The Mercenary: Skewed Part 4

The man frowned and followed my line of sight. "What's under there?"

"The two men you killed last night. I'd prefer we did this sooner rather than later, 'cause even though it's cool down here, if we give them another couple of days, it's going to start smelling pretty ripe."

He gave a cold laugh. "What do you think I'm going to tell you?"

I pursed my lips. "Let's start with an easy one. How about your name?"

"I'm not going to tell you my name, but you can call me X."

"X? Like Mr. X?"

He shrugged, but gave a smile that wasn't fitting for the situation. "Just X will do. And I know your name. Verity."

"I'm known as Vee now, but I guess you just answered another of my questions."

"Oh, and what's that?"

"That you're here because of my old life. No one else knows me as Verity now."

"I figured you'd worked that part out for yourself."

I was the one to shrug this time. "I had, but it's good to have confirmation of my suspicions. I'm going to a.s.sume you're not going to tell me who sent you?"

"You a.s.sume correctly. I won't say his name, but I'm sure you can guess."

He was right, I could.

I glanced over at the dust sheets. "But why did you kill the men you were with? Have you double crossed someone?"

He shook his head. "I work alone. Those men weren't with me. I saw them coming into your house while I was scoping the place out myself, and then I followed them in and shot them."

His answer surprised me. I didn't know what I'd been expecting, but it hadn't been that. I narrowed my eyes at him. "Why would you do that?"

"Because coming in here and killing you was supposed to be my job. I didn't want them to take that away from me."

He'd locked me with those blue eyes the whole time he'd spoken, somehow making me feel as though I was the one tied up, and he was the person interrogating me. I tried to push away the feeling. I couldn't let him intimidate me. I was the one in control here, and he had to tell me what I needed to know. I should have stuck to the facts, yet for some sick, twisted reason, I couldn't help myself. It was like tonguing a cavity in your molar-even though it hurt, you couldn't quite bring yourself to stop doing it.

"Why not let them do your job for you? Wouldn't that have saved you a lot of ha.s.sle?"

A slow smile crept across his lips, revealing a glimpse of white teeth behind. "I'd been watching you," he said, sending a shiver through me. "Something about you drew me in. You're very beautiful, you know-the glossy black hair, the dark eyes, the tattoos. I like your att.i.tude as well, how you don't take s.h.i.t from anyone. I wanted to get close to you, just that once, before you died. Like I said, if the other two men had killed you, I never would have had that opportunity."

"How'd that work out for you?" I snapped, sickened by the idea of him wanting to get close to me before he killed me.

He laughed. "Not as great as I'd been expecting, but one good thing has come out of all of this."

"What?"

His eyes flicked down the length of my body and back up again. "I got to spend time with you."

"You're a sick son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h," I said, trying to sound tough, but my words emerged strangled, my throat tight.

He laughed again, deep and throaty. "I don't think I'm the only one who's sick. You're the one who stabbed me twice and tied me to a chair. Plus hid two bodies rather than calling in the cops. Why didn't you call the cops?"

"I don't trust them."

"Why not?"

"I don't trust anyone."

He appeared to hide a smile this time-one of agreement or satisfaction, rather than any kind of smugness. After all, he wasn't in a position to be smug.

I realized he'd managed to switch our positions, so he was the one asking the questions, while I was answering. This guy might have let me catch him out last night, but I needed to be wary of him. This would have been easier if he'd been three hundred pounds in weight, balding, with a flat nose, and piggy eyes, rather than the lean, intense specimen who sat before me. I always thought I was better than some simpering girl who lost her mind over a guy, but this one sidetracked me for all the wrong reasons.

I forced myself to stay on track. "What about my sister? Were you supposed to kill her, too?"

"No. Not her. He wants her back."

I froze. "Why?"

"He thinks you've led her astray. Pulled her from the family."

I had to bark back laughter. "You have got to be kidding me. I'm the one who led her astray? That man doesn't even know the meaning of family-not a family outside of whatever criminal venture he's up to next, anyway. That's his family to him, the people who are working with him. Or at least they're family for as long as he wants them to be. Once he's got what he wants from them, he doesn't give a s.h.i.t. And as for him caring about his real family-maybe you should ask him what happened to his wife!"

