening a few days later, Six’s phone rang. More elusive words, and after only a minute or two, the call was done.

The instant the phone was down, he started stripping. “Your outfit from Paris.” He pulled both of our suitcases up to the bed. “Put it on.”

“Oh, we’re going glam.” I pulled out my makeup case and curling iron. “Same underneath?”