Page 17 of Loathe Me (Touch of Death 1)
“She is a job. Not for your pleasure,” Sasha says, that cold disconnect coming through. This is mortifying.
“I didn’t touch her! Jesus.” Only when Tommy sits up, do I see the blood pouring from his nose.
The look on Sasha’s face stops me from going to Tommy. “Get out,” he snaps.
Tommy jumps to his feet and hurries from the room, leaving me alone with the scary killer. His shoulders remain rigid and tense, and he appears even bigger than normal. Slowly, those clear blue eyes move over me. “You are not here to play sleepover.”
“So, I can’t talk to anyone?” Jesus, it’s like I’ve travelled back in time to my teenage years, but instead of arguing with my father, it’s Sasha.
“I did not think you naïve.” He lifts a brow, and I glare at him. “Do not distract Nero’s men again.”
My cheeks flame, and my fists ball at my sides. “You’re a dick.” The words bubble over, spewing from my mouth.
The corner of his lip curls up in a condescending smile. “Unlike him, I don’t care to be your friend.” With that he walks out, leaving me feeling like a scorned teenager caught with a boy in her room.
“Asshole,” I mumble under my breath.
As predicted, the rest of the day is shit. I run on the treadmill, and then I go to my room, avoiding the horrible tension that circulates around Sasha. I finally fall asleep, hoping tomorrow will be less miserable.
I wake from a dead sleep, instantly alert. My pulse thrums until I can feel it in my temples. The essence of a nightmare lingers in the back of my mind, but I can’t grasp hold of the memory. No matter how hard I try to fall back asleep, I’m wide awake. My stomach rumbles, reminding me that my self-imposed imprisonment yesterday means I haven’t eaten in nearly twenty-four hours. The rare lack of light tells me it’s the early hours of the day. It’s true that New York never truly sleeps, but she takes a light nap between one and five in the morning.
Getting out of bed, I head downstairs to the kitchen. I jump when something brushes my leg, and it takes my eyes a second to distinguish Zeus’s black coat from the darkness that surrounds him.
“Hey, you.” I run my fingers over his sleek fur as I make my way to the glass cabinet.
Filling a glass of water, I chug it before washing it and placing the cup on the draining board. My stomach grumbles again, and I sigh, opening the fridge. I grab a tub of yogurt and a spoon. Shoving some in my mouth, I nudge the refrigerator shut with my hip, plunging myself into darkness once more. For a moment, everything goes black as my eyes adjust. Zeus lets out a low growl, and awareness prickles my skin, making me still. Holding my breath, I listen intently. There’s the faintest sound, like a scratching, or…tapping. Zeus growls louder before creeping forward into the darkness.
“Zeus,” I hiss under my breath.
He ignores me, stalking toward the elevator, which isn’t reassuring in the least. The tiny light above it casts enough light over him that I can see him staring at a fire exit beside the elevator. The tapping starts again, but it sounds more like a rodent than a human.
There’s a flash of blinding light coupled with an ear splitting bang that throws me back against something hard and unmoving. I slide to the floor. My ears ring, and my vision swims. Smoke fills the room, leaving me disorientated and unable to think clearly. Crawling on my hands and knees, I manage to press my back to the breakfast bar, but the room spins around me. My fingertips press into the cool marble beneath me, as though I could grip it and hold on to ground myself.
Past the ringing in my ears, I can’t tell if the series of bangs is my heart pounding or the popping of bullets, but when something cracks right above me, my mind clears enough to answer my own question. The edge of the granite has split only inches above my head.
My heart hammers, and ragged breaths slip from desperately squeezed lungs. I hunker down, unable to do anything else in my confusion and wish to God I had a gun.
Fingers wrap around my bicep hard, and I’m dragged to my feet, expecting some kind of rescue. Instead, I find a stranger close enough to wrap his forearm around my neck and wrench my back to his chest. My feet scramble for purchase on the sleek marble, and my nails rake over the thick limb threatening to cut off my air supply. As my vision clears, two people stand in the doorway, guns raised with muzzles flashing in quick succession.
Then as quickly as it began, it all stops. It’s just me, the man restraining me, and the two figures. Without the light behind them, they’re nothing more than genderless shadows yielding weapons. The arm tightens around my throat, and black dots float in front of my eyes.
