Page 11 of Your Worst Fear
“It’s all done on a burner phone. I change it out every so often, give the number to a contact at the club, and a day or two later, I get a text from an unknown number.”
Was anything in life ever fucking simple?
“Where’s the burner now?”
Her lips formed a thin line, reluctance to tell me battling with the fear of what I might do if she didn’t. Finally, she gave in.
“In my pocket.”
I dropped the tongs with a clang, the sound causing her to flinch. With my grip still on her chin, my other hand moved up her thigh, feeling the many pockets her black cargo pants held. Something about my touch seemed to affect her, but I chalked it up to fear of me being wholly in control of her right now.
A lump the distinct shape of a phone met my palm by her waist. With how she was sitting, the angle of the pocket was too tight to fit my hand inside. Letting go of her face, I grabbed her hips and pulled. Her limbs strained against the ropes, a surprised gasp escaping her at the force.
The material had enough give for me to slidemy fingers in and pluck the phone out. I left her uncomfortable and attempting to straighten herself while I clicked on the phone. I pulled up the texts and found it empty. The call log was the same.
Slowly, my gaze lifted from the device to her. “You lied.”
Though I came across calm, her rapidly accelerating breathing told me she could see the irritation beneath. “No,no. I didn’t lie. I delete the texts after they come through in case anyone ever gets ahold of the phone.”
I fought the urge to shatter the device in my grip. I’d need it if what measly plan I’d just come up with was going to work.
“I’ll make you a deal,” I told her, tossing the phone on her lap. “You help me find who wants me dead, and I won’t kill you.Yet.”
Her thighs clenched together as best they could to keep the phone from sliding to the floor. “Oh, how nice. You’re prolonging killing me until you get what you want.”
I thought I heard her mutter something liketypical manunder her breath, but decided to ignore it. She had no problem murdering me, yet I wasn’t allowed to feel the same for her?
Double standards much?
“Consider that generous. You’re lucky I’m not going to kill you right here. Fortunately for you, you’re probably the weakest hired killer anyone could’ve chosen. I can’t say I’d catch anyone else in the act of ending my life.”
Some inner part of her flinched subtly, but she covered it up with a smirk. “Who’s weak?”
I chuckled, shaking my head. “You’re not in a good position to be acting like that.”
“Like what? Do tell.” She sat back like she was lounging on a sofa.
My gaze ran down her body, lingering on her tied ankles. The longer I stared, the more uncomfortable she grew. Finally, she shifted restlessly.
I didn’t even need to say a word.
Like I said. Weak.
“Here’s the plan, little killer. You’re going to come on a little field trip with me while we wait for someone to text that phone. Chances are, the person I pissed off enough to have hurt their ego is a regular at the pool hall.”
“What do I have to do with any of that?”
I pulled a knife from my pocket and unfolded it. “We’re going to see if anyone takes a special interest in you.”
Her throat bobbed as she glanced at the knife. “Why?”
Crouching, I pointed the tip in her direction. “Because that means they either want to fuck you, or they know you. And if they know you, they may lead us to whoever is on the other end of that phone. Whoever wants me dead clearly knows someone that works in your fucked-up chain of command.”
Bravely, she didn’t look at the blade again. “Who are you trying to find? My boss, or the man who wants you dead?”
I cocked my head. “Should I be hunting your boss for a reason other than arranging people’s deaths, Grace?”
She blinked. I would’ve never looked into that small shutter, but the soft side of her I’d gotten a glimpse of before this had me questioning things. She clearly didn’t want to do this job, but she had to. Why?
