Page 25

Sean

As hungry as the viper across from me claims to be, I wish she’d either spit me out or swallow me whole already. God knows she’s been taking little bites of me from the moment she first opened her mouth in the playpen.

“Lou, I’d be fucking blind not to see you for the beautiful monster you are, and while I’m a lot of things, imperceptive isn’t one of them.” I run a hand down my face, only to remember the damn mask that I never thought I’d forget I was wearing. I’ve come to hate the damn thing as of late and debate removing it now.

Releasing a chest-deep sigh, I prepare to lay all my damn cards on the table. I don’t have anything left to lose. There’s no camera, no one to hear my next words, no one except Lou. Jace is guarding the door, but he won’t be able to hear me through the thick, substantial layers of concrete and metal dividing us.

If one thing is obvious to me, it’s that Lou is extremely distrusting, closed-off, and suspicious. It’s a quality that’s probably kept her alive this long, but now I need her to try to trust me. There’s no hope of accomplishing that without opening myself up first.

“I’m trying to help you. You don’t have to believe me, but it’s the truth. I don’t want to see you die at the end of the week and, fuck, something’s seriously wrong with me because I can’t kill you. I can’t fucking do it, but if it’s not me, it’s going to be someone else, and I’m even less okay with that. Help me help you, Louhi.”

The two of us study each other, her chocolatey eyes boring into me, as if she’s searching for a lie that doesn’t exist. Her expression no longer holds the savagery from a few moments ago, evolving into one of wary skepticism. I don’t blame her for that.

Eventually, she tilts her head to the side before righting it again and breathing, “You mean that.”

Louhi doesn’t understand. She can’t get it through her skull that saving her life is all that matters to me, even if that’s detrimental to my own existence.

“Unfortunately for both of us, I mean every fucking word.” I’m not sure I’ve ever been more forthright about anything in my goddamn life.

Reclining in her seat, she brings her hands up as far as her chains will allow, tapping her long fingernails on the metal tabletop absently, her eyes drilling into mine and her pouty lips pursing as she thinks. “Alright then, in exchange for your honesty, I’ll give you some of my own. You’re correct in your assessment, for the most part. You claim that my execution is to be at the end of the week, but I think you know that I won’t be allowing that to take place…at least not without dragging you down to Hell with me.”

I stare into Lou’s bright eyes and my mom’s words drift through my head on a phantom wind: “ You can always trust your heart, even when you can’t trust your head.”

Both my head and my heart are a chaotic mess these days, and I don’t think I can trust either bastard at the moment. Opting to continue with my vow of honesty, I tell her, “Go on and drag me down to Hell with you then. We both know you’ll find a way to be queen wherever you go, and I’ll gladly worship at your feet for the rest of eternity if only to atone for the suffering I’ve caused you.”

Admitting to the guilt I’ve been wrestling with over the way I’ve treated her feels good, even if I’m not all that great with apologies, especially for things like this.

I’ve been trained to be a master of my craft; a villain and a hero. I’ve been made to believe that the suffering of one can save many and I’ve held on to that, choosing to believe the truth and heft of those words. Lou shifted things for me, though.

Her suffering isn’t worth the safety of anyone else.

“I do like to be worshiped,” Lou admits with a wink. “But you should never apologize for the things you like. You like inflicting pain and suffering. I like killing people.” She shrugs before looking down at her poor, mangled fingernails nonchalantly, like she didn’t just drop a bomb.

Suddenly, this makes sense. She’s never once balked at my darkness. In fact, it’s never appeared to have bothered her in the slightest. Wanting to be sure I interpreted her revelation correctly, I ask, “You’re a serial killer then?”

We’ve had a few serial killers come through here—not many, but a few—but none of them have ever acted like Lou. I’m dying to find out everything I can about the enigma sitting before me. She’s so unlike anyone I’ve ever met.

Looking up from her overgrown, dirty nails, she smiles at me. “I prefer assassin, but if you want to get technical, I suppose I could probably fit both definitions. I kill for money, though, not because I simply feel like it, although sometimes I do. However, I don’t kill for the emotional or sexual thrill like most serial killers.” Her bottom lip juts out in a pout. “Assassins get a bad rap. Just because I like my job doesn’t make me a serial killer.”

Fuck me to Hell and back because I think I understand what she’s saying perfectly. Shame over my sadistic tendencies and the darkness that lives within me remain strapped to my shoulders; but seeing her so freely accept her own proclivities reminds me that I don’t have to feel bad about who I am either.

“What’s your kill count? ”

She smirks, her voice light and giggly when she replies, “Don’t you know it’s impolite to ask a lady her number.”

I say nothing, only giving her a flat look, holding my breath as I crave her answer. Lifting her hand as high as her restraints allow, she waves it through the air nonchalantly, her chains jangling with the movement. “One hundred seventy-two. Actually, wait, that’s not right. That guard made one hundred seventy-three.”

I blink at her, disbelief rippling through me. “ One hundred seventy-three people ? You’ve killed one hundred seventy-three people?”

Her eyes narrow, and I know she’s about to call me out for my hypocrisy. “Hello, pot. Meet kettle. How many people have you tortured?”

“Touché.” I huff, mirth edging into the sound. “You’ve got me there, Lou. But I don’t know the answer. I’ve never counted.” Nor have I counted the number of men I’ve killed at the request of the government, both here and during my time in Special Forces. While Lou might be comfortable with the knowledge of her kill count, I wouldn’t be. That would surely fuck with my valuable sleep.

As if understanding how bad counting my victims would be for my psyche, she nods slowly. Until Lou, I’ve never really allowed myself to stop and think about my victims as anything other than prisoners worthy of the most horrific suffering and death. I’ve never wanted to count them before, and if I let myself go there now, it wouldn’t be good. I’d drown in that bottomless black hole.

“What happens now?”

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly, the rise and fall of our chests seeming to synchronize as we stare at each other. Her filthy black hair has grown out a little, and a thin layer of dirt is painted over her skin, but even through the mark this place has left on her, she’s still so beautiful.

As I stare into her eyes, the tiniest glimpse of uneasiness flashes across her vision, and it grips my chest in an iron grasp. The need to comfort her, to assure her that she can depend on me overwhelms me, and I tell her, “I’m going to figure it out. Trust me.”

She laughs, the sound darker than her last giggle, any trace of possible anxiety gone in an instant, like autumn eating the last remnants of summer in the blink of an eye.

“I’ll prove that you can trust me, Lou.” If she’d simply give me the chance.

Now I just need to ensure I don’t let her down. I’m going to get her out of this mess and earn her trust, no matter the cost.