Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Turning, I stride to the doors, exiting without an issue, which is funny, considering when we tried to enter it was difficult to get in. I step out into the night, the air crisp against my skin. The valet pulls up a sleek black car, and I notice him before he even slips behind the wheel. Boston. He moves with that controlled, deliberate precision that seems to set my nerves on edge. He’s already aware of me; I can tell by the shift in his posture. As he slides into the driver’s seat, our eyes meet across the space between us. Just a fraction of a second, nothing more, but enough to know that he knows I’m watching.
I let my gaze drop, forcing myself to stay calm. Inside, I’m annoyed at Carrie for ditching me, leaving me to this shitshow. And I’m annoyed that this asshole has my attention once more. I take a deep breath in, tension springing up in my body, but not from fear, from curiosity, irritation, and a reluctant sense of intrigue I refuse to acknowledge.
I take a step back, watching as the valet closes the door for him, then I keep moving confidently down the dark sidewalk, letting the city swallow me.
Even as I pull my coat tighter around myself and quicken my pace, I know he’s still watching me, and the thought makes anticipation coil tightly inside my chest.
Thankfully, it isn’t long before I get home, and when I do, the weight of the world outside starts to fall away. My heels click against the hardwood, and I breathe a little easier, even as the ache in my feet spreads like fire up my calves. I kick the shoes off, letting them thud softly against the doorframe, and for a moment, I close my eyes.
The apartment smells faintly of perfume and linen, the way I like it. Passing one of my favorite rooms filled with pretty shoes, I pad to the bathroom. The tiles are cold under my bare feet as I start the hot water. I strip out of my dress, then sink in slowly, careful not to dunk my hair, because once the bathtub water goes blue, I’ll be blue. And trust me, I’ve fallen asleep in the bath after freshly dying my hair and come out with blue skin. Carrie laughed for weeks.
The heat spreads through me, loosening muscles I didn’t realize were tense, washing away the lingering pulse from the party. I let my thoughts wander. Why did she bring me to that party if she was just going to disappear with a man? I get it, she’s working a contract, but I’m sure there are other ways to go about it.
I adjust my position, letting the warmth lap against my shoulders, and look around with a contented sigh. When I was looking for apartments, one of my must-haves was a bathtub that would be big enough to lie in comfortably.
My mind starts to whirl with questions. I haven’t really asked Carrie lately what she’s been doing to get clients. I guess a part of me hasn’t wanted to know. But does she do that often? Go into parties and hook up with strange men so she can get contacts?
I hope not.
I’ve earned enough money for both of us to live comfortably for the rest of our lives, so we could stop this at any time. When I first started, my kills were intentional and purposeful. I wasn’t just a hitwoman hired by the mafia. And I got paid the same as a hitman would. Except I have a handler, and all my kills are high-profile targets. If they want someone knocked off from the street, I am not your woman. I don’t deal in that low-level stuff.
There are people out there who do, and I don’t plan on taking their job.
Unlocking the door with my key, I walk into Carrie’s apartment the following day, as she lives close by. I’ve been trying to call her all morning, and she hasn’t answered.
The first thing I note is my heels discarded near her front door. Huffing out a breath of annoyance, I lean down and pick them up.
At least I know she made it home.
“Carrie, you know better than to treat my shoes like this,” I yell. When she doesn’t answer me back, I move deeper into the apartment, and something in the air shifts. It’s subtle at first, a quiet wrongness. The kind you feel before you understand it. My stomach dips, a slow, sinking pull, and my steps falter as I reach her bedroom door. It’s closed. That alone is enough to worry me. I hesitate for half a second, my hand hovering near the handle.
I don’t knock; I never have. I push it open slowly and then stop.
Everything in me goes still.