Page 14 of Dark Wishes (Dark Contract #2)

Selena

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Turning the pistol in my hands, rediscovering the weight of it, I let out a low breath.

The last time I held my gun, Jamison snatched it away without effort.

I’m shocked he’s given it back; I take it as a sign he does trust me.

Running away is one thing, giving me an opportunity to shoot him in the back is another.

“Weird, it’s lighter than last time.”

“It hasn’t changed,” Jamison says.

No. It’s me who has.

“How about this?” I ask, sticking the gun down the front of my dress, straight into my cleavage. I don’t normally have cleavage, but the push-up bra combined with the low-cut fuchsia dress is doing amazing things.

Jamison narrows his eyes at my chest. Quick as a cobra he grabs the hilt of the pistol, yanking it out while I squeak. “Do you want to shoot yourself that badly?”

“I’ll keep the safety on,” I argue.

“That will slow you down.” He sounds annoyed with me. He’s been acting like this since we drove towards Sparks Entertainment. “Lift up your dress.”

I balk, gripping the hem protectively. “What?”

“You need to strap it inside your thigh. It won’t be noticed, and you can pull it out easily when the time comes.”

“How the hell do I attach it?” I ask, frustration tinging every word. I hate that he hates my ideas. People hide guns down the front of their clothes in movies all the time. It’s a perfectly good idea; he’s just being difficult.

He motions at me with his chin. “Lean back in your seat.”

We’re tucked inside his car in a tight alley, no more than a block away from Caruso’s studio. There are no cameras plastered on the outside of the dog grooming salon across the street or the bakery to our left. We know this thanks to the help Jamison called in two hours ago.

This time, when we went to see Rory, I remained in the car. Jamison went up to discuss our plans without me. He didn’t insist I go inside Rory’s apartment, though he could have. I appreciated how understanding Jamison was.

It would be great if he showed more of that side of him now.

Cringing at his serious stare, I push myself back against the passenger seat. “Tell me what you’re going to do.”

“We don’t have time to go over pointless details,” he growls. There it is again—why is he so upset? “Lift your dress or I’ll do it for you.”

He isn’t joking. Swallowing uncomfortably, I hook my dress up my thighs until it’s bunched on my hips. Jamison pops open the center console, digging inside, rustling papers and other things. “Hold still,” he instructs me.

My body wants to do the opposite, but I make myself remain motionless. Jamison dangles a thin black strap between his fingers. It has Velcro ends, and a loop along one side. Bending close to me, he wraps it around my right thigh.

All my nerve endings wake up. “I can do it myself.”

“Just let me.” He tightens the strap, his palm cupping my knee.

It’s exactly how he touched me when we had sex.

The tiny twitches going through my body make my leg tremble; he hesitates, locking his eyes on mine. “Are you nervous?”

“Yes,” I hush, licking my lips. “About going in there and killing Caruso, I mean.”

Jamison frowns thoughtfully, then wraps the Velcro into place. “You don’t have to do this.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

His stare grows more intense. With one hand still resting on my knee, he pushes the gun into the loop. I jump when he grabs the hem of my dress, but instead of lifting it higher, he shoves it over the weapon to hide it. “The safety is off. Remember that.”

“Is it really safer there than down my bra?”

“If it goes off, you might lose a few toes, but you won’t put a hole in your stomach.”

Cringing at the mental visual, I look out the windshield. “I’m ready.”

“Selena.” I face him when he says my name; his eyebrows scrunch. “You’re not ready if you’re answering to that.”

My cheeks burn red at his admonishment. “Not fair. I’m not in character yet.”

“There’s no fairness in this brutal game. You make a single mistake, and at best, they’re calling the police on you. At worst—”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” Sitting up taller I roll my shoulders, then flip my hair to shake it loose. “Go again. I’m ready now.”

“Selena?” he draws the name out.

Cocking my head with a coy smile, I let out a bird-chirp of a laugh. “Sorry, wrong person. I’m Malory, the girl you called in to audition at 6.”

His blank face hides if he’s satisfied by my act. “You’re sure you can keep the lie going, even under pressure?”

“I lured Sanford back to my room under a fake name,” I remind him.

His jaw is tight. At this rate, he’ll grind his teeth into a fine powder. “That didn’t resolve the way you expected.”

What Iris told me about his last contract coils around my brain. I tell myself it’s irrelevant, but I can’t shake off the uneasy vibe. “What, are you going to break through a window here, too?” I ask coolly.

