Page 39

I step out of the bathroom and hurry to the bedroom, only to stop dead in my tracks.

Lazarus is there.

Blocking the doorway. Filling it. Head lowered. Eyes dark, face grave.

A bull about to charge.

Attack.

It’s funny how I’ve come to expect it, and my body quickly assesses the situation and decides to try to survive the attack and kill him later, when he’s done with me.

“Vince Pazcuso called you.”

It’s odd how that sends a flood of relief through me.

Lazarus was reacting, not becoming the monster who rapes and tears. Well. He might tear, but I find that oddly acceptable. Pazcuso will have told him I’m a hitman sent to kill him, and hey, if someone were trying to murder me, I’d murder ‘em right back.

My pallor and the way I sag in relief sets something off in Lazarus. He reaches for me and lifts me into his arms, face still creased with worry, but softening.

“What... Why?” I go with those words.

He can tell me exactly why while he’s strangling me, or shoving me out the window.

“He’s after you now, I guess. But when I answered... He knew my voice. He knew my voice, and he wasn’t surprised to hear it coming out of your phone. Why?”

I want to tell the truth.

But I’d prefer to share it when my bare skin isn’t next to his. And I’m not in danger of being made into hamburger.

I don’t... I don’t want to hurt him and see his face change when he realizes what I really am.

It’s so stupid that the bad guy isn’t the bad guy to me, and for the last two years, all I’ve dealt with are bad guys—gangsters, mobsters, cheaters, whatever.

I know what Lazarus is, and what he did, and I think he’s still one of the good ones.

“Taking a long time to answer.” There’s a hard edge in his voice, and I deserve it.

I don’t have much trouble stalling, though. “I don’t know why he would call me.” That’s true, I guess. His underlings handle stuff, not Vince. “I... You know how you said someone was following me?” I lick my lips, telling myself this isn’t a lie. It’s only little bits of truth, artistically arranged. A truth casserole.

Lazarus nods and puts me on the bed, dropping me harder than he would have ten minutes ago. He steps back and crosses his arms, face stiff and cold.

“If they could find me, they could find you.” It’s true. They did. They sent me here.

I hate the way his eyes panic. They dart to the door, out the window.

Part of it is fear for who could burst in on him. Part is fear for the parents he loves, outside, unsuspecting.

The saddest thing is that he doesn’t even know I’m here. The killer is already in his midst, and if I were good at my job, I would have held Rhea hostage this afternoon when I had the chance. Although that would have ended up with me being ripped into bitty pieces by Lazarus and his hulking adopted dad.

“So? You’re saying—”

“They called me. They know where I am. They know you’re here, too. M-maybe they don’t realize how small this town is, and they th-think we’re bound to run into each other.” In fact, that had been a suggestion. Hang out in the dingy places, the alleys, the dive bars, the drug dens. Find the muscle for hire. “I’m just a high-priced hooker to them, an escort who killed a mafia don john. They think you’re just a killer, a monster. Maybe they assume we’re both in the same back alley, me turning tricks, you smashing skulls.” A laugh escapes, a hysterical laugh as I see some parallel future, a future where we both stayed in the CrossRealms and that’s what happens to us.

“He said you have a golden pussy.” Lazarus spits the words at my feet. “Asked if I was gonna kill you and bring you home for them to make into my mate.”

That’s a future I can’t comprehend.

That’s the life he’s already living, alive but not.