Page 12 of Dirty Hit
I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms. “Careful.”
“I’m not insulting you,” he replies. “I’m stating a fact.”
“You’ve got balls trying to scold me right now,” I murmur.
He flushes slightly at that, and my gaze drops to his chain where I saw a cross glinting earlier. This good Christian boy, who probably hasn’t sinned a day in his life. Except he walked in on a murder and stayed. That alone makes me wonder how his mind works.
He looks so easy to corrupt.
The thought settles into my mind smoothly, without resistance.
I’ve never been stupid about my public image. I know exactly what sport I’m in. I know what the league expects and what sponsors look for. I can’t afford to be anything but straight in the headlines; that’s just reality. But that doesn’t mean I can’t play.
“I’m here to help you pass.” There’s no tremor in his voice now. No stutter. He’s found his footing. “If that requires scolding, then yes.”
I stare at him for a moment, then laugh under my breath. “You’ve got a mouth on you.”
His lips press together faintly. “I’m just doing my job, Dominic.”
That’s what makes him interesting. I expected him to run or beg. Instead, he’s sitting here correcting me. I let my gaze drag slowly over him, not subtle about it. He notices, and I see the faint flush creep up his neck, but he doesn’t look away.
“You scared of me?”
“Yes,” he says without hesitation.
Honest. I like that.
“But you’re still here,” I point out.
“Yes,” he says again.
I cock my head to the side. “Why?”
His fingers tighten slightly around his pen. “Because if I leave, you’ll think I’m a liability.”
I hum. “And?”
“And I don’t want to be one.”
Smart again.
I could kill him—it would be easy, quick and clean with no loose ends. But I don’t want to. I want to see what he does next.
“You know,” I say slowly, “most people would’ve called the cops by now.”
He hesitates for half a second. “I don’t think you’d let me live long enough to finish the call.”
Another grin spreads across my face. “You’re catching on.”
I let him finish the session. Even answer a few questions, just to see the faint flicker of approval in his eyes when I answer correctly. Afterward, he packs up his papers neatly, sliding them back into his bag with careful precision.
“You’ll need to rewrite this section,” he says, tapping the page in front of me. “And I expect you to email me a draft before Friday.”
“Expect?” I echo. “You’re in no position to expect anything from me.”
His throat moves as he swallows, but he holds my gaze. “If you want to pass, that email will be in my inbox before Friday.”
Fuck me. This boy is gonna make me work for shit.
