Kissing the Killer(36)

“I don’t know, but they want to meet with me tomorrow, and they want you to come.”

She chewed her lip. “You don’t seem to think it’s a good idea.”

I walked over toward her. “Listen, Emma. I don’t want to put you in any danger. Understand?”

“But they can help us.”

“Maybe. We don’t really know what they want.”

“Are you going to go meet them?”

“I was before they pulled this shit.”

She frowned at me, shaking her head. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know you think that, but these are the people who shot me. Remember when I came home with two bullets to the chest?”

Her frown deepened. “I remember, but why would you meet them?”

“Because one of the girls I let go that night told me to, and for some stupid fucking reason, I trust people after I’ve saved their life.”

She stepped toward me. “Okay then. I’m coming.”

“No.”

“You saved my life, Brooks. Now let me help.”

“No, Emma.”

She shook her head and turned away. “Don’t fight me on this. I’m coming tomorrow and that’s it. We can spend all night going back and forth, or we can get ready.” She disappeared back into the bedroom.

Fuck if my cock wasn’t hard as fucking hell. I couldn’t believe the balls on that woman. It was a very, very stupid idea to bring her along, but I had to admit that her fire kept impressing me over and over again.

And she was right. If she wanted to come, she was going to come no matter what I said. She wasn’t a fucking prisoner.

I knew I should fight harder. I knew I should convince her that the best thing was for her to stay.

Instead, I began to unroll trash bags, ripping them open to make long sheets. I stuck them under Abram’s body and slowly wrapped him up. Once I was done, I tied the whole thing together with some string.

Once Abram’s body was wrapped up, I walked back into the bedroom. Emma was already sleeping when I got into bed next to her.

Exhaustion rolled through me. Even though I wanted to fight it, wanted to wake her up and convince her not to come, I found myself nodding off.

Maybe at least I’d get to dream of my cock slipping into her soaked pussy, of the look on her face as she came hard on my big cock.





16





Emma





I sat on the museum steps, enjoying the sun streaming down. It was crowded with tourists and other people milling around, some sitting just like I was, some eating, some heading into the building.

Brooks had gotten up early and gone to see a veterinarian who was willing to stitch shut his wounds, no questions asked. Once that was done, we went to the meeting place early, and he went out to scout out the area. He was annoyed that I had come, but that didn’t matter. I needed to take control of my own life and stop being a passive observer. If I had stayed behind, I would never have forgiven myself. Some part of him had to understand that.

I felt good. I didn’t know why, since I was probably in a lot of danger, but I felt good. The sun was shining, it was nice and warm, and a cool breeze passed over the crowd. I felt strong and light and free for the first time in a long time.

I watched as Brooks came up the steps toward me. I couldn’t help but smile at his dour, serious expression. He wore a light brown jacket, a black T-shirt, and a pair of loose jeans. I knew the jacket was hiding at least one gun and a knife, though I was betting he had more on him.

I smiled at him as he sat next to me. “Nice day,” I said.

“Yeah,” he grunted. “Beautiful.”

“See anything?”

“Nothing.”

I put my hand on his leg. “See? Relax. We’ll be okay.”

“Easy for you to say. I’m the one who has to kill a bunch of people if this goes wrong.”

I moved my hand back and sighed, leaning back. “Give me a gun. I’ll do some killing.”

He laughed. “You’re more likely to shoot yourself or me than the enemy, so no. You can just run.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Seriously, Emma. If this goes bad, you have to run. And run fast.”

“Why?”

“Because they’ll come for you. They’ll try to take you.”

“So what? I’m not leaving you behind.”

“In my bedroom, under the mattress, there’s around twenty thousand in big bills. Take that and leave the country.”

“Holy shit,” I said. “Seriously? Under the mattress?”

He grinned at me. “I know. Really cliché.”

“You’re a gangster with cash under his mattress. It doesn’t get any more cliché.”