My anger had gotten the better of me. I was aware that I'd just ranted to the same man who'd already told me he wanted to see me dead. I didn't know why I thought he would give a s.h.i.t, but just in that moment, it felt good to talk. I hadn't been able to speak to anyone properly for months, always watching what I said, whether that was with strangers or my own sister. But this stranger knew the truth of my life, so it didn't matter.

I was wanted dead by the most powerful mobster in the country. Trouble was, he was also my father.

"Hey," he said, almost amiably, and I had the feeling he'd have put his hands up in defense had they not been strapped to his thighs. "Don't shoot the messenger." And then, in my astonished face, he laughed at his own joke.

I scowled. "You're not even remotely funny."

"I'm aware of that, but what's that saying about being in a position where you have to either laugh or cry? Considering my current situation, I'm not about to sit in front of you and start bawling like a baby."

"We'll see about that. If you don't tell me what I need to know, I might just do things to you that will make you want to cry."

His head tilted slightly to one side, and I noted the square jut of his jaw, and his long lean throat. "I wasn't aware I'd been holding out on you."

"I don't trust you."

"You don't trust anyone. I remember."

I had the sudden unnerving feeling that he was flirting with me. That wasn't good. I needed him to take me seriously. Did he always use the cute half smile and the come-to-bed blue eyes as a way of getting what he wanted? I didn't know anything about him, but I figured he probably did. I wasn't going to let him think he could get away with it.

Rising from the chair, I rounded it to stand in front of him.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

I gave a smile that moved my lips but that I didn't allow to touch my eyes, and then I reached down and took hold of the piece of tape holding the thigh wound together.

"This," I said, as I gave the end of the tape a yank, tearing it from both the wound and the skin of his thigh. I'd torn away a good chunk of hair from his well-muscled thigh, and the wound opened up again, specs of bright red gleaming from around the darker blood which had dried and crusted to start to heal.

"f.u.c.k!" he yelled, then clenched his teeth against the pain, rearing back and stamping his feet down on the ground. He repeated that several times, and for a moment I thought he was going to tip the chair over. Would he pa.s.s out again? But no, he seemed very much awake and now he glared at me with anger and hatred in his eyes. That was better.

I figured he'd take me seriously now.

Chapter Ten.

X.

The pain felt like she'd stabbed me all over again.

White hot agony burst through me, causing me to rock in the seat and stamp my feet against the floor to try to stop myself from going insane. The movement acted as an outlet to the pain instead of screaming like a little girl.

I came to a standstill and pressed my forearms best I could against the wound which had already started to bleed again. My mind swam, but I clutched onto consciousness, determined not to black out again. I wasn't going to let her think I was weak, even though she had gotten the better of me once. I didn't intend to let there be a second time, though my current situation of being strapped to a chair didn't exactly put me in the best of positions. I wasn't in my job for no good reason, though, and unless she lifted that gun and put a bullet in my head, I knew I would be able to figure a way out of this situation. She wanted information from me, and as long as I looked like I was playing ball, while still holding enough back for her to need to keep me alive, I would stay alert for any possibilities.

The blinding pain gradually dulled to a throb, which felt like it pulsed in rhythm with my heartbeat.

I looked up at the woman responsible for my torture. She stood, her hip jutted out to the side as she stared at me with cold calculation and just a little spark of, what-satisfaction?-in her eyes.

Crazy b.i.t.c.h, yet I couldn't help but admire what she'd done. She'd noticed me getting smart and so reset my attention to her. It hurt like a motherf.u.c.ker, but she'd done the right thing. I knew because I would have done exactly the same.

I wanted to take her down, just like I'd been paid to do, but the longer I spent in her time, the more she intrigued me. Part of me felt as though I was sitting here watching a female version of myself-a female version with a mouth that looked like it was designed purely with kissing in mind, and a body straight out of a Victoria's Secret catalog. Tall and slender, but with curves in all the right places, combined with the silky black hair and the tattoos, made me struggle to think about anything other than how she would feel under my tongue, and how tight she would be when I pushed myself inside her.

