“What's the matter, Dilano?” The man's voice is smooth, almost amused. “Won't you show me around?”
I don’t dare look, but I hear Mark shift—the quiet rustle of fabric as he squares his shoulders.
“It’s been a long morning,” he says, cool and steady. “And you're wasting my time.”
“Wasting your time,” the man repeats, like he’s turning the words over in his mouth, savoring them. “That’s interesting, Dilano. Real interesting.”
Then—another creak.
Closer.
And before I can react, before I can do anything at all—the floor creaks right in front of me.
I freeze.
I know—I know—that if I look up, I’ll see him. I’ll see the man standing there, looking down at me like a cat that just found a particularly amusing mouse.
So Idon’tlook up.
I just breathe. One second. Two.
And then, a voice—deep, amused, far too knowing.
“Well, well,” the man drawls. “What do we have here?”
My heart stops.
Slowly, I lift my head.
And I find myself staring into a pair of eyes—dark, sharp, and gleaming. Bad intentions—that’s what this man looks like.
His gaze sweeps over me in an instant, taking me in, assessing. His lips quirk—not a smile, not really, but something close. Somethingworse.
“You must be the wife,” he says.
Mark moves so fast I barely see it. One second, he’s nowhere—the next, he’s in front of me, blocking the space between us. I didn’t even know hecouldmove that fast, but I’m grateful. I don’t want to be alone with this man.
“She’s none of your concern.”
The man doesn’t step back. Doesn’t move at all. He just watches me, head tilting slightly, like he’s intrigued.
And then, he smiles.
“Is that right?” he murmurs. “Because from where I’m standing… she looksexactlylike my concern.”
Unfortunately, for both of us, his words would turn out to be very true.
The pull yanks me out of the darkness and onto the other side of the street. I stumble slightly, breathless, as the world around me sharpens into focus. The first thing I register is the scrape of my boots against damp pavement. Then… the smell hits me.
Acrid. Rotting.
And that’s when I realize where I am.
Bourne’s place. The neighbors'.
Or more specifically, theirtrash bin.
My hand is already halfway inside, fingers closing around something damp and sticky, before my brain catches up to what’s happening.
