Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 64640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
When he steps inside, he flicks on a light. I’m not really sure what I expected to see when I walked in, but the fact that his home is plain really appeals to me. Sure it could do with a couple of personal touches. There isn’t anything personal anywhere. But I like the simplicity of the black couches, television hanging on the wall, and a kitchen behind the main living room.
He throws the keys onto the kitchen island as he tugs me to the back glass door, which he slides open. Stepping outside, I notice a small pool with a few lounge chairs scattered around it and some fairy lights. He walks us to the edge of the pool, drops my hand, then presses a button that turns on a small water feature at the other end.
“I didn’t bring my swimsuit,” I tease.
“That’s fine. You won’t need one,” he says, stepping back inside. I’m left standing outside in his landscaped garden. Once more, a contradiction to the impersonal interior. Outside holds a touch of warmth I find curious. A slight breeze rustles through the tall trees and fronds in the garden, adding a musical accompaniment to the nocturnal insects enjoying the garden as much as I am. Zuko reappears with a bottle of wine and two glasses.
“Are you being romantic right now?” I ask, brows raised. “You fuck me with a knife, and now it’s all ‘hey, let’s have wine.’” He sits on one of the lounge chairs and pulls the other over so they’re right next to each other, creating one large seat.
“Technically, I haven’t fucked you tonight or this morning. So, no… Sit down and have a drink and see if it helps.”
I roll my eyes as I sit next to him. After kicking off my shoes, I tuck my feet under my ass and take the glass he has poured for me.
“You haven’t put drugs in here, have you?” I ask him before I take a sip.
“Why would you ask that and then proceed to drink it?” He’s clearly baffled by my question and subsequent action.
“Hey, a girl has to sleep,” I say, drinking the whole glass and giving it back to him. He takes and refills it as I lie back and stare at the sky.
“What are your nightmares about?”
“I never told you I had nightmares.” I turn to look at him.
“You didn’t have to,” he replies gently.
“Tell me something about you I don’t know, and I might tell you about me.” I take the glass from his hand and glance back to the sky.
“I enjoy killing.”
I blink, then blink again. Did he? Turning ever so slowly, I fix my gaze on his, unable to speak. “You know who I am. Do you really think the rumors aren’t true?”
“I…” My pause causes him to raise an eyebrow and stare at me with disbelief in his eyes.
“You knew. You just didn’t believe. Or didn’t want to believe.”
“What do you enjoy about it?” I ask him because I want to know why, why do any of us take the paths that are put in front of us. Me, working two jobs because I have a fear of running out of money, or the fact I can’t stand to be touched, and then there is him.
I don’t know what is more worrying. That I’m lying next to a man that just admitted he likes killing, or the fact that I’m not as bothered by it as I should be.
“It’s not something a normal person would enjoy… I get it. But it’s something I am good at. The best, even. And I’m relied upon heavily in this business. I am that last resort, the one people use when there is nowhere to turn. Well, myself and my brothers. If no one else can complete the hit, they hire us. And we always accomplish the task. There is no such thing as a failure rate for us.”
“Should you be telling me this stuff? I mean… it’s not like you go around sharing with people what you do, right?”
“No, I don’t talk to people at all. Unless it’s my brothers.”
“Must be nice to have that constant support,” I add in a small voice.
“You have no family?” he asks.
“Nope, just me.”
“Why are you having nightmares?”
“Just your everyday nightmares. Foster child shit. You know…going from home to home with no one really loving you.”
“Lies,” he says.
I huff out a sigh and decide if he can be honest with me, then I should do the same. “Okay fine. I watched one of my foster fathers beat my foster mother to within an inch of her life and then proceed to do the same with their son. That shit still fucks me up.”
“Did he hurt you?” Zuko asks.
“I hid. He called out for me for what felt like hours, and I was terrified. I hid in the kitchen, watching the blood from his wife soak the floor. Her eyes were wide open, and blood ran in rivers everywhere.”