Asher
As Ella’s teakettle begins to hiss, I throw my thumb over my shoulder. “Bathroom?”
“Oh, just down the hall, on the right,” she says. “Do you want coffee or tea?”
“Whatever you’re having.”
I head away from the kitchen, glancing behind me to make sure Ella is out of view before opening the bathroom door and checking it. It’s empty. I continue down the hall, inspecting each room as I go, using my phone as a flashlight.
Sure, these outages happen, but I’m not buying the timing, especially after delaying her death. It’s not uncommon for bounties to be passed around, and whoever gets the kill first can cash it in. There’s a chance that’s what happened here, which means someone could be here to hurt Ella.
Not a fucking chance.
At the very least, it’s bad form to steal a job, so whoever it is can go fuck themselves.
I check the second bedroom. It’s empty but for theboxes of Ella’s books. The main bedroom, Ella’s room, almost has me laughing out loud. It’s messy as hell, clothes all over the bed, an array of shoes scattered across the carpet—but no assassin waiting in the shadows.
Back in the living room, Ella is snuggled up on the couch with her tea, and a steaming mug for me is placed on a coffee table. She has small, battery-powered lanterns placed around, and a candle is by my tea.
“Well prepared.” I sit on the couch, settling in.
“Remember who my dad is,” she says. “I’m prepared for every situation. Earthquake, floods, zombie apocalypse …” I laugh into my warm drink, and she grins. “Are you?”
“Well, I nearly always carry a gun, if that’s what you mean.”
She doesn’t even flinch. “My dad put two guns in my apartment the day I moved in.”
“Where?”
She narrows her eyes over her mug. “That would be telling, Asher Flynn.”
“Good answer. I could be anybody.”
She chuckles, then places her tea on the coffee table and tucks her leg underneath her while facing me. “Then tell me who you are. We’ve spent the last few dates talking exclusively about me, and I’m so boring.” She shifts a little closer, and I immediately place down my tea, too. I want both hands free to touch her, to hopefully kiss her again. “Tell me about you.”
Me? I’m a murderer. My specialty is firearms. I’m a better shot than Gable, than everyone I know, and shooting brings me peace. I spent hours in the range when I was a teenager, finding quiet in the violence. I’ve killed four hundred and sixteen people, and I don’t lose sleep over a single one of them.
That’s who I am.
But who was I before?
“Well, my birthday is in July. Your book is the first fiction book I’ve read since school. I once got in a fight, and he knocked my tooth clean out. This one.” I show her one of my back teeth. “It’s fake.”
“Ouch. Did you hit him back?”
“Didn’t have the time. Gable kicked his ass.” I grin at the memory. “Then a week later we stole his car and drove it into a lake.”
She slaps her hand over her mouth. “You didn’t!”
“Yep. He deserved it, rich prick. He looked down on us ’cos we didn’t have any money, so we destroyed his pride and joy. You should’ve seen the look on his face when he realized it was gone. Gable and I were across the street, cracking up. Now I have more money than him.”
She arches a brow. “Is this where you tell me you’re outrageously wealthy?”
“I have enough.” Enough to retire very comfortably at thirty. Killing people pays well. “What about you, big-time writer? Aren’t you rolling in cash?”
She flushes. “I have some hidden away, but I don’t know what I’d spend it on. I like where I live; I don’t need a car. My laptop works, so does my phone. What else do I really need?”
“You don’t think about getting a house somewhere?”
