In her stupid, fucking useless, non-Joe Wilson killing arm.
“Dammit.” Dropping back into the pillows she realized just how weak she felt. Like someone had wrung her out and left her to dry on a rack. Speaking of dry, her throat might as well have been constructed from sandpaper. Clearing it as best as possible she raised her voice, “Hello?”
Smith appeared in the doorway a moment later, shirt rumpled, brown hair askew. For a blissful moment a relieved expression passed over his face, and then it was gone, replaced with the cold, determined one she’d lived with for half a year. “Hey. You thirsty?”
“Yeah, how’d you know?”
“The stuff I gave you. Always gives me dry mouth too.” He stepped back from the doorframe. “Just a minute.”
Soft voices came from the living room, both male, but too hushed to make out, and then she heard a door open and shut. The sound of running water filled the silence of the apartment until Smith appeared again and brought her the glass, brooding at the side of the bed.
“Is this where you yell at me?” she asked as she took a sip.
He sighed heavily and crossed his arms. “I’m not going to yell at you.”
“Well, that’s good ne -”
“Yet. I’m not going to yell at you yet.” Smith shook his head and paced the few steps he could in the small room. “You have some questions to answer.”
“Fine.” Camille settled back against the pillows, because if she was going to have this fucking conversation with him, she was going to be comfortable. He stopped where he was and took a deep breath before he turned to face her.
“First, who was the guy?”
“Joe Wilson.”
“Did you know he had a gun?”
Rolling her eyes she scoffed. “Of course I didn’t know he had a fucking gun. You know what else I didn’t know? I didn’t know he used to be a fucking cop that would know how to use a fucking gun.”
“Used to be? Are you sure he isn’t still a cop?”
“He said he got kicked off. So, yes, I’m sure. He’s been working at that shithole of an auto shop for a couple of years at least.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because he used to bitch about the job, and that was how I found him after -” She cut herself off and clenched her jaw tight.
“After what?”
“Nevermind.” Turning away from Smith to avoid his gaze, she felt him sit on the edge of the bed.
“Camille…” The sound of her name in his soft voice, low and quiet, sent a thrill up her spine.
Fuck, had her name ever sounded that good?
“I guess I didn’t dream saying that.”
“No, you didn’t, and we’ll talk about that too, but first you need to tell me what happened. Why did you go after that guy? Why did you want to kill him? What did he -”
“I don’t want to talk about this.” Camille flinched as she tried to shift farther from him on the bed, the pain in her leg a dull throb under whatever pain medication was filtering down the IV bag.
“That’s too bad, you need to explain what this guy did to deserve to die. To deserve you running off like that just to do it.”
“Trust me, he deserved it. He deserved a lot worse than a quick hole in the head.”
“Alright, then tell me. What did he do?”
“Smith -”
“Now, Camille.”
“Fine! He used to fuck me, okay?” It was impossible to keep the anger out of her voice, the rage as the memories teased at the back of her mind.
Smith took a slow breath, and then his voice came whisper quiet, “You mean he used to rape you?”
“Go to hell.” She kept her eyes on the far wall, counting the lumps in the paint as if she could actually derail the conversation. Keep him from knowing just how weak she used to be, how pathetic. He wasn’t ever supposed to know about them, he was supposed to be the path to their destruction. A pit stop that she’d spent too long with already.
“When you were down, after he shot you, you said there were others. Is this what you meant? There were others that -” When Smith stopped talking she turned to face him, his features pinched in a strange expression.
“Others that used to fuck me? Use me? Do whatever the fuck they wanted to me? Yeah. There were others.” She scoffed and shook her head. “You can’t even say it out loud, fucking hell.”
“How many?” Smith asked. His voice was deadly serious, his shoulders stiff, tense. When she followed the rigid line of his arm down she saw the tight grip he held on the edge of the bed, white knuckled anger hidden by his impossible self-control.
“Now?”
“Tell me the real number.”
“There were five. Now there are three.” The words seemed to lift something inside her, like shifting a boulder aside, but she ignored it.
“What happened to the first one?”
“I climbed onto his lap, straddled him, and slit his fucking throat.” Camille kept her eyes locked on Smith’s face, waiting for the surprise, or the disgust, the pity, but nothing surfaced through his cold exterior.
“Good. That’s good.” He nodded once and then he looked at her. It seemed to take more effort than it should have for his eyes to meet hers. “So, then you got away?”
“First, I killed his good-for-nothing addict of a wife who didn’t care what they did to us as long as she could lay in bed high as a kite.”
“Us?” Smith asked, and she cursed under her breath. “They had more – Jesus Christ.” He stood up and walked away from her, towards the doorway. In a jerk of motion he slammed his fist into the door, forcing the knob into the drywall behind it. He tugged it free and muttered under his breath, his broad back the only thing she could see.
“Smith -”
He turned and faced her, the controlled exterior cracking while she watched. “You tell me right now, right now, where the last three are.”
“I don’t know.”
“This is not a game, C!” He shouted, and came to the end of the bed, his hands gripping the footboard. “What they did…” his voice was a growl as he shook his head, “I don’t even know what they did, I don’t want to know because I’ll lose it, but I will make them suffer before they die. I swear it, but you need to tell me where they are.”
