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I shake my head and return my focus to the man in front of me. “This is really what you want? You don’t want to live?”
“Don’t deserve it. You’re not the only person I’ve hurt, Alexandra. Stop fucking around and do it.”
Another thump. Louder this time.
I frown at the door.
My next-door neighbor is away on vacation for the next three weeks — I know because he asked me to water his stupid plants, which I agreed to do, but only because he paid me fifty bucks in advance — and the apartments both above and below mine are vacant, because this is a shitty building and only the truly desperate live here.
What the hell is making that noise?
Are there squatters?
It wouldn’t surprise me. Because this building isn’t only crappy, but the owners want twice what’s reasonable in rent and the only reason I can afford it is I have trained my bar-tending customers to tip me very well through the ingenious art of showing just the right amount of cleavage.
“I don’t believe you.”
Don’t, and can’t, even though the proof is right in front of me. He’s not supposed to be like this. He’s supposed to be an unrepentant killer, not some haunted, handsome man with an earnest death wish.
“Don’t believe I want to die? Why? If you need help understanding it, I can give you the number of some guys on the volunteer fire squad. Call them. They’ll tell you I’ve been acting strange, taking risks.”
“Firefighting is a risk. Everyone knows that. That’s not proof of anything.”
“Of course it’s a risk. But it’s even riskier when the other men on your squad have to pull you back from the flames. When they have to warn you over and over that charging into a building that’s burning so severely that it’s unsaveable is a bad idea.”
A heavier thump. Closer still.
I should go check it out, that’s definitely not one of my neighbors, and if it is a rat, it’s one big enough that I should probably be armed, but there’s something so enrapturing, so pained in Dixon’s eyes that I can’t look away.
“Why?”
“You know why.”
I shake my head. There’s agony in his words. Agony, and something else. Something deeper. This has to be a game. A trick.
“You’re lying.”
“I wish I was, Alexandra. The fact is, I want you to—”
Those distant-but-growing-closer thumps become something entirely different: a bang. A crack. A crash as the front door of my apartment flies open and a man in a black ski mask bursts through. Eyes that are only dark brown orbs floating in a sea of black lock right onto me, and he raises something in his hand.
A gun.
Chapter Seven
Alexandra
I spin a split second before there’s a flash of searing light from the barrel of the gun and a shuddering crack as the bullet rips forth and bites a hole in the wall right behind where I was standing. Heart in my throat, I run into the kitchen, all thoughts of Dixon pushed from my mind, replaced by the pulse-pounding urge to survive.
It must be one of Dixon’s buddies, here to kill me and rescue their friend. I was so careful to cover my tracks, but apparently, I wasn’t careful enough.
There’s a wisp of air that zips by my head, followed a microsecond later by the flash of light and the roar of the gun. Another shot.
I cry out.
I can’t be this close, only to die. But there’s no fear in my heart, only anger. I won’t have some asshole take this away from me. I scream again as rage claws its way up my throat.
I have to survive. Not just for myself, but for Lucas, too. He deserves revenge.