A tingling rush tightened my b.a.l.l.s and blood flooded to my d.i.c.k, causing it to stiffen. I made myself focus on my situation rather than the hot curves and s.e.xy mouth of the woman before me.

It seemed my c.o.c.k wanted to be the one in charge at the moment, and I was a little concerned that would end up getting me killed.

"If the other men weren't with you," she said, continuing where she'd left off, "tell me who they worked for, and what they were doing here."

"I already told you," I replied through gritted teeth. "I don't know."

"You must have some idea. Be inventive."

I c.o.c.ked an eyebrow. "You want me to make something up?"

"I want you to use your knowledge of the situation to make a sensible guess."

I thought for a moment, and then spoke. "My best guess is an enemy of your father is out for revenge."

Her dark eyes widened in surprise. "Revenge? Killing me wouldn't be revenge. After all, he sent you here to do the same thing. Wouldn't that be them helping him out?"

"For you, yes, but not for your sister."

She visibly stiffened at the mention of her sibling. Interesting. Her sister might be her one weakness. I didn't know how I could use this to my advantage, but I would certainly try if the opportunity arose.

"How would they use my sister?" she asked.

"Your father still loves your sister, right? He blames you for all of this. So I'd say his enemies might take a certain pleasure in using your sister in whatever way they wanted."

I realized I'd just told her who had sent me, though I figured she'd worked it out pretty quickly anyway.

She went pale beneath her caramel skin. "She's seventeen!"

"You really think that would make a difference?"

Her face became a taut mask of rage. "Don't you dare talk about her like that."

"You think me not talking about it is going to make any difference to what they would want to do to her?"

She stalked toward me and I actually found myself rearing away from her, a trickle of unease filtering through my veins. Unease was a foreign emotion to me-emotion in general was foreign to me-and I didn't like the way it felt.

Her hand shot out and she clutched the wound in my forearm, squeezing hard, digging in her nails. A fresh burst of pain exploded through me, and I yanked myself away as best I could.

"Don't ever mention that again, do you hear me?" she spat. "I don't talk about things like that!"

I knew I was pushing my luck, but for some reason I couldn't seem to help myself. "What about the thing that put you here in the first place? Do you ever talk about that?"

She stared at me again. "Who the f.u.c.k are you?"

"I told you. My name is X."

"Since when did a G.o.dd.a.m.n hit man know so much about his target's past? Aren't you supposed to just be shown a photograph and given a time and place, and that's it? Clean. No connections. In and out."

"I told you. I like to know who I'm dealing with."

There was an element of truth in what I'd said, but the whole truth was that I'd been sent her photograph, name, and location, and the moment my eyes met with her image, I'd been fascinated. My heart had quite literally skipped, my breath catching in my throat. The camera had caught her unexpectedly, so she was partly looking over her shoulder, her dark eyes locking with the lens. There hadn't been so much as a hint of a smile on her lips-if anything, I'd sensed the start of a scowl on her features. I'd reached out and traced the scrolls of tattoos down her arm-the shaded roses and skulls that made up the sleeve. From that moment, I'd done everything I could to learn about her, including the reason behind why she'd gone into Witness Protection, and why her father wanted her dead. Perhaps I should have said no and let this job pa.s.s, but if I did, someone else would be sent to kill her. For some reason the thought of that was even worse than the idea of killing her myself. Perhaps it was that her death would have been certain if I'd refused the job.

I might not have been able to stop another person, but I was always able to stop myself.

The realization jerked through me. Was that the reason I'd accepted this job, so I could make sure she didn't die? I had never killed a woman before, and it had been my hard limit, but I'd been told of who she'd killed, and I knew she wasn't any more innocent than some of the men I'd executed. Besides, there were some people it just wasn't a good idea to say no to.

She'd stayed in my thoughts, penetrated my head, this picture of a woman I'd never even met, and was supposed to kill.

And had been planning to. I still planned to, I thought, if my hand was forced.

But now it seemed like such a waste, to snuff out a light that burned so fiercely.