Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
“Hey,” he says, turning to me, taking my face into his big, strong hands. He tilts my gaze to his. “We’re going to win, remember?”
“Yes. I know. I just—I wish I knew how to fight a little bigger and a little better.”
“You’re what makes me fight a little bigger and a little better. A lot fucking better. They aren’t going to end me because I have you. Because I have you to live for now, Ashley, and you have me, which is why I’m going to teach you to be the biggest badass bitch ever.”
I laugh. “The biggest badass bitch?”
“That’s right. You’ll hurt any man who tries to hurt you unless I kill them first, and mark my word, I will kill for you, Ashley.”
Chapter twenty-four
Ashley
His promise to kill for me, spoken as if it’s a declaration of love and devotion, hits me as all kinds of wrong. Like killing for me is a badge of honor, as good as the ring that I no longer wear on my hand. Perhaps it is in some ways. He’d kill for me. He’d die for me. Perhaps that’s the highest level of devotion possible, but there’s a weird knot in my belly, a queasy, horrible knot that expands and shifts until I feel as if I’m being trapped in a cage.
“I know you’ll kill for me,” I say, grasping Aaron’s hand where it rests on my face. He’s big and strong. He’s the man I love, and yet, the next statement still comes out almost as an accusation. “You’ve already proven that. And I’m both comforted and tormented by that fact. Comforted and tormented by the fact that you’re both my Noah and a killer named Aaron.”
He pulls back to look at me. “A killer named Aaron? Is that who I am to you now?”
“That’s who you are. That’s who you’ve always been, and some part of me knew it. Some part of me always knew. Obviously, some part of me was always okay with it, too. So, you want to train me to be a killer? Train me. I want to live.”
He inhales, his broad chest expanding on that held breath, his gaze cutting to the door where it remains for long seconds. Too many seconds and I scan the area, starting to fear a problem he sees that I’ve ignored. I find an old man chatting with a waitress, his gray hair slicked back. His belly is big. Beyond those two people, we’re alone in the dining area.
“Do you know how easily a man can age himself with a wig, makeup, and a bodysuit?” Aaron finally asks, casting me a sideways glance. “And do you know how many old men are perfect shots? How many young girls dressed as waitresses are as well?”
I swallow hard. “You’re telling me that I dismissed one or both of them too quickly?” My hand slides to my purse, to my weapon, tension radiating down my spine.
His hand settles on mine. “Yes. You did, but those two are what they seem. They’re not targets because they’re not trying to kill us. I kill for duty, and I kill to survive or to make sure others survive. I’d spare you an understanding of what that means if I could, but I can’t. A killer hunts people down and kills them. You will never be a killer. You will always be a survivor. Don’t forget that.”
“And you? Have you ever hunted someone down and killed them?”
He gives me a long steely stare. “Find us a place to stay.” He reaches into his pocket, pulls out his wallet, and removes a card that he hands to me. “Use that to pay.”
I glance down at the card that has my new fake married name on it, and I feel a pinch of emotion. No. Two or three pinches of emotion. He has the resources to get this card. He is so much more than I knew him to be, even though my prior statement is also true. I sensed this. I knew there was more to him than met the eye. I was drawn to the many dark layers of this man. And, of course, another pinch comes from the fact that we’re pretending to be married, looking for a place to stay as husband and wife. I was supposed to become his wife. I had a ring. I had a fantasy proposal and wedding planning in progress when my world had fallen apart. Now, I'm just a survivor, and that can be the only dream I have: to survive.
I glance at the door again, watching the old man exit and the waitress turning her attention to the tip now resting in the palm of her hand, several bills I believe. She's twenty-something, a bit tired looking with pale skin, shadowed with dark circles. This, I decide is a second job, or being in her early twenties, the job she works while going to school. A smile touches her lips. She’s pleased with the money she's holding. She’s also unaware that I notice, that I know that she’s pleased. I can never be that oblivious to my surroundings ever again. She pockets the money and refocuses on the next tip. She hurries to the counter, grabs the coffee pot, and rushes in our direction. We're the next tip. I eagerly offer her my mug and let her fill it with dark, rich liquid. Aaron waves her off, uninterested in more brew, but he watches her depart with hard eyes, his body harder, unmoving.