I knew who her family was now. I knew who worked for her family. And I knew exactly who relished his kills to the point that he’d pontificate and perform some elaborate soliloquy instead of just doing the fucking job.
Reese was coming back for her, but the only way he would touch her again would be over my dead body.
I love this woman, the demon inside me said in magnificent conquest.
I’d never been in love before.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Lucie
Calm
I didn’t remember falling asleep, but when I woke, I was nestled in Grey’s arms in my bed. He seemed to be sleeping soundly. I felt so safe and comfy in our little cocoon, I hated to move.
Alas, nature called. As carefully as I could, I untangled myself from his embrace, but he stirred. His eyes blinked open. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and checked the time. I saw a flash of the clock: 3:29. He turned and looked at me, half-lidded. “What’s wrong?”
I smiled. “Nothing, sweet lips. Just gotta pee. Go back to sleep.”
On my way to the bathroom, I turned to look at him over my shoulder. He was watching me warily. I stopped. “What is it?”
“Hmm? Nothing.” He shook his head as he spoke. I raised my eyebrows at him, so he winked.
While I was in the bathroom, I found myself sniffing the shirt that I’d been sleeping in. His shirt. I shut my eyes and breathed him in. Grey smelled like comfort to me. I loved his smell. I loved him. I couldn’t believe I’d actually said it! He hadn’t said it back, but the way he touched me, the way he moved, kissed … I felt loved. I felt safe, as if I could handle anything as long as he was beside me.
I hurried back to find him waiting for me. I crawled up toward him and hunkered down into the exact spot I vacated. “I thought you’d crash right back out,” I said.
“Just making sure you made it back in one piece.”
I giggled and kissed his lips. He kissed me on our spot behind the ear before we settled in to go back to sleep. His hold on me seemed tighter than before.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Grey
Ghosts
The air was thick with booze, sex, celebration. And humidity.
The roar of the crowd, the music, the writhing bodies, or the pulse of the street could’ve easily distracted me, but I was focused. Even if I wore the mask of a joker, sequined with blue, jade, and violet plumes, Carnival in Rio was not a vacation. I was playing a part.
I ducked down an alley and pretended to wander to a dumpster a hundred yards past a homeless drunk. I quickly scanned for any eyes on me but found none. I reached inside and retrieved the large doctor bag I’d stashed there.
I followed the left fork of the next street, a dead end, and the abandoned building at the end. The door was unlocked—I’d made sure of it when I took the deadbolt apart around five o’clock this morning.
As I slipped inside, pitch-blackness surrounded me. I liked it that way. I could practically feel my way as if I had tiny antennae picking up signals across the expanse of my skin.
The building was all but in ruins—and empty. The only sounds were echoes from the distant party.
My breathing was even as I reached the third floor. I followed the load-bearing wall to the windows and crouched next to the third sill.
I laid my mask to the side of my bag and pulled on a pair of tight cotton gloves. Moonlight swamped the wrecked floor where I began to assemble my tools.
The clicks of the metal locking into alignment sent me into autopilot. When I was done, I held the rifle in my gloved hands to inspect it. Satisfied, I set it gently on the floor. The window had been removed from the frame earlier, so I set the tripod on the ledge and secured the stand.
I heard a whisper.
I drew a small pistol from the holster under my arm and whipped around to take aim. Well-adjusted to the dark, my eyes saw nothing. There was no movement.
I sucked in a deep breath and set the gun on the floor directly next to me. I returned to face the sill. As I moved to pick up the rifle, I heard it again but clearer.
“Greyson.”
I palmed the pistol and shoved my back against the wall to the left of the window and searched the cavernous room again with every available sense. No one ever used my real name.
It was an impossible occurrence, but I refused to believe I was losing my mind. I slid down the exposed brick, holding the pistol against my chest. I pinched my eyes shut.
“Greyson, get the bowl for mama.”
My mother’s voice was as clear as a bell. My eyes popped open as if they’d been squeezed to the point that they might burst. What I’d heard was clearly a figment of my imagination. It had to be.
The tension eased, though not as quickly as I’d have liked. I turned back to work, pushing the voice from my mind. If I could exorcise memories completely, I would, but I’d yet to find a priest who could do such a thing. Or a religion that had a priest who could do such a thing.
The rifle readied, I sat back against the wall to wait. As I listened to the revelry, I felt a stab of pain behind my eyes and I flinched. The pang was cold and sharp like an ice pick. I blinked hard and fast.
Mercifully, I heard the sound I’d been waiting for. I looked through the rifle’s high-powered sight, magnifying and pinpointing my target.
Blaring horns announced the president and his wife as they walked to the front of the humongous grandstand. The president stepped to the microphone centered behind a pile of flowers and crepe paper. His wife beamed at his side, her arm through his. After minutes of cheering, he began to speak. At that moment, his wife stepped away to stand back the expected two paces. I tapped the button on the side of my gun.
Click.
On. The tiniest red dot appeared on her forehead. I felt the ice pick behind my eyes again. I closed my eyes. Smooth inhale. My finger curled smoothly around the trigger, resting inside the guard. A long, slow exhale.
“You can lick the bowl, honey.”
