I clenched and unclenched my fists. How dare she disappear! I couldn’t let it end like that. I had to make her forgive me. I had to apologise. I needed a f**king second chance.
He glared bloody murder, blue eyes tearing into mine. “What the f**k was I supposed to do? She’s a free woman, not a captive! She asked for a lift a few hours ago and I agreed.” Coming closer, he seethed, “What the hell did you do to her last night, Fox? She walked out of here as if she’d been used by a f**king stallion.” His gaze shot me with bullets of rage. “I hope you got your money’s worth because I doubt she’ll be coming back.”
This was the same prick who’d scorned Zel last night. The same man who looked at Zel as if she were a succubus out to steal my soul.
“That’s none of your f**king business. She was mine. We had a deal!”
“A deal? What? Where you were allowed to destroy the poor girl? Don’t make me laugh.”
My rage morphed into white-hot anger. Oscar couldn’t point fingers. Fucking hypocrite. He had more women than I’d ever met. He used them and cast them aside with no thought to their feelings.
“At least I’ve only hurt one.” I narrowed my eyes, daring him to argue.
Oscar’s mouth hung open. “Screw you. I f**k women who want me to f**k them. I don’t kidnap them and then rape them. For God’s sake, we’ll have the police here if she decides to lay charges.”
The thought of being touched by many, of being handcuffed and trapped in a cage, undid my shaky sanity even further. I was done living in cages, belonging to others. I was done.
I couldn’t speak. Anger closed my throat as I stood precariously close to the edge I was always one-step away from plummeting off.
“I f**ked her. So what?”
Oscar came forward. “Please tell me she wanted it or so help me. We may be business partners, Fox, and I don’t know what shit you dealt with in your past, but if you raped her, I’ll kill you myself.”
The switch deep inside—the one I always struggled with keeping off—flicked on. The compassion I’d fought so hard to cultivate disappeared in a puff of smoke. Every lesson I’d ever learned, all the pain I’d suffered, all the blood I’d spilled swamped me in a cloud of contamination.
“You think you could kill me?” My voice never rose past a whisper, but it throbbed with a threat.
The noise of fighters pummelling each other in Obsidian below pricked my skin with energy.
Violence. Blood. Pain. It was my DNA. The only reason I was born—the only reason why I was still alive.
I took one step toward Oscar. His healthy tan faded as fear whitewashed his features. Instead of backing down, he stepped forward until only a foot separated us. “I think you need some serious f**king help, Fox. The way you were with that woman last night, it was obsessive. You seemed completely different. Good different.” His voice lost the angry edge. “You seemed human for the first time since we met. You need to apologise if you have any hope of fixing it.”
A Ghost never apologized. A Ghost was there to obey. A Ghost was nothing and no-one. We existed above the law.
You have to destroy evidence.
You have to kill her.
The conditioning doused my body in a cold sweat.
“What address did she give you?” Images of squeezing her throat, sucking her soul plundered my mind. It was the only way.
She knew about me. I showed her too much.
Oscar looked over his shoulder at the fighters below. The Muay Thai ring held an eager duo going at it with wild ferocity. No one looked up here, no one paid attention to the stand-off between us.
The longer he kept me from her, the more pissed off I got. She was mine. I had the contract to prove it. Every minute that ticked past cost me one hundred and thirty nine dollars of the two hundred thousand I agreed to pay—she owed it to me to be here. Fighting with me. Letting me do what I wanted.
His jaw clenched. “I’m not giving it to you.” Taking another step back, he rushed, “You don’t know what life she leads. What about the woman who was with her last night? The black dude? You can’t go charging over there in your condition. It’s professional suicide. Do you have any idea what kind of shit-storm this could bring?”
My temper flared into nuclear. “That’s none of your f**king business.”
Storming toward him, I shoved him out of the way of the stairs. Instead of going willingly, Oscar slammed to a halt and braced himself on my shoulder.
The moment he touched me, I lost it.
My world swooped like a bad time machine, shooting me from present to past.
“You’ve passed the first test of three. Congratulations.”
My handler, and only person who I was allowed to talk to, came close and gave me what I so craved: food. Damn, I was hungry. After two weeks in the pit with just scraps for nourishment, they’d broken my will, and I’d done what they’d ordered.
My throat closed around the piece of chicken, remembering what I’d done only an hour before. I’d broken into a home—complete with Christmas decorations in the window and a fire flickering in the hearth. I’d sneaked up the stairs on silent toes and stood over a woman sleeping soundly in her bed.
I’d stabbed her in the heart while her husband slept on.
Then, I left.
I choked, throwing the chicken away, staring at my hands. Traces of blood coated my fingers, glowing bright with damnation.
“Well done, Fox. Well done for killing your mother.”
“Fox?”
“Fox! Goddammit, stop!”
A fist to the jaw shattered the flashback, and I hurled myself at the stupid culprit. I’d kill them. I’d kill them for making me murder my mother.
“Fox!”
My vision cleared from blood-smeared thirteen-year-old fingers to a bulging eyed Oscar.
His hands clawed at mine around his neck, his feet dangled off the floor. The burn in my shoulders spoke of the weight I held almost unconsciously. It was so easy. I didn’t know why I fought so hard. This was all I was good for.
Death.
Oscar spat in my face. His warm spit landed in my eye, and I threw him to the side disgusted.
“Snap out of it.” He threw a crystal ashtray at my head. It bounced off my temple, knocking sense back into me.
I blinked, bringing into focus his torn shirt and bleeding lip. Fear stank around him.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Backing away, I looked down at my hands—at the symbol III tattooed into my palms. How could I ever let myself get so weak?