“I don’t know, Smith.”
“Do not lie to me about this. This is not the time for you to be territorial, this is the time where you tell me where they are so I can teach them exactly how much pain they can endure before they die.” His words made her eyes go wide, a vicious, uncontrolled side of him showing itself that made her wonder exactly who Smith had been before he’d become the man she knew. It made her imagine the kind of man he was when he was on a job.
“Shit, Smith, I really don’t know.” An exasperated sigh came from him as he moved away from her, throwing his hands up. “I’m not lying! I only knew how to find Joe because he talked all the fucking time. Bitched about that damn auto shop to Steve constantly. Even if I wasn’t in the room I could hear him complaining.” Slamming the glass of water down on the side table she pushed herself into a sitting position, ignoring the twinge of pain in her thigh as her own anger returned. “And even if I did know, you’re not killing them for me. I’m not helpless.”
“You couldn’t pull the trigger when it came down to it, C.” The accusation felt like a second gunshot, burrowing into her chest with a burning, vicious ache. Tears pricked at the edges of her eyes as she glared at him.
“I didn’t get the chance to, he fucking shot me.”
“And why didn’t you shoot first? Why the hell didn’t you ask me for help? To go with you?”
“BECAUSE I DIDN’T THINK YOU’D LET ME!” She screamed the words, and then wiped hard at her eyes. “All you’ve been telling me for months is that I’m not ready. ‘You’re not ready yet, C’,” she mocked his low voice, grimacing as she forced herself to sit up further. “Well, I knew where he was. He was just out there, living his fucki
ng life. Hell, he could have put together another little house of horrors while I was playing assassin-in-training with you. You said you didn’t know if I could kill or not? I was fucking covered in their blood when I killed Steve and Carrie, and I have never felt guilty about it. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I can kill, Smith, I just didn’t get the fucking chance!”
“Don’t twist this around on me, C. Don’t you dare. Why didn’t you shoot first? You had your gun. I know that because I picked it up off the floor beside you. There was plenty of space in that warehouse for you to approach, and I’ve seen how far you can shoot with accuracy, so why? Why didn’t you shoot him first?”
Camille buried her face in her hands, groaning against her palms. “He needed to know.”
“Know what?”
“That it was me! That I was the one that killed him, that I was the one that made him scream, made him beg.” Furiously brushing tears away she fought the urge to freak out as too many memories of her time with them clawed at the cages she kept them in. “He had to know.”
“Why does that matter?” Smith’s voice was urgent as he moved closer and grabbed her face, his fingers threading through her hair. “Why did he need to know, C? He could have killed you. If I hadn’t followed you, if I hadn’t been there, he could have…”
She turned out of his hands. “I know exactly what he would have done.”
“Then why?” His thumb brushed her chin, trying to make her look at him, and she finally relented. Pale green eyes spearing her with all the soft concern she both hated and craved. “You could have died, C.”
“Camille,” she whispered, and the edge of his mouth ticked up into a smile.
“Right, Camille.” He sat back on the edge of the bed. “I need you to promise me that you won’t run off like that again. You want to kill someone, you tell me. Let me back you up.”
“You don’t have backup.”
“I’ll have you. As soon as you’re healed up and back in shape anyway.” He groaned and wiped a hand across his face. “You know, the reason I wanted you to stay and have lunch with me was because I got us a job. Both of us, they knew you were going to come with me on it. I guess I’m going to need to make a call and get that covered.”
“Go ahead and go.” Gesturing at her leg she shrugged. “Not like I’m good to anyone right now.”
“No. Don’t you remember me telling you that I’m going to make you train harder than I ever have before?” His voice was playfully ominous, and then he smiled slowly. His whole attitude shifting in an instant. “I wasn’t joking. Enough of the questions. You hungry yet?”
“Can I eat?” she asked, stunned by his odd behavior.
Smith laughed a little and stood up. “It was just a gunshot wound. An associate of mine patched you up, you’ll be fine in a couple of months as long as you do what you’re told.” He paused, and then shook his head. “Actually, since it’s you, it will probably take longer.”
“Fuck off.”
“Language, C.”
“You can call me Camille now. You already know it.” And it sounds amazing crossing your lips.
“Ah, that.” Smith took a breath and leaned back against the wall. “Here’s the thing, C, names are power. I’ve always been a little glad that you were smart enough not to give out your real name, even if Candy was a ridiculous choice.”
“I fit in just fine on the street with Sugar and Cinnamon.”
He leveled his gaze at her and then sighed. “Either way, you don’t give up your name. C fits you perfectly, it’s the name I told my contact, it’s how Bill knows you. And names are all power, just like the names of friends are power, the names of family are power.”
“I don’t have any family or friends.”
“I know.” Smith smiled. “It’s why I was willing to work with you. You just had this fire in you, C. A tiny, blazing ball of rage in the bar, and even at the range I could see you had talent. Finding out you were already alone, no ties to cut, just made it an easier choice.” His eyes dropped back to her. “Giving up your name, or the name of anyone you care about, is like painting a target on your chest – right over your heart. Trust me, I know from experience.”
