"Yeah. Of course." I didn't need his order but now that I have it, at least there's some validation behind why I insisted on taking her. I want to question him and figure out what their relationship is, but Miller and I don't have that kind of relationship, so asking him would be too out of line. Instead, I'll just chalk it up to her being important to him, enough that he hired me to dispose of the body she killed, and to task me to take care of her.
"Let me know if anything changes. I'll be out of town for the next forty-eight hours. Can you keep an eye on her?"
"Yes."
"Okay. I'll wire you some funds now."
"That isn't necess?—"
But Miller has already hung up, and within a few seconds, a notification pops across the top of my screen that twenty-thousand dollars has been deposited into my account.
If he had waited an extra second, he would have heard me tell him it wasn't necessary, that I would have watched over her for free, but then how would I have explained to him that his girl has got me under her spell?
It's better this way. Less risky. He gave me a job, and now that's what this is. A job. I will remain professional and do what is expected of me. Keep her safe and give her what she needs.
Dragging my hand through my beard, I sigh and shake my head. "Idiot," I mutter.
I use her slumber as an opportunity to slip out of the room and take a shower, washing away the remnants of her crime that lingers on my body and attempting to put space between us so my mind can think a bit more clearly.
Only, the distance causes this fucking pit in my chest that creates even more worry.
When have I ever worried about another human being? Thesefeelings, theseemotions, they're completely foreign, and I want nothing to do with them.
I slap my face, the water adding a nice cracking sound to it. "Get it together, Silver."
Any other day I'd stay under the shower longer, but I find myself turning the faucet off way sooner than usual and drying off in a hurry. Slipping into grey sweatpants and a white tee, I finish by towel drying my hair and accepting the mess that it is. This is the part of my day when I'd grab the paper and have a cup of coffee while I flip through the boring headlines to see what the media decided to tell us. I'd poke fun at the stories I'm well aware are fabricated and try to read between the lines of what is fact or fiction.
I'd cook dinner and eat it alone before settling into my chair and reading whatever my latest read is. Currently, it's some science fiction book I picked up off a stand near the checkout at the corner store. It isn't captivating or groundbreaking, but it does pass the time, and at this point in my life, that's all I can ask for. That's what I'm used to. Waiting around until I'm called into work and then fixing whatever problem arises with efficiency and discretion. My phone rings at any given hour, and I'm okay with that. It's nice knowing that my services are needed, and that people can rely on me to solve their problems. It's what I'm good at.
My work is my company. The dead bodies, loose ends, busted kneecaps, and helping people escape.
There isn't any problem I’ve been presented that I haven't been able to fix. I pride myself on being a man of my word and following through with any job I've been given. It's not for the faint of heart, and there are days when I question whether I can pull something off, but that has never stopped me from trying.
What it has stopped me from is living any semblance of anormallife. Not that I'd choose that, given the opportunity presents itself. I don't know anything outside of this life. At some point, I became so intertwined with it that I no longer see where the crime or my identity begins or ends. And I gave up trying a long time ago.
This is who I am. I am a bad man. And I am damn good at it.
I sit on the chair opposite Cora and watch her for what feels like an eternity and a second all at the same time. I notice her shoulders grow tense, her breathing change, and then even back out. I study her eyelids as her eyes dart underneath them, and I wonder what it is she's dreaming of.
She sucks in a sharp breath and sits upright, both scaring herself and causing my hand to ball into a fist, ready to fight whatever might be harming her.
Cora clutches her chest, and I want to rush over there, but I can only imagine that would startle her more. Instead, I allow her gaze to explore until her sights land on me.
"Where am I?" She rubs her eyes.
"My apartment," I tell her.
She glances down at her body and slides her legs off the couch, placing her feet on the floor. "Sorry."
"What?"
"My shoes. They were on your couch."
"I don't care about my couch."
"Oh." She looks down at the blanket I wrapped her up in and tightens it around her body.
"Are you cold?" I ask.
