Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 74276 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74276 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
The bottle of wine disappeared.
“Another?” I asked as she finished her glass.
“I don’t think so.” Her eyes gleamed at me as she leaned over the table. I let my gaze drop down to her breasts. She seemed pleased by that. “You’re just trying to get me drunk.”
“I don’t think I need to do that,” I said, looking her in the eye again.
She smiled. “And why not?”
“Because you’ve been looking at me like that all night.”
She raised her eyebrows and sat back. “What do you mean, like that?”
“Like that,” I said, nodding. “Like you can’t wait to see the rest of my tattoos.”
She opened her mouth then shut it again and laughed. I grinned at her and spun my knife in a circle on the cloth-covered tabletop.
As the waitress cleared our plates and Elise talked about some of her favorite TV shows (early Game of Thrones, Vampire Diaries, The Office), I realized that I hadn’t thought about killing her in almost two hours.
Not a single time. It hadn’t even crossed my mind.
All during dinner, we just talked like two people, and I enjoyed myself. I couldn’t remember the last time that happened.
I’m not sure ever, actually.
The realization hit me like a train.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. My whole life was based around killing people, mostly men, but every once in a while the family sent me after a woman. It’d been harder, killing the women, maybe I’m old-fashioned like that.
But I’d never actually wanted to be around my mark before.
“Tanner?” Elise frowned at me and leaned forward again. “Are you okay? I just asked, what are you watching right now?”
“Oh, sorry,” I said and picked up my wine glass. I polished it off to cover. “I was thinking about something.”
“What were you thinking about?” That look again. A sultry gleam in her eyes.
“You,” I said.
“Yeah? What about me?”
Before I could answer, the waitress came back to see if we wanted dessert. I said no, Elise said no, and so the waitress set down the check and left again.
I slipped my credit card inside and figured the least I could do was pay for dinner before I murdered her.
“You haven’t answered my question yet,” she said.
“You don’t want to know.” My eyes lingered on her chest, moved up to her lips. I wanted to push her away now.
I knew what was coming next.
But she didn’t seem deterred. “Yeah?” she asked. “Tell me more.”
I met her eyes then and thought, yeah, okay, let’s see how far this can go.
I leaned toward her. “I was thinking about what that dress would look like as I slowly peeled it off your body,” I said.
There was that blush in her cheeks again. But she didn’t pull away or act insulted. Instead, her lips parted slightly and her pink tongue licked at her white teeth.
“Yeah?” she asked. “I’m not sure you’d care much about the dress anymore at that point.”
“True,” I said. “I’d be too busy thinking about how I could tease you.”
The waitress returned, seemed to read the mood of the table, and took my card without a word. She hurried off to run it.
I leaned back in my seat and crossed my arms, head tilted, studying my future victim.
Elise looked away, eyes cast down. “Is this how you became such a man-whore?” she asked.
“Something like that,” I said.
“You’ve used these lines before then.”
“No,” I said, and meant it. “These are all for you.”
She met my gaze again. “Come over,” she said. “For some coffee, I mean.”
“Coffee,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” I said, drawing out the word. “I can do… coffee at your place.”
“Good.”
The waitress returned. The tension was as thick as a leather belt. She dropped off the check, thanked us both, and ran off to her next table. I got up and Elise followed me back through the restaurant, the hush of conversation floating through the air, and back out into the crisp evening. Her shoes clattered on the sidewalk as we made our way back to my car.
She didn’t talk on the drive back. I thought she might be nervous, and I couldn’t blame her. I had a Glock tucked in my waistband, right in the small of my back, and a suppressor tucked in the pocket of my jacket. I planned on excusing myself, going into the bathroom, putting on the suppressor then killing her in her apartment. I’d clean up and make sure I left no evidence behind then disappear into the night, one more victim down, another job finished for the family.
Except when I parked in front of her building and she got out, I stared at her round ass and a strange thought flipped through my mind.
What if I didn’t kill her?
I shook my head and got out after her. I couldn’t go soft, not right now, not after years of getting my hands dirty for absurd amounts of money. I could do this job and finish it like I’d always done.