Page 38 of Pulse Zero
I move. Fast.
My hand dives for the gun inside its holster. I grab the handle and yank the weapon free. I don’t know if I move too quickly for him to react or if he wouldn’t have reacted at all either way. He doesn’t move as I press the barrel to his chest.
Not a flinch, not a breath.
The shift is instant. My pulse roars in my ears as adrenaline floods my system.
I don’t think it wasfreedomthat was running through my mind. It feels more like,I wonder…
He stares at me. Calm. Steady.
“I could do it.” My voice is small, barely more than a whisper. “I could kill you. I could get out of here.”
I swallow thickly, my gaze locked on the spot where the gun rests against his chest that rises and falls evenly, not even a change in his breathing.
“I probably couldn’t drag your body all the way up the stairs,” I say, talking more to myself than to him. As though I’mactuallyconsidering my options here. “I’d have to cut off your hand so I can open the door.”
He arches a brow as though he’s intrigued by my idea. “You could,” he confirms.
I lift my eyes to look into his. The silver in them is bright today.
He’s not afraid.
“You know I won’t do it.”
It’s not a question.
His smile returns. “I know.”
I huff and carefully place his gun on the bed beside us. “So fucking unfair.”
He laughs quietly again.
We’re still in the same position, me in his lap. His hands now rest on my hips, gripping them like he’s afraid I’ll bolt. Silence fills the room for a bit as I search his face. I think he’s searching mine too. Neither one of us has whatever answer we need, but if we each had a piece of it, maybe we could put them together and everything could be okay.
Sometimes my instinct to hide behind humor twists into something that looks a lot like foolish optimism. As though a kidnapping situation could possibly end in a happily ever after.
“Malcolm still hasn’t paid?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
It doesn’t make sense, and if I think about it for too long, then I’d probably want to cry. And not the therapeutic kind. There’s something neither one of us is seeing, and all the possibilities Icanimagine aren’t good. Most of them are worse for Reese than for me.
“So let’s get out of here.”
His brows draw together. “What?”
“Let’s not wait around to find out what happens when whoever hired you decides it’s been long enough and tells you to kill me.”
“What are you suggesting?”
I realize I’m not even touching him, keeping my hands on my thighs. I remedy that and place my palms against his chest instead.
“Let’s run. Just you and me.”
He frowns as he takes a deep, slow breath, his chest movingbeneath my touch. “This isn’t a game, Cason.”
“I know that.”
