Page 56 of My Crazy Killers
Elias hesitates for a moment before nodding. “If you’re Mary, then yes, we are. Can we speak with you?”
Tension starts to build when he doesn’t respond, but suddenly the door swings open and we’re facing the wrong end of a shotgun. Dex spins us around so he’s between me and the door, and I hold on to him and listen, praying he doesn’t start shooting.
“Whoa!” Elias says in defense. “We don’t want any trouble.”
“You look like trouble.” The man pauses a moment before adding, “Well, you don’t so much, but those others do. What do you want to know?”
Elias hesitates before lowering his voice and asking, “What do you know about Black Heat?”
“Shh! Are you crazy? Get in here,” he whispers as I’m turned back toward him. He’s lowered the gun and is beckoning us all inside quickly. We file through the door, and he pulls it shut behind us with a loud bang, then secures a large metal latch.
“Keep moving, keep moving,” he tells us as we standthere in the tiny entryway, staring at him. We find ourselves stepping into what could be considered his main living space, I suppose. It’s covered in boxes and crates, random pieces of tech all over the place. There’s a grungy-looking sofa and armchair, and a fold-up camping chair in the center of the space.
“Take a seat wherever you like,” he says, gesturing around the room.
“Who are you? Where’s Mary?” Elias asks as Dex leads me to the couch and takes a seat in the middle, pulling me into his lap as he does so.
“I’m Mary. Well, my name is Harry, but I use a voice modulator to disguise it in my podcasts.”
“Smart,” Elias says in approval as he sits in the fold-up chair and Jagger stands behind him with his arms crossed like some sort of bodyguard.A sexy bodyguard.Sly and Pete sit on either side of me as we all turn to watch Harry take a seat in the armchair. He looks around slowly at each of us, as if assessing us.
I take the opportunity to get a good look at him. He has thinning, dark hair that curls wildly at the sides of his head; his beard is long and unkempt in a way that feels more distracted than careless. He wears thick-rimmed glasses that magnify his large brown eyes. The open short-sleeved shirt he wears hangs off him without much care, exposing the worn white tank beneath.
Finally, he shakes his head. “I give up, who are you? You’re clearly not the feds, but you don’t look like mafia either.”
“We’re—” Elias starts, but Harry stops him.
“No, not you. Her.” He points to me, and my eyebrows raise in surprise. “I want you to tell me who you are.”
“Me?” I squeak out in surprise.
“Yeah, you look like a terrible liar.”
“Umm, thanks?” I say, unsure if that’s a compliment or an insult.
“The rest of them I got nothing from, but you,” he says with a grin. “Your face went from scared to curious, to heated.”
“Heated?” Sly asks, sounding upset.
“Yeah, when she looked at that one,” Harry says, pointing at Jagger. I had just been thinking about how sexy he looks standing like that. “See! She’s doing it again.”
Pete snickers, and I send him a glare.
“What’s interesting is she’s sitting in your lap,” Harry says to Dex. “Does she pine for that one while she’s in a relationship with you?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious.
“Jesus Christ,” Sly mutters, running a hand down his face.
‘Who she is or isn’t in a relationship with isn’t your concern,” Elias informs him. “As for who we are?—”
“No, I want to hear from her. I already told you,” Harry says, gesturing back to me.
“My name is Wren,” I tell him, wanting to move this conversation forward. “We’re from America.”
“Yes, I already figured that much out. I want to know who you are, not where you’re from.”
“I told you, I’m Wren, and that’s Pete, Dex, Sly, Jagger, and Elias,” I tell him, pointing to each of my guys.
“And who are you to each other?” Harry asks.
