Page 46 of Blind Devotion

I snorted. “You’re making me sound predictable.”

“You’re saying that like you’re usually not.”

“It’s never good to be in my profession.”

“Killing people?”

“That’s more of a…how do you say…side hustle.” I had to emphasize the last word so as not to trip over the odd English pronunciation.

“You mean you don’t kill people for a living?”

“More for the release it offers me.”

“I feel like I should be more worried about that than I am.”

“You should be.”

She shrugged. “Why? Like you said, it won’t change anything. At least I get someone to snuggle with in the meantime.”

A laugh caught in my throat. This woman. She never ceased to surprise me. What started with the intent to kill became a twisted game of catch and release. Each night, the mouse surprised the cat. Each night, the cat let the mouse escape. If I wasn’t careful, the cat might very well give up the chase entirely.

“So? What will it be?”

I sighed and rolled to my back, one leg in dress pants dangling off to the side. “A gun.”

No touching was needed to feel how she stiffened or how her inhales cut off.

“Just don’t aim for my stomach again.”

The reminder made my jaw tighten. I didn’t want her to be afraid of me, and that was a headfuck of its own.

“It’s not loaded,” I finally said.

The pillow rustled as she shifted her head. “Why?”

“Death by bullet would cause too much scrutiny.”

“I’m sure you’d find a way.”

“Not worth the hassle.”

“I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be offended by that.”

“This is France, not the US. There are no rights to bear arms. It takes a good deal of bribing and bartering to make officials look the other way from gunshot victims. It can be done, but I prefer to use that as a last resort only. It’s why I became proficient in other methods.”

“You talk about this as if it’s supposed to mean something to me.”

“Your English, it’s native. The accent suggests you come from the US. Somewhere on or near the West Coast, by my guess. Though your French has more of a European influence to it, probably because of your Italian fluency.”

“So that’s home then?”

The selfish beast within almost made me say no, that this was her home.

“Is it pretty there?”

“Some of it.”

She sighed. “Guess it doesn’t really matter,” she whispered into the night. “I’m not sure I’ll ever see again.”