But I won't.
Armond always seems to hold this sophisticated and proper stance that clings perfectly to every fluid move me makes. He’s a calculating and intelligent man that I constantly have to watch my steps around. Gray eyes narrow on me from beneath his dark brows. Drifting down the stairs slowly, he comes closer and closer to me while I force my feet to stay where they are. If I move, I show weakness. I’m steel. A damn statue. I’m a facade of fearlessness.
“You failed in your mission, Hart.” He pulls a cloth from his pocket and starts cleaning his hands. The motion is disconcerting, almost like he’s trying to wipe his fingerprints off before he makes a move, and if he kills me now, I know there won’t be any evidence left behind. It will be as if I never existed.
I’m expendable. No one to miss me. No one to mourn me. The only person who ever loved me died when I was only three. Who’s to say she even loved me?
I am alone in this world.
“I fully intend to do what needs to be done. There’s no one else worth sending, and you know it. Anyone else will die. Those guys are good. You wouldn’t send me if they weren’t.” I speak the words with a confidence that I don’t quite feel. Armond is a cobra ready to strike. His deadly intentions have never been focused on me before, but I’m facing them down now.
His measured steps bring him into my personal space, and when his body brushes against mine, none of the pleasant feelings that Jameson or Tylin instilled in me are there. His hand wraps around my neck, applying enough pressure to restrict my airflow. He backs me up against the wall. My feet go willingly. Fighting him will end in death. That’s his power, after all.
Squeezing, my brain shorts out as I gasp for air. And still I accept his force without fight.
“I will end you if you defy me.”
I nod my head as much as I can as I feel my life force wane—the energy absorbing into his hand through his fingertips.
Reaching up, I cave—giving in to the need to pry his hand off my neck before he truly kills me. It’s purely survival.
I feel the pulsating energy of his power when my fingers clasp around his wrist. The mix of my life force and his power swirl together, becoming almost indistinguishable. Pulling on his arm, he deigns to let me breath and loosens his grip just enough to allow me to suck air into my lungs.
He’s stolen years off my life. I want them back. Even though it’s an act of rebellion, I feel violated and I narrow my eyes. I pull—hard—not sure it will work; even more unsure that this won’t seal my death for daring to go against what he deems proper punishment for my infraction.
Death and I seem to be in a complicated dance these days. A give and take. So far, I’ve made my own destiny, but I fear one day, death won’t sway in my favor.
As I pull, the green glow extends to my fingertips, lighting up the flesh and bones of my hands in a weird translucent way. The energy crawls up my arms, leaving tingling trails in its wake. The small amount of stolen power pools warmly in my heart.
The eerie chuckle of Armond is the last thing I expect to hear, but he allows me to pull my life force back into my body before he releases me. Stepping away, he takes that same white cloth from his pocket and wipes his hands off again, as if he touched something undesirable.
My heavy shoulders lean against the wall as I try to make sense of what just happened.
“Interesting. Very interesting.” He pauses for only a moment. “Make sure the job is done. And soon.”
“It’s going to take time.” My voice is rough as I try to use it, sore from where he’d gripped me. “They’re smart. They’ll be anticipating my next move. I need time to track their intentions, come up with a plan.”
“Two weeks, Hart. Two weeks or it’s your life instead of theirs.”
I bite my tongue to keep my witty remarks to myself. I’ve angered the snake enough for one day and I do have enough of a survival instinct inside of myself to keep my mouth shut.
“Agreed.”
One sharp nod and he walks away. I don’t move until he’s out of sight, but when he is, I head straight up the stairs, seeking the solitary comfort of my room.
Eight
Quiet as a Mouse
The hallway is dimly litas I make my way to the last door on the left. Each room is more like an apartment; large with its own bathroom and a small kitchenette.
Pulling the key from my pocket, I unlock the door and proceed to spin the padlock combination until the correct set of numbers appear. With a click, I pull the additional lock free and enter the dark living space.
Flicking on the light, I toss the padlock on the end table and turn back to the door, locking all four the deadbolts from inside. Hesitantly I pull the pocket watch out and set it gently down.
“Let me take a look at that.” For the umpteenth time today, I nearly startle out of my skin.
Whipping around, I lash out; my knife in my hand in a flash.
