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Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I say. “Look, you can let me go. I won’t tell anyone what I saw. I promise.” Yes, I’ve resorted to pleading. I’ll try anything to get me out of this situation.
“You would. Eventually, you would tell.”
He leans forward in his seat placing his elbows on his knees. His eyes seem to watch every person on the train. They bounce from one face to another. Short pieces of his hair have fallen from the high bun and down into his face covering the old scar in his hairline. It bothers me that I notice it.
Taking a deep breath, I lift my shoulders and drop them on my exhale. I need to think and do it quickly. This isn’t the first high risk situation I’ve been in. I escaped from Nic that night, and he had a gun to my head. I just need to be smart.
What do I know about this guy so far? Well, there is the obvious, he’s a killer. He seems to also be battling some type of mental issue. The way he started talking to himself at Greg’s house proves that all the screws aren’t tightened in his head. I need to be patient with him.
At some point he’s going to let his guard down and I’ll be able to get away. I need to make him think I’m going to cooperate with him. Something made him not kill me when he had the chance. It leads me to believe this killer has a conscious. I need to make myself seem as human as possible to him. People don’t kill things they connect with.
With my new plan in place, I lean back against the glass seeming to relax.
“You know, today has been a really shitty day for me.” I laugh to lighten the mood a little. “First, my sister kicked me out of the house for trying to sleep with her man and then I took a prostitution job for my best friend. Only to end up here.”
“You seem to make a lot of bad choices,” he says in that emotionless deep voice of his.
I turn to look at him. He looks to be still hyper focused on his surroundings, yet I can tell he’s listening to me.
“Wow, never thought I’d be judged by a serial killer.”
Those light green eyes cut to me momentarily. “Assassin,” he corrects.
As if there is a difference.
“Just so you know, I didn’t try to sleep with my sister’s boyfriend.” I don’t know why I felt the need to clear that up instead of the prostitution thing. Probably because I was guilty of attempted prostitution.
He again looks to me, his gaze running up and down my body before turning back to everyone else.
“I don’t believe you.”
Wow, this motherfucker’s got a lot of nerve. “You know what, fuck you,” I say sitting up straight. “You don’t even know me—”
“I know you showed up at an apartment to have sex with a man that has made billions of dollars by poisoning children in third world countries just so he can get his skin care medications approved.”
My draw drops and hangs there for a moment. “I didn’t…… know that about him.”
His gaze narrows on me. “Even if you did, would it have made a difference?”
I open my mouth to tell him yes. To explain to him that I would never lay down with a man that could hurt others, especially children. However, no words come out.
Because the truth is, I needed the money to get out of town. Although what Greg was doing was horrible, I couldn’t see the children he was hurting. I didn’t know them. I probably would have pushed their plight out of my mind to save myself. It’s shitty to admit, but I’m honest enough to tell the truth. Does that make me a bad person?
Sitting back once again, my shoulders slump. “No. It probably wouldn’t have made a difference.”
“As I thought,” he says, his gaze going back to scanning the crowd.
I could go off on him, remind him that he has a lot of judgement for someone that gets paid to kill people. However, that wouldn’t be smart. If I want to survive the night with this killer, I have to stay calm. Same way I did the night with Nic.
Suddenly a muscle cramp hits my stomach and has me clutching my side. I take slow breaths in. Fuck! Trying to stay clear headed and survive while going through withdrawals will not be easy.
Once the cramp subsides, I relax and lean back in my seat. I ignore the heated gaze on my face. I know he’s watching but I won’t acknowledge him.
The computerized female voice on the subway tells us our next stop.
“Let’s go,” the giant says, standing and grabbing his bag. Before I can climb to my feet by myself, he wraps his large hand around my bicep and yanks me out of my seat.
“You don’t have to handle me like this,” I argue.
