But there was also no denying it.
And Adams’s other assassin?
She was a damn knockout.
Like a kick-to-the-gut kind of beautiful with her long, inky black hair, her tall, athletic body, her olive skin, and her unusual hazel eyes. She was dressed in black. Black jeans, a black jacket over some sort of tank top, and black Chucks on her feet.
Chucks.
I don’t know why, but that detail was sticking out to me.
But before I could fully even take in her beauty, Adams was suddenly moving, catching the unnamed woman off-guard, making the gun aim at his chest instead of his head. He was about to turn his head, making her panic and pull the trigger.
Shit.
I don’t know where the urge came from, but before I could even think it through, I was rushing across the foyer, and grabbing the woman’s hand.
“We have to run,” I told her, giving her arm a yank when she stiffened and froze. “Now.”
And with that, we were running through the house and down into the tunnel Nia told me about.
Why I was rescuing a random killer was beyond me.
But it sounded like one hell of an adventure.
CHAPTER TWO
Shawn
I felt like I was about to star in a new type of horror movie trope.
You know, like the girl who is alone at home and hears a noise in the basement, then goes down to investigate it in her underwear?
Except this was the one where the girl let a strange man grab her hand and lead her into an underground tunnel toward an unknown fate.
Yep.
I was that girl.
Moviegoers would laugh at my idiocy some day in the future when they turn my story into a cinematic event.
But there was no turning back now, not with what had to be about eight highly-trained ex-military guards hunting down the crazy bitch that shot their boss, that effectively ended the gravy train for them.
“Up, love, up,” the random man in his very nice suit demanded, pushing me toward the metal ladder against the dead-end wall.
I was generally not someone who took orders from people, let alone ones she’d never met, but the sound of the door we’d burst through before starting down the long, narrow tube closing meant we were moments away from being gunned down mafia-style, never to be seen again.
So you bet your ass I tore up that ladder even though I had no idea what was at the end of it.
“Push,” the man behind me demanded, even though my hands were already on the latched round door resembling your average manhole cover.
“No shit, really?” I asked, ramming my palms against it as the man’s body slid up behind mine, his arms reaching above to slam on the door as well.
I didn’t notice the rich, smoky, spicy scent of his cologne at that moment.
Nope.
Not at all.
Because that would have been crazy.
“Okay, brute force obviously isn’t working,” I grumbled as my hands moved around the round door, looking for a handle or a lock. “Here,” I said, finding a small cutout, sticking my fingers inside, and pulling a lever.
“Smart,” the guy said as he pushed the door open. “Now up.”
“Up to where?” I asked, even as I pushed myself up since, you know, there really wasn’t any other option.
“Just go,” the man demanded, hands reaching up to grab my ass, and shoving me upward.
It was more action than I’d seen in a while, and I’m not too ashamed to admit that my body thrilled at being touched by a man, even if he was potentially going to murder me and bury me on the grounds of some mansion in New Jersey.
“Ow,” I grumbled as I went down on all fours in a pile of spent pine needles, their sharp little ends piercing into my palms like a dozen tiny splinters.
But before I could fully process that, the weight of a full-grown man fell down on me, making me fall face-first into the needles.
He shuffled off of me just as quickly as he’d landed, scrambling up, and slamming the manhole cover.
“Come on. We’ve got to go,” the guy demanded, reaching down to grab my wrist, dragging me onto my feet, and starting to run before I could even wrap my head around what was happening.
The next thing I knew, we were making a beeline for the neighbor’s house.
“Get in,” the guy demanded, as he hit his key fob, making the trunk open.
“Oh, fuck off. No way,” I objected.
“You get in the trunk or you get caught by the lunatics chasing you. Your choice, love.”
“I’m going to be so pissed if you kidnap me, lock me in your basement, and force me to be your creepy fucking nineteen-fifties wife,” I grumbled, climbing in.
“Nice visual, love. Now I have to go create a cover. Stay quiet for a few, okay?”
Before I could answer, though, the trunk was slamming, and I could hear his footsteps moving away from me, heading toward the house, then the bleep of the locks before there was nothing else.