Snap.
Trigger pulled, assignment completed.
My breathing remained steady though my heart thudded in my chest. Just a phantom, I told myself as I shook off a chill and willed the throbbing headache away. I have no mother.
I turned my attention to dismantling things while the chaos outside slowly erupted. I picked up the empty bag and wiped down the handle. I returned the same way I’d come in.
Once outside, I passed a burning trashcan and threw the bag in. Leaving the gun didn’t matter. It was a common rifle frequently used by South American gangs and rebel militias. The guns appeared amateur and cobbled together. This gun had no fingerprints, and no ties to me.
I was a hair’s breadth from disappearing when a hand gripped my shoulder. As soon as I had felt fingers touch my collarbone, I moved accordingly. Locking my fingers around my opponent’s wrist, I spun him, laying him out on the ground before me. His wrist was held back at its breaking point.
But I couldn’t hear him. It was as if I’d gone deaf. Then, my vision went blurry. I couldn’t see his face.
I was overcome with a horrible feeling—doubt. The ice pick hammered my forehead from within. Confused and grasping for control, I squeezed my eyes shut, rolling them in their sockets. When I opened them again, the face was sharper, but it couldn’t … it just couldn’t be.
Lucie.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Lucie
Monsters
I can’t breathe. Oh, my God, I can’t breathe!
Panic flooded my body as an acute pain radiated from my throat through my chest. I struggled against the weight on my body and the viselike grip on my neck, but one of my hands was pinned behind my back at a severe angle.
My eyes opened to see Grey looming over me, his face slack and dark. Pressure built behind the bridge of my nose and my vision went spotty. Through the intermittent blur, I focused my damnedest on his eyes. They appeared empty, dead.
It was as if no one was there.
Despe
ration reached fever peak as I felt my fight failing, weakness rooting in my limbs. My fingernails cut into his wrist in a last burst of adrenaline, and Grey finally blinked. His blue eyes went wide in horror as he fell back on his hands. He scrambled out of view.
As air rushed violently into my lungs, I coughed and rolled to my side. I clutched the comforter as I hacked, breathing in raw, stuttered gulps. His footsteps sounded as he stumbled down the hall.
Once I could breathe without feeling as if I were choking, I sat up. Every muscle quivered, trying to exorcise the fear. Quick flashes of the attack pierced my mind intermittently, like an erratic heartbeat in my head. The residual anxiety hollowed out my stomach and I felt sick.
I reached for the half-full glass on the nightstand and winced when I swallowed the first few sips. The cool water soothed the rawness in my throat a little and I was able to calm a little bit. After setting the empty glass back on the coaster, I slid off the bed and listened as I tried to calm my body. The sounds I heard at the far end of the apartment were quiet, almost childlike. A quick, rhythmic soft tapping on the door caught my attention first. Then, I noticed mumbling in that high-pitched whine you have when resisting tears—I could hardly believe it was coming from him.
I relished a deep but unsteady breath before shoving forward to go to him. I didn’t yet understand why he’d done what he did—or really, what happened at all, but I was confident he hadn’t meant to hurt me. Of course, that didn’t stop my body from trembling as I took slow, measured steps out of my room.
When I reached Grey, he was silent. He sat crumpled against the front door, his head in his hands. Barefoot and shirtless, he didn’t appear to be a threat to anyone. When his eyes peeked through his fingers, I was startled. My heart wanted me to climb into his lap and hold him, to undo this whole thing, but my mind was not as trusting. I was frozen ten feet away. Given his body language, what my heart wanted was irrelevant; he was clearly walled off.
“Are you okay?” My voice sounded like I’d gargled with bleach.
He chuckled darkly before he dropped his hands. “Me?”
I felt a twinge of dread. “What happened?”
“Nightmare.” His voice was sharp, cold.
I swallowed. It still hurt and I winced. “What was it about?”
“An assignment in Rio.” His voice had gone flat, and frankly, it scared me.
“An assignment? I don’t—”
“I know.” His head fell to his chest as he breathed, deep and labored. “I need to tell you something.”
He seemed to collapse under the weight of confession as he exhaled, a strange relief swirling around him. He stood slowly and moved closer to me but I instinctively fell back two steps more than he’d taken. I had certainly been frightened, and though I was still shaken, I didn’t know what to think now. I was at war with myself. We stared at each other for what seemed like a long time, most of which felt like a preemptive goodbye. He held me with his eyes as though it were the only way he’d ever hold me again. It was more terrifying than being pinned to the bed while he choked me.
“So, tell me.” The fear on my words tasted painfully bitter.
“I’m a …” His mouth hung open even as words ceased to flow. He flexed his jaw, grinding his teeth together and trying again. “Contractor.” He made a face as if he knew he’d given the wrong answer.
“What? Like a plumber?” Hope forced me to play stupid.
He straightened, a razor carving out the word. “Killer.”
My teeth mashed together and everything inside me pushed away from his words, from him. Goose bumps prickled all over my body, frosting the anxiety that pumped pure dread through my veins. It was the truth. But … “No.”
“A hit man. Assassin. Hired gun. Take your pick, it’s the same fucking thing.” Venom thickened his voice as he ticked off his list, hissing at me as if it were all my fault.