Camille’s ears perked up as a shadow passed over his face. “What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing. You need to eat, I just got you strong, I won’t have you wasting away like a waif again.”
“Smith…”
“You have your secrets, and I have mine, C. Now, what do you want to eat?”
Dropping back against the pillows she breathed out a sigh, knowing he wouldn’t share anything further with her. “Whatever you want, Smith.” If that’s even part of your real name.
“That’s the other thing I liked about you, C. You weren’t picky.”
Chapter Seven
Four Months Later
Camille came around the corner in the park towards him, and he continued jogging backwards for a bit until he was sure she had him in sight, and then he continued. His long legged stride outpaced her too easily, and her gait still wasn’t where it had been before that bastard had shot her. The image of her on the floor when he’d snuck into the building, her soft whimpers as the son of a bitch had slid his hands over her body, had burned into his brain. He heard it when he closed his eyes, he saw it, over and over.
She hadn’t gone easy though, breaking the man’s nose and kicking him back even though it had to have hurt immeasurably to shift her weight like she had. Then she’d gone for her gun, and he would have let her have it, let her have the kill, but the other man had been faster. His gun had come up, and before he could think Smith had shot him. Clean through the head, without a thought to the consequences.
Because it was her.
He shook his head and focused on the feeling of his feet slamming into the running path, the measured beat of his shoes on the earth a comfort as his mind tried to wander again. Back to that afternoon when she’d stormed out, and he’d stood there stunned and unsure what to do.
Somehow he’d known to go.
She would have died if he hadn’t followed her, if he hadn’t trusted his instincts that something was wrong. Hell, he never should have gone on that job in the first place, he’d felt she was off when he left. What would have happened if she’d gone after the guy before he’d returned?
C would have been dead.
Or worse.
With a groan Smith stopped at the side of the path, staring off at the rolling lawn of the park in front of him where couples were taking picnics, kids were playing, dogs barking – it was so picturesque, peaceful.
“What the fuck, Smith? Are you trying to ditch me?” C slowed to a stop next to him, her breathing a little harder than it would have been six months before when she was in peak shape.
“Really, C? Language. There are children.” He chastised her, but in truth he didn’t really mind. Her mouth was just another aspect of her personality that kept him from going cold through and through, she was his lifeline to a normal world – even if she didn’t know it.
“Yeah, right, the kids. I’m sure they’ve never heard the word fuck in their lives.” Bracing her hands on her knees she took deep breaths, in through her nose and out through her mouth until it slowed. Just like he’d taught her.
“We have another mile to go.”
“Are you fucking kidding? We’ve gone three miles already, you think this dickbag is going to try and run from me? For three miles?” She shoved the errant strands of white blonde hair off her forehead, clearing the sweat from her face with her forearm. Her skin was getting a hint of the gold of summer already, and as they stood there he noticed the way men glanced at her in her running gear. Skin tight from head to toe, and it made him want to block her from their view, to cover her in a shapeless sack – or kill them for looking.
Who are you to feel possessive?
No one. You have no right.
“If you want to argue we’ll run two more, it’s up to you.”
“You’re such an asshole,” she muttered but then she took off ahead of him. From behind he tried to ignore the sight of her body moving underneath the black and pink running pants, and instead focused in on her right leg. Was her ankle wobbling more than the left? Was she still unsteady? Was the muscle ready for a fight if she needed it?
She’s ready. You know she is.
And that meant a job. A kill. Her first in this new life.
Either way, she wasn’t going to be patient for much longer. If he didn’t take her on a job she’d do something incredibly stupid, again, and that was something Smith was pretty sure he couldn’t handle a second time. It had almost stopped his heart when he’d realized she’d been shot, the blood leaking from her leg. Slow enough that he knew it hadn’t nicked an artery, but she’d still passed out on him.
It had been the first time in almost a decade that he’d felt anything close to real emotion. After she had blacked out, he’d called Adam back, shouting at him to hurry, to get there and bring his medical bag. Even Adam had looked wild-eyed and panicked when he’d shown up to find him holding Camille in his lap, his grip tight on the belt to make sure she didn’t lose too much blood.
Adam hadn’t asked about the body, or the unconscious girl, he’d just gone to work. Cutting away her pants, applying a more substantial bandage, and then they had both got her in his car. With a quick threat on Adam’s life, he’d let the man leave with Camille and stayed behind to make sure the man he now knew as Joe Wilson was taken care of. Disappeared, along with more money than he cared to admit, with the cleaners he knew.
Over the last few months she’d worked harder than he imagined, her mindless dedication no longer a mystery.
Now, there are three.
Her hollow voice still haunted him. To speak of the things they’d done to her like she was talking about someone else, someone else’s body they had done things to, it was wrong. His eyes lifted when he caught up to her, running at his normal pace as he was dragged through memory, and she tried hard to keep up with him as he started to pass her. Pushing herself harder than she should, but he kept his mouth shut. Her blue eyes were like ice as she glared at him, her blonde hair pulled up high in a knot at the back of her head.
Early Sins (Dangerous Games Book 0) Page 7