Page 9 of How to Kidnap a Fake Date
Dark hair tumbles over his eyes as he removes the helmet, and my mind wonders what it would be like if he kept it on…
Concentrate. Stop fantasising about your target. Turning yourself into a veritable horn dog isn’t going to make the escapade any easier.
My gaze stays laser-focused on him until he enters the building, and I dash to my door, one eye pressed up against my peephole until his leather-covered self comes into view.
Maybe I could just ask him to come to the wedding? He might say yes.
Like hell he will. He looks at me as if I’ll hex him whenever we meet on the stairs. Adding a big fat rejection before having to take him anyway doesn’t sound like fun.
He opens his door, balancing his helmet under his arm, a mess of tousled hair and tightly muscled biceps. It should be illegal to be so attractive.
I only have a few seconds while his door is wide open to absorb as much information as possible.
Roman tosses his keys into a colourful bowl on a slim table next to the door. Behind him, I see his couch and television, the room much larger than my little apartment.
His door shuts before I can see much else, but it’s enough.
Resting back against the door, I smile.
I might not be a killer, but maybe I could be a cracking stalker. It has to be better than being nothing, right?
First task: get a copy of those keys. Time to go and cosy up with the search engine and do some online shopping.
Well, Roman. Let the games begin.
My bladder is as nervous as a kitten in a thunderstorm. Do I really need to pee? Or am I just putting off my visit to my dishy neighbour?
Minutes pass as I lather up my hands, trying to amp myself up for my task.
The beginning of the point of no return.
With a loud buzz, my phone dances on the counter. A comment from Eliza flashes up next to the social media icon.
We need to see more of your hot boyfriend. He can’t be that shy!
The room behind me in the mirror compresses, the world closing in as the rush of familial pressure increases.
I should abandon the whole plan and tell my dad to take a hike. A laugh erupts at the absurdity of the thought. Never in my life have I stood up to my father. I doubt anyone had.
Evan Hamilton is a force of nature. A murderous hurricane who keeps himself from a frenzy with his code of conduct. He’d have turned to killing one way or another, so it worked well that he was born into one of the most renowned families of paid killers. From Prime Ministers to royalty, government officials to noblemen, my family had been taking people out for more than a hundred years.
And with a legacy of death comes a legacy of blackmail. Secrets form a thin veil of protection around us all, serving both sides as long as no one tries to tear it down – a mutually beneficial ecosystem borne from the blood of people who wronged either side.
Running my fingers through my hair, I breathe out.
No more delays.
Let’s hope Roman is a giving man.
From the squeals that come through my bedroom wall on the regular, I’d count on it.
Grabbing a cup, I force myself out of my door before I chicken out. My pocket feels leaden with the clay block. All I need to do is get the key impression and send it to Richie, who will make me a replica. Stealing the keys would be a much simpler option than all this cloak-and-dagger subterfuge, but also far more likely to end with him catching me.
Each step towards his door sends shivers of tension flying into me, my breath coming too fast.
Calm down, Maggie. You can’t show up at his door panting like a bloody dog.He’ll think you’re even crazier than he already does.The odd looks he gives me had never really been warranted before now, turning up wide-eyed and breathing like a donkey in a carrot shop would give him a good reason to believe his inner concerns.
I trace a finger over his door handle, far sleeker and fancier feeling than mine. The money I come from is older, the doorknobs at home covered in patina, the furniture bought by ancestors long dead.