The quakes in my body returned in force, the shocks echoing outward from the center. Calm bled out with every heartbeat. Images of the attack flashed before my mind’s eye, the blurriness of the perpetrator’s face taking on edges of Grey’s. A strangled noise squeaked out of me as I subconsciously backed away. My throat constricted as an extra surge of panic sent chills across my skin in waves.
“Did you—? Was it …? Um,” I stuttered in between shallow breaths. “Was it you? Did you kill my parents?”
A sardonic smile. “No.”
I frowned. My back hit one of the kitchen chairs and I yelped. “Why is that funny?”
“Why is ‘no’ upsetting?” he shot back.
“So you didn’t?”
“No.”
“How can I know that?”
He took one step forward, I took two back before moving to put the table between us. He leaned forward, his hands splaying out on the table. His eyes were almost black as he bore them into mine, but more than anything, he looked bone tired.
“If it had been me, you’d be dead,” he said—a promise, not a threat. “Do you feel better now?”
“Stop it,” I snapped, but it was embarrassingly whiny.
“Stop what?” he growled as he turned away.
“Trying to make me hate you or be afraid of you.”
“Well, don’t you? Aren’t you?”
“No.”
He spun and charged a few steps toward me. I whimpered and stumbled backward into the living room, behind another piece of furniture.
“No, definitely not afraid. Don’t worry, the hate will come.”
His sarcasm cut, but it also pissed me off. I picked up a pillow from the sofa and hurled it at him.
He caught it and dropped it. “Seriously?”
I grumbled and stepped sideways so that there was only space between us. “Why didn’t you tell me before!” I shouted.
He seemed to still for the moment. “I wanted to tell you. I just … didn’t want to fuck this up before I got a chance to see what it could be like.”
“What?”
He wouldn’t speak.
“WHAT!”
He heaved a sigh and closed his eyes. “Love.”
As if a switch had been flipped, tears breached my lower lids in streams.
“Grey, I … I don’t understand.” I swiped my cheeks. I couldn’t make sense of what I was feeling. “I saw us. There’s supposed to be so much more of us.”
Every preview came into question. How could they be true if this was how it ended? How could it end? The future upon which I’d built my new life was fast turning into quicksand.
“I told you I didn’t deserve you or any of this. You had me thinking I could …” He shook his head, his gaze falling to the floor. He took three deep breaths, and with them, his guilty, mournful demeanor morphed into something cold, distant. “It’s not your fault. I never should have come back the first time.”
I couldn’t focus anywhere but his face. Shaking, I stepped toward him, a hand tentatively outstretched. I wanted to touch him, to feel his heartbeat under my hand, but my body was as conflicted as my mind.
“I’m a fucking murderer, Lucie!” he shouted, his right fist pounding on the wall next to him for punctuation.
I jumped and staggered farther back. He looked away and walked over to the mud bench. He sat down and began putting on his boots.
“Where are you going?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“You won’t have to see me again.”
“What? I’m not … I just, I just need to think a minute, okay? I-I’m confused. Please … wait,” I begged.
He stood, challenging. “What is a minute going to do? It won’t change anything.”
An invisible weight, large and immovable, settled on my chest. “I am not afraid of you, Grey.” I was fairly certain that I meant it, but my voice cracked.
He grunted in disbelief before stalking past me into the bedroom. He returned with his bag and set it down in the front hall. He pulled my spare keys out of his pocket and set them on the counter. Roughly, he ran his hand
s through his hair. I waited … and this was what I’d seen. Exactly. Tears stung my cheeks. I hated his apology before I heard it.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he said, softly. “It really was the last thing I wanted.”
He turned to walk out, but I ran toward him, stopping a foot away. “What was the first thing you wanted?”
He pulled the door open and stood beneath its frame. “Nothing. Not until you.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He glared. “I want you … safe. So I have a job to do. Patrick Reese will never touch you again.”
“Grey—”
“I love you, Lucie.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Grey
Anesthetic
It’s much harder to kill yourself the second time.
Each step away from the apartment was an agony and a relief at the same time. I wanted my indifference back, but it was too much to hope for. A cursed angel had resurrected a dead man. I had been rewired and at the moment, I hated her for it.
Though the fear and hurt in Lucie’s eyes plagued me. It was the exact look I expected but hated all the same. The walk did eventually do me some good, and by the time I got to my hotel, I was numb. Not because I had been able to shut off, but rather because my circuits were blown. I was thankful for a shower and a quiet room to assess the situation. With my computer and tool case retrieved, as well as Nina’s card that Lucie discarded on her steps, I sat down to get to work.
I had met Nina years ago, before I had cut ties with Reese. He had a cast of associates he worked with, but I was sure Nina was more of a regular fuck than a valuable asset. For some, the difference was negligible.
I remembered Nina as sloppy at playing a part, so I wasn’t surprised Lucie hadn’t bought her shtick. My guess was that she had been the one staking out Lucie in the apartment across the street. It could have been her in the park, too, but that was far too stealthy for Nina. Still, she’d approached Lucie, and that alone was a concern.
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