Page 7 of Dirty Hit
“Yes,” I manage, though it comes out barely audible.
He glances down again, gives one last, brutal squeeze, and then releases them. The body goes still, and Dominic rises to his feet, rolling his shoulders as if loosening up after a workout.
“Sit at the table,” he says calmly, gesturing to the small dining room. “I’ll be a minute.”
Every instinct in me screams to run. To turn around and bolt out the door, get in my car, and drive until this house is nothing but a memory.
But my legs don’t obey that instinct—they obey him.
I don’t even remember deciding to move, stepping carefully around the edge of the living room, avoiding the spreading dark stain on the floor as I make my way to the small dining table near the kitchen.
My pulse is hammering so hard I can hear it in my ears. I set my bag down on the table and lower myself into a chair, clasping my hands to stop them from shaking.
Then I hear him speaking on the phone.
“Yeah. Same process,” he says, his voice steady. “I need disposal tonight at my place.”
Disposal.
This isn’t a joke… this is real.
Footsteps approach slowly from behind me. I keep my eyes forward, because I don’t trust myself to look at him again.
A chair scrapes against the floor as he pulls it out and sits opposite me. I can see him without turning my head fully; his hands are still stained red, and there’s a smear of blood along his jaw. He hasn’t even bothered to clean up.
Dominic leans back in the chair slightly, studying me with those pale blue eyes that feel too clear for what I just witnessed.
“You’re early,” he says, almost approving.
I swallow. “I thought it would be respectful.”
He chuckles under his breath. “Respectful. That’s cute.”
I can feel my heart beating in my throat, but I force my expression to stay neutral. I’ve spent years mastering composure. This is just another test. Another moment where I can’t afford to react.
“You okay?” he asks, and there’s amusement in his tone. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I just saw a murder,” I say, before I can stop myself.
His smile widens slightly. “And you’re very calm for someone who just watched a murder,” he replies.
“I’m so far from calm right now,” I say, but my voice is steadier than I expect.
He huffs out a soft laugh. “No, I suppose you’re not. But you’re not screaming either.”
I can’t look away from him. “Are you going to kill me, too?”
He doesn’t answer right away, but he holds my gaze, and the silence stretches between us until it feels suffocating.
Dominic leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. The blood transfers onto the wood in faint streaks.
“You gonna scream?” he asks casually. “Call the cops? Run?”
My mouth feels dry as I shake my head. “N-no.”
He tilts his head, studying me more closely. “No?”
“No,” I repeat, forcing the word out steadily. “I won’t.”
