Chapter Twenty-Two
Not the fastest horse
can catch a word spoken
in anger.
Chinese Proverb
“You lied to me,” Nick says, turning his body away from the sorry shell of a man tied onto the floor beside him.
“What are you talking about?” I laugh out convincingly, like I think what he’s saying is ridiculous.
But inside, I’m staggered, a frantic mess.
I know he’s smart. I knew that from the moment I saw him. It was something I could just tell. No matter what he’s saying or doing, pure intelligence seeps out of his eyes and through his mannerisms.
But still…
How did he figure me out already?
I’ve been here for less than half an hour, and my gig is already up.
“You lied to me,” he repeats, his already callous eyes darkening and something in his voice akin to disbelief.
Maybe he’s even impressed.
Like the fact that I was bold enough to try to trick him and able to do so, even if it was only for a brief amount of time, is the most fascinating thing in the world.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I deny, my mind racing, wondering how I can spin this in my favor.
I’ve been in a lot of bad spots over the years, but I’ve never been homeless. I’ve been lucky to have a full scholarship at Wilton that paid for tuition along with room and board, but now I have to get back to the real world.
Where I can be booted onto the street, and literally no one but Mina would care.
Least of all the indifferent man before me.
He takes a step forward, and I stand still for a moment, enjoying our proximity before I instinctively take a step back, fully aware that I should have done so in the first place. From behind him, Jax watches us, still whimpering intermittently.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says. “I’m impressed. And curious.” He pauses and opens his mouth to say something, but when the doorbell rings, his open mouth shifts into a frown. His eyes flash in annoyance, presumably at the interruption and hopefully not at me. “That’s probably the deliveryman for the groceries. We’ll finish this later,” he says and heads toward the staircase without a goodbye or an invitation to follow him.
I follow him up anyway, not wanting to be alone down here with Jax. It smells absolutely disgusting in the basement. Like someone dumped a few dozen bottles of Febreeze down a sewer and thought it’d take care of the stench.
It didn’t.
I trail behind Nick and follow him into the foyer, because it’d be weird being alone in a room in his house. Even though I should get used to it if I’m going to be staying here for however long it takes for me to get back on my feet.
Once we reach the door, Nick presses a button on a panel beside it, and the screen shows a man outside. His head is down, and since the angle is from above, we can’t see any part of his face past his baseball cap, which has the logo of the grocery store on it. His muscular arms are holding a large box, and in it are several bags full of food items.
Nick presses a button, and the inner door slides open, followed by the outer door. When the doors open, the guy lifts his head and studies me for a split second before turning to Nick. The box in his hand drops, revealing the gun in his right hand, a silencer attached to the end.
My eyes widen, but Nick is already grabbing my arm and jerking my body behind his, moving both of us away from the door right before the gun emits a muffled whish. Nick pushes me to the side and lifts himself off of me, his body still mostly shielding mine.
When he grabs two guns from the entryway table, the fake deliveryman widens his eyes, gapes, and shouts, “Motherfucker! You kept our guns?!”
Ruthlessly and without hesitation, Nick shoots them both, ruthlessly lodging two bullets into the intruder in quick succession.
One in the middle of his head.
One in the middle of his chest.
I watch as the deliveryman sinks slowly to the ground, his gun falling from his grip onto the floor with a softer thud than I expected. In fact, aside from the deliveryman’s odd last words, the whole ordeal was silent, thanks to the silencers attached on his gun and Nick’s.
“Huh,” Nick says, his dark eyes on mine, casually observing me as if there’s not a dead body on the floor in front of us.
As if he didn’t just shoot that guy in the head and chest.
As if this is just a normal day for him.
And perhaps it is.
Though if that’s the case, he should probably move.
These people coming after him already know where he lives.
“Huh?”
“You didn’t scream.”
“I grew up in the Bronx.”
In an apartment complex full of crack addicts, pimps, whores, and drug dealers. Some of whom were all four. They’ve knocked the building down since then, but the memories of living there are still intact.
This isn’t the first shooting I’ve witnessed.
It isn’t even the first shooting involving Nick that I’ve witnessed.
Nick nods his head thoughtfully before leaning down. I watch as he picks the dead guy’s gun up and grips his shirt with a large fist. When he nonchalantly straightens and begins to drag the guy’s body, I almost laugh.
The image is so similar to what happened last time, it’s almost laughable how crazy this is. The other shootings I’ve witnessed involved domestic abuse, drugs, or gangs. They had no finesse and were disgustingly sloppy.
Given my suspicions about his mafia ties, I have a feeling this is none of the above.
Nick turns his head over his shoulder and says, “Bag up the groceries, will you? I don’t want to have to wait for another delivery.”
I open my mouth to protest, but he’s already turned around and is beginning to walk again. Sighing, I drop to my knees and pick up a few random items that fell out of the box when the deliveryman/assassin dropped it, and I’m thankful to see that there isn’t blood on anything.
I pick up the heavy box and walk in the direction of the kitchen, ignoring the moans coming from Nick’s prisoner in the basement. Nick is already down there, presumably dropping off the dead guy’s body.
When Nick joins me, I gesture to the box of groceries I dropped onto the kitchen island and point out, “They could be poisoned.”
“He’s not smart enough for that.”
I narrow my eyes. “You know him?”
He nods, but he doesn’t add anything else.
I sigh, eyeing the clock. “You know what? I don’t have time for this. I have somewhere to be.”
Specifically, Mina’s. My visit with her starts forty-five minutes from now, and I have to get there on foot. I already removed John’s credit card from my Uber account, and I don’t really have the funds to pay for a ride.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“Ha. Ha. Funny,” I say, brushing past him.
“He saw your face.”
“He’s dead.”
“He had a getaway driver.”
“I didn’t see one.”
“You weren’t looking.”
“It’s not me he’s after.”
“You’re right. It’s me. And now that he’s seen you in my home, he’ll think getting to you will be getting to me. Go ahead and leave if you want, but I can’t guarantee that you’ll be alive to come back.”
“Gosh, I hate you so much right now.”
“You’re not exactly a Georgia peach yourself.”
I bite my tongue to refrain from growling. “I have somewhere to be.”
“Not my problem.”
“Are you always such a jerk?”
“Again, not my problem.”
I study his rugged face, annoyed beyond belief at him. Then, I stomp away and head to the door, which is still unarmed and unlocked.
And I leave.