He unties me from the bedside table, but he doesn’t untie my wrists. At least he lets me lower my arms after he helps me roll onto my back. He props me up against the headboard. Strands from my wig stick to my lip. He’s careful as he lifts them off, then tucks hair behind my ears.
“I’ll let you loose long enough to take the horrendous wig off and pop out those contacts.”
“Why should I show you the real me?”
“Because I just let you see how I am.”
“Strategic? Manipulative? Arrogant?”
“Vita, I could’ve killed you a couple dozen times over since we met. I could’ve beaten you senseless and dropped your body in the worst part of the Bronx. Better yet, the East River. I could’ve bound and gagged you the moment we walked in here.”
“No. You used sex to manipulate me.”
“Like you didn’t do the same damn thing. You believe I found nothing in the bathroom, but I did. I found the insulin I’m certain isn’t yours. No glucose monitor anywhere. It’s what you wanted when you claimed you had condoms—which we know I found in one of your purses, not the bathroom. You would’ve told me you suddenly didn’t feel well and needed to give yourself a shot. You would’ve banked on me checking on you or at least being close enough to surprise me. You would’ve stuck the needle anywhere you could reach. There are enough vials in there to put me in a coma. Once I was disoriented and dizzy enough, you would’ve gone back for more and shot me up until I passed out. Hell, that’s assuming it’s even insulin. I’m inclined to think it’s some sedative and nerve blocker.”
“That’s a lot of speculation.”
“Not when we both know I found your Taser. The one you had at the gala. The one you planned to use when you followed me out of the ballroom.”
“Again, speculation. I was with Patrick, but New York is a dangerous city. As you can imagine, I have enemies. I carry it for self-defense. Shooting bullets isn’t always inconspicuous.”
“Bullshit.”
We stare at each other as he sits beside me on the bed. I could’ve gotten out of the binding around my wrist while he searched my room, but the short-lived freedom would’ve been futile. I’m naked after all.
“I’ll ask you a third time. Will you let me save you?”
Chapter Nine
Alejandro
I know the third time won’t be the charm. I wish it were.
Mercy isn’t an emotion I indulge in. It’s pointless in my life. At least, most of the time it is. I didn’t exaggerate when I said I could’ve killed Vita a couple dozen ways since meeting her. I could’ve made a show of it or done it so covertly, she wouldn’t even know she was dying. But I can’t bring myself to even plot a single way.
I don’t want her dead.
Just the opposite. I’ve never wanted to ensure a mercenary remained alive. I don’t know what drove her to this life. I can’t think of many people who grow up wanting to be one.
A vigilante, yes.
A mercenary, no.
I want to know everything about her. The driving curiosity is as foreign as the mercy. She intrigues me in a way no one—man, woman, or child—ever has. I want to discover her past and am eager to hear and see what she’ll do next.
These emotions signal imminent death. My death.
It’s dangerous to entertain any of them, yet I don’t stop myself.
But I’m equally disappointed that she won’t accept my help, even if I’m not surprised.
Her mission’ll fail. There’s a good chance her employer will put a hit on her to silence her. I don’t know what her success rate or body count are, but I know they must be high. She’s too experienced to think otherwise. But I’m her last target unless she accepts my help.
My protection.
And that’s the last thing she’ll admit she needs.
“Your silence in your answer,chiquita. ‘Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall.’”