"If something goes wrong, yes.”

“Nothing is going to go wrong. In less than half an hour, Caruso will be dead at my feet. I’ll run out the fire exit and back to the car. Be ready to get us out of here.”

“I’ll be listening in,” he reminds me, tapping the bluetooth device on his left ear. “Keep that burner phone in your purse on silent.”

Tired of being lectured about the details we’ve gone over multiple times, I reach for the door handle. “I know.”

“Selena.” He grabs my wrist, stopping me from exiting the car. “If you’re in danger, say Alphabet. I’ll come help.”

Why do I have the sudden urge to let him pull me back into the car? We could drive away... go to that place he mentioned for pasta. It would be easy.

Sunlight dazzles through the window. It creates bands of yellow over my lap, the stripes similar to the ones on my apartment floor years ago. I can hear Valoria giggle... smell the nail polish, see the flecks of pink on the newspaper.

I’d never forgive myself for running away.

I eyeball Jamison’s hand; he releases me. “The only thing you’ll hear is a gunshot, and me saying that’s for my best friend.”

Opening the car door, I step out onto the hot pavement.

My mauve heels shimmer in the midday sun.

Everything I’m wearing looks expensive, because it is.

The shoes, dress, the silver purse—Jamison bought all of it at a boutique shop in Hollywood after we visited Rory.

I gave him my sizes, he shopped efficiently.

I’d been tempted to go into the store with him, but the possibility he’d ask me to try on the clothing in front of him... it was too much. We need more time apart, not together. Another memory about our night in his bed flashes behind my eyes.

No, not now. Time to get into character. Filling my chest with air, I strut along the sidewalk towards the studio. I know I’m doing a good job at playing up the Wannabe-Celeb by the number of gross wolf-whistles I get from passing cars.

It’s not the kind of attention I enjoy, but I’ll suffer it for my purpose.

I wonder if Jamison finds this sexy?

The intrusive thought causes my heel to catch on the cement, throwing me off a beat.

Don’t start caring what he thinks, I scold myself.

I recover what dignity I can and continue my walk.

It takes all my control not to look back to see if I can spot Jamison peering at me through the window of his car.

I’m hyper aware of the gun on the inside of my thigh; each step causes the muzzle to grind along my skin. It’s as distracting as Jamison was when he fixed it into place.

Spark’s Entertainment has large windows framing the front door. The glass is tinted dark enough that I can’t see beyond. There could be ten security guards, or there could be none. Thanks to Rory, I know the answer is three.

One of them opens the door as I climb the six slate-gray stairs.

He’s wearing a long-sleeve white shirt and simple black pants.

His jacket is too heavy for the weather, but when I get closer, the brisk whiff of AC blasts me in the face.

“Hi there,” I chirp pleasantly, bracing myself for a pat down and an interrogation.

He nods and waves me through. I hesitate, thrown off by this turn of events. Rory had insisted the security was intense here. I’d had a whole story planned to get inside, as well as a maneuver to keep anyone from finding my weapon. But this guy doesn’t ask who I am or why I’m here.

He probably knows why, I think. One look at my outfit is as good as a declaration. Bet he sees girls like me come through here like ants returning to their nest. And girls like us? We’re not threats, we’re the reward.

Inside, the main waiting area is lit up by multiple fish-bowl sized lights hanging from the ceiling. There’s a curved desk, much larger than the one Iris uses at the parlor. But the woman sitting there with black hair looks so much like her that I falter.

Her smile is big and dazzling and bored, just like the women on their website. “Welcome to Spark’s Entertainment. Are you here for an interview?”

“That’s right!” I giggle. “Malory Temple, I’m meeting Mr. Caruso at 6.”

She scans her laptop, the screen bouncing off her bright blue eyes. “Huh, that’s late for our normal interviews.”

I hold my smile steady. “Is it?” Hacking into a calendar to insert an interview that didn’t exist before is beyond me, but for Rory? It’s a walk in the park. If he took walks, that is. I don’t think he likes the sun.

“Let’s see... ah! There you are. Have a seat and I’ll let him know you’re here.”

I wait a beat, expecting her to ask for some proof I am who I say I am. She smiles patiently—I spin around before the moment gets weird. No one in here cares.

A horrible thing occurs to me as I sit on the stiff, square couch. If they don’t check ID, how do they make sure the girls who come here are at least 18? I bristle at the thought.