I had no doubts about that.
“And until then? Ben mentioned you might—”
“How do you feel about breaking and entering?
“I’m a contract killer, sweetheart. Breaking and entering is a fucking cake walk.”
His head jerked, his fingers stalling. Big brown eyes stared up at me and there he went again, pulling that lip between his teeth. “Uhm…” a noise left him and he flapped his hands as though he was suddenly flustered. “Yes, uhm, breaking and entering would be helpful.”
“Where am I going?”
“The city of Seattle has a public processor that gives free wi-fi to state funded businesses.”
“You mean libraries and local schools?”
“Exactly. It’s commonplace for the people who post these jobs to do it from a public site. If I can pinpoint which site he used, I can find your target in less than twenty-fours.”
Well, shit.
He bounced in his chair. “I told you I was the fucking best.”
I grinned. “I didn't have any doubts, sweetheart.”
ChapterThree
Silas
He called me sweetheart.
Twice.
There was an ache in my chest, an ever-present throb that appeared the moment I opened my door. I’d known he was coming, I had six hours and a Xanax to prepare, and still each breath felt like a fight.
Daddy washere.
In.
My.
House.
I almost didn’t answer the door. Chaos became me when I heard him enter the building, and I stood behind my front door, anxiety clawing at my insides while he pounded up fifteen flights of stairs.
I whispered to myself, twisting my sleeves in my hands while I cursed out Mr. Thomas but it wasn’t his fault some lowly fucker threatened his life and Daddy was the best man to send him to hell.
I just… wasn’t ready.
Not yet.
“Silas?” Elijah’s gaze was heavy, nearly suffocating, and I wasn’t in any way prepared for the way I’d feel when I finally saw his eyes in person.
There were hundreds of photos saved on my computer—screenshots of those little blue flames yet not a single one did them true justice.
They were as bright as I knew they’d be, but what lingered around them was a cloud of darkness. It felt like a stark representation of the two sides of him—the falsified version and the real deal.
There was nothing fictitious about the Elijah Kingston that now stood beside my desk. This man was the real him—untethered, armed, and undeniably gorgeous.
“Silas?”