Page 2 of Speak of the Devil (New Hope 3)

I gather the only way out is through. I hated it when he said that.

“Fancy place,” he tells me, letting my hair slip from his fingertips. “You always did have an eye for that sort of thing, didn’t you?”

I don’t respond. Instead, I take a step back and trail my hand down my forearm. Anchoring. It gets his attention. A show of skin touched just the right way can do that.

“You look…happy.”

He used to be a good liar.

Or maybe I was just a good believer. Either way, we’re not those things anymore. I’m not well—I’m a mess. Half-dressed, I reek of sex and lust and greed. If only those were the worst of my sins.

This is why he’s moving closer, and this is why I’m squeezing my eyes shut. Whoever said it’s better to see these things coming has never experienced the kind of cruelty this man is capable of.

I brace myself for the inevitable. “Surprising…I have to say.”

My eyes flutter open. Toying with me is his specialty.

“You’re full of surprises lately, aren’t you?”

I shrug. I don’t know why he’s surprised. This is what he wanted. I’ve proven him right. This not only makes me gloriously wrong—it means he’s won. I became soft. I became predictable. There are consequences for this, I realize, and his presence puts me on notice. I’m going to pay.

When he takes my chin in his hand and forces me to look him in the eye, what I see is a warning. What have you to say for yourself?

I don’t have an answer, and even if I did, excuses are forbidden.

It’s best for me, for everyone involved, if I keep my mouth shut. Maybe I can’t save myself. But this isn’t about me.

People say words don’t matter. Sometimes words are all you have. I should know; I am bound by them.

When I turn away from him, he expects that I’m going to talk. He waits patiently as I take three steps forward.

I count each one as I slide the gun from my robe.

I turn and point it at him.

My hands tremble. No one warns you this will happen. But why would they? This isn’t what they train you for.

I steady my aim.

He isn’t smiling when he steps toward me, but he isn’t frightened either. Just another problem to deal with. Just another lover’s quarrel. That’s what he’s thinking as he places his hand over the muzzle. That’s how much he trusts me. That’s how weak he thinks I am.

Finally, he flashes that signature smile. It’s his tell. He thinks he’s in control.

I pull the trigger.

At first, nothing happens.

Then something does.

Chapter One

Vanessa

Before

* * *

This isn’t the kind of place you rent by the hour. He has the room until noon tomorrow. A real waste, if you ask me. Not that I spend too much time thinking about things like that. That kind of thinking will drive a person mad. Me? I’m in and I’m out. That’s how this works. In and out, being both literal and metaphorical, all things considered.