The sleet had stopped by the time they'd gotten outside and it was mainly the wind that blew around them as they began walking. He'd debated about where to take her since he wanted to stay away from the subway and any surveillance cameras. Luckily while he'd been out on his various different reconnaissance missions, he knew there was a women's clothing store a couple of blocks away from the apartment building. It was situated on a particularly busy street, but he hoped that might work in their favor and make them more easily lost in the crowd than if they were by themselves.
"So," Violet said conversationally, "are you going to tell me anything about this Jericho guy and why he wants me?"
"No." Elijah kept his reply curt as he studied the street, keeping an eye out for any potential threats. So far there was nothing overtly suspicious, but then it paid to never be too cautious about such things.
"Do you even know why he wants me?"
His jaw tightened. How did she manage to ask the questions he didn't have the answers to? Because no, he had no idea why Jericho wanted Violet. Fitzgerald had never mentioned it and it hadn't seemed important enough for Elijah to find out. Even now, he didn't really care why. All that mattered was that Jericho wanted her and would hopefully make a personal appearance when it came to retrieving her.
"Why is not important," he said as he guided them around a group of tourists standing in the middle of the sidewalk, looking at a map and gesticulating. "And no, you don't need to know anything about him."
"I hate to disagree with you, but considering I'm the one who's going to be given to him, it's kind of important to me."
He didn't reply. This conversation was futile and he saw no point in continuing it.
But Violet clearly hadn't finished.
"He might want to kill me," she said. "Have you thought of that? You might be giving me to him so he can torture and kill me. Does that mean anything to you?"
Wasn't that what happened to Marie? She was taken, tortured, then killed.
A needle slid beneath his skin, and he had to clench his teeth against the sensation. No, fuck that. He couldn't let himself be concerned for Violet, not after he'd spent so many years turning himself into the kind of monster that could take down other monsters. Not after sacrificing the man he'd once been on the altar of his vengeance. He was too far down the path and couldn't turn back, not now. Not for one particular woman. He had no conscience. No scruples. No mercy. Not anymore.
"That," he said coldly, "is no concern of mine. You can stop talking now."
She didn't reply, her attention focused ahead of her. He was walking quite quickly and she had to trot to keep up with him, her breath fogging in the cold air around them. Her body was warm next to his and he could smell that tantalizing sandalwood scent beneath the smells of the outside world, the wet asphalt and exhaust, the trash and the drifting perfume of freshly ground coffee from a café.
It is a concern of yours. Wasn't that the whole point of this? Avenge Marie, take him down so no other woman gets hurt?
The needle slid deeper.
Elijah gripped her harder, and ignored the slight pain. He couldn't afford to care. Violet was a sacrifice for the greater good, and that's all that mattered. That's all that could be allowed to matter.
They continued on down the street in silence for a couple of blocks, the wind whipping Violet's coat around her legs and sending cold tendrils beneath the hem of his leather jacket.
Christ, she must be freezing and yet she hadn't said a word, her gaze steadfastly ahead.
Music drifted on the icy air, hard and fast, a driving beat coming from one of the stores on the corner of the block. It was the one he was heading for, the one that sold women's clothing.
He did another quick scan of the surroundings, but again there were no threats so he headed straight for the store entry.
"Here?" Violet muttered as they stepped inside.
"If you were expecting Fifth Avenue, you're shit out of luck. You get something here or you stay in my shirt." He glanced down at his watch. "You have ten minutes." He didn't want to stay out longer than strictly necessary, since the longer she was out of the apartment, the greater the risk of discovery.
Violet threw him an enigmatic look before moving over to a rack of what appeared to be pants. He followed her, keeping hold of her, his attention on the rest of the store.
There were a few other customers, none of them looking in Violet's direction, and a sales assistant behind the counter wearing black ripped jeans and a lot of silver jewelry, talking animatedly on her phone.
Violet's attention was on the rack of clothes, but he could feel the tension in her arm beneath his fingers.
"Do you have to loom over me like that?" she murmured, pushing aside a hanger. "Give me some space for God's sake."
Was she serious? Give her some space so she could take off? "No. Choose something quickly. This isn't a fashion show."
She didn't reply, shoving aside another hanger.
His phone vibrated and he let her go momentarily to reach for it, keeping one hand on the gun in his other pocket. There was a text from the number he was using for Jericho, the one he'd sent the photos he'd taken earlier to.
What do you want?
Short and to the point. Nice. He liked dealing with people who didn't beat about the bush. Quickly, he texted a response.
To talk. Fitzgerald is dead. I want in.
There was no immediate reply for a couple of moments. Then suddenly the phone began to ring.
Violet glanced at him, her eyes narrowing. He gripped her hard, hauling her back out of the store and onto the sidewalk, away from the store's loud house music, ignoring her startled protest. Then he hit the accept button.
"You are not the one to be making demands," a male voice said in French. "You will have the girl at-"
"Shut the fuck up and listen," he interrupted harshly. "I want to talk to Jericho. In person. That's the only way he'll get the girl, understand?"
"You cannot-"
"If I don't get what I want, then he won't." Not waiting for a response, Elijah hit the end button and pocketed the phone. Ball was in Jericho's court now, let him deal with it.
Violet was staring at him, her eyes vivid in her pale face. "Why do you want to talk to him?"
Elijah bared his teeth. "None of your fucking business. Now let's go get these goddamn clothes." He curled his fingers tighter into her arm, making a move toward the store again.
But she stood firm. "If he doesn't agree, are you going to kill me?"
For some reason, the starkness of the question felt like a small electric shock, jolting him. He'd killed before, many times in the course of seven years, and he'd gotten to the point where it no longer concerned him. Everything he did had been for Marie, for the greater good of taking down Fitzgerald, and if that meant killing a few people who deserved it, then he was okay with that.
But he never killed women-that was his line in the sand. And the thought of killing Violet …
That fucking needle slid all the way through him. Yet he couldn't betray any softness, give away any sign that the thought bothered him, because he needed her compliant. And fear was the best way to get compliance.
So he said nothing, jerking her with more force toward the store.
She must have realized she wasn't going to get anything from him, because she didn't say another word, going with him as they stepped back inside. And when he went over to the rack she'd been looking at earlier, she went without protest.
She seemed more focused this time around, grabbing some black pants off the rack almost straightaway, then a green top from somewhere else and a black leather jacket from yet another rack as she moved deeper into the store.
Then she stopped and looked around, searching for something. He was about to ask what it was, when she abruptly headed to a corner down the back where there was a small rack of what looked like women's underwear, except they weren't pretty and lacy, more black and slick, with lots of straps and buckles.
Of course. He'd thrown out her underwear along with the rest of her bloodstained clothes.
And almost as soon as the thought had occurred to him, he found his gaze following down the length of her body as she leafed through the bras. Fucking hell. She was naked under that shirt of his. No bra. No panties. And if he was to reach out and run his hand up the back of her thigh right now, there would be nothing in his way …
That predatory thing inside him growled, starving suddenly. For soft, smooth skin and heat, for rounded curves that gave under his hand, for the warm pressure of a body on his, and for husky, needy cries in response to his touch.
Violet reached for a bra that seemed to be an arrangement of black straps more than anything else and a pair of matching black panties, and although she was swamped by that coat, he found himself staring at her as if he could see right through the wool to her naked body beneath.