Page 10 of Your Worst Fear
I paused mere millimeters from her flesh.
“D-don’t burn me.Please.”
Sweat dripped down her brow, mixing with the dried blood and rewetting it. I had to force my tongue not to glide over my lips at the sight.
I hesitated for dramatic effect, then finally pulled back the tongs and held them at my side. The hem of her sweatshirt fell, leaving only a sliver of skin exposed. It was an effort not to grow distracted by it.
The heated tip of the metal hovered close to her knee, letting her know I wouldn’t think twice about doing it again.
“It’s my job,” she said, the words quick and quiet.
I stared at her blankly, waiting for her to go on. She attempted to catch her breath, her worried gaze darting between the tool in my hand and me.
“I-I kill people.” Her voice turned to a near whisper, like she was worried others might hear her.
I made a dramatic show of looking around the space. When I returned my focus to her, I said, “Sorry, I didn’t quite hear that.”
Her lips rolled together, a flash of annoyance flickering in her eyes. “I kill people.”
The confidence with which she repeated it hadpride rearing its head inside me. “Atta girl. Now, tell me why you chose to try to killme.”
“Ididn’t choose to,” she corrected. “I get jobs from people.”
My jaw clenched. “What people?” The demand came out a little harsh, but who wouldn’t be pissed after finding out someone wanted you dead?
“My boss,” she answered.Was that shame in her voice?
“Why?”
A crease formed between her brows.
“Why?” I asked again, then I waited.
She seemed to ponder her response before landing on, “I don’t need to answer that.”
My eyes shut for a moment, a sigh passing my lips. “I can torture you all night, Grace. Don’t think I won’t.”
Her swallow was audible. “All I get is a picture, and then I find them.”
I took note of her clear avoidance of telling me why she chose to murder people as a profession. “So you received one of me.”
Her chin dipped in a small nod.
“Who’s your boss?”
“I don’t know.” There it was again. That little deflation of her voice. She sounded like a kicked puppy, and it pissed me off. If you’re going to be a killer, then be a killer—own it.
“I don’t believe that.” I did, but instilling distrust in her might make her tell me more.
Her breathing picked up pace again. “I’m telling the truth.”
“Should I believe you?” I inched closer, towering overher. She kept her pretty mouth shut, so I grabbed her chin, yanking it up so she’d look at me. Dangerously intoxicating green eyes stared up at me. “Should I?”
Her nostrils flared again. “Yes.”
My teeth ground together, my thumb digging into her jaw. She fought against the pain my touch inflicted, her confusing strong-but-not-strong persona fucking with my head.
“How do they contact you if you don’t know who they are?”
