32. Messiah

We both stay in our spots for a bit longer. Once my knuckles stop bleeding, I toss the towel down on the coffee table and sigh as I look down at her.

"You need to eat," I say gently. "I kind of burnt the pizza, but if you want something else I can order it."

"I'm not hungry."

There is no fight left in her voice. I don't like it.

"You need to eat, Baby. You are too thin. Come on, what do you want?"

She only shakes her head and curls in on herself. Moving slowly, I slide off the couch and kneel in front of her on the floor.

"I don't want to hurt you," I say calmly. "That was never my intention."

She holds her bound hands up in front of her to show me how wrong I am. Well, fuck.

"That," I point at the tape. "That is to keep you safe."

"How?"

"Look–" I reach for her leg but she pushes away from me. "I told you. You are mine. Okay? And you know it too."

She huffs a laugh, shaking her head as she brings her knees under her chin.

"Before all this, we were having a good time. Right? We were . . . making some progress."

Her expression is blank as she stares at me.

"You know we were," I admit, leaning back as I cross my arms over my chest. "And now that we don't have any secrets left . . . we can keep making progress."

"You are delusional."

"Maybe. But I want to help you." My fingers itch to reach for her. "I want to take care of you."

"Men have told me that before," she says. "It never ended well."

"Well, I am not them," I point out, gritting my teeth.

I don't want her to think of me as being one of them. I can have a temper sometimes. Fuck, I kill people for a living. But I would never relish in the idea of making someone suffer just for the fun of it. Then again, the idea of them suffering is making me rather giddy.

Outside a car horn blares and we fall quiet for a moment as other city noises drift in through the open window.

"Alright," I say, nodding. "I will take the tape off. We can order dinner. Do you want a shower?"

She doesn't look at me as I speak.

"Let me show you that I don't have any ill will. Can I get that courtesy?" When she doesn't respond I reach forward and tap her foot. "Angel?"

"Take the tape off," she says.

"I will. And we can just be calm for the rest of the evening, settle in, and tomorrow we can start working on how to get the rest of them. Deal?"

"Rest of who?"

"You know who."

Her eyes turn to me and I am praying she can see the seriousness in my stare. Whether she wants to go for them or not, I am going after those motherfuckers. The ones already dead got lucky. Their deaths were nowhere near as brutal as what I have planned.

I know the moment she gives in when her chin lifts from her knees. She leans closer to me and presents her bound wrists. The skin beneath has turned red from her efforts to pull it off. I don't like seeing it. Snapping the tape off, I toss it aside and lean back, showing her I don't mean any harm.

"Chinese," she says.

"What?"

"I want Chinese."

She doesn't make any sudden moves, and she doesn't make an effort to get too close to me. I fight back the urge to move closer to her as we sit on the couch. Just like at the club, I try to make small talk in an effort to make her comfortable or get her to speak. Once I have the delivery app up on my phone, I hand it over to her to put in what she wants. If my girl wants caviar i'll get her fucking caviar and one of those stupid little spoons to eat it with. But the only thing she asks for is some rangoon and soup. I don't think it is enough food for her, so I order extra before hitting the submit button.

When she asks for a shower, I let her do it alone. There isn't anything in my bathroom she can hurt me with. Not unless she has enough strength to break a piece of porcelain off the sink. If she smashes the mirror, I'd hear it before she had a chance to jump me. She waits quietly in the bathroom door as I dig out some clothes for her. I won't even lie that I am a bit eager to smell my body wash coming from her skin and hair when she gets done. As much as I like when she smells like her usual vanilla soap, I like the idea of my woman also smelling like me.

While she showers, I busy myself trying to think what the next step should be. We both want to get these fuckers, but I also need her to tell me a bit more of what her plan was. Maybe she knows an in already and that will save us some time. There is also Charles to deal with, but that fucker can wait until tomorrow.

Instead of sitting next to me, she crosses her legs and stays on the floor near the coffee table. When dinner comes, I wait for her to take a sip of her egg soup before I bite into my own food.

"How long have you worked for the mob?" she asks, nibbling on the end of an egg roll.

"Six years, maybe. I worked my way up from the bottom. Spent some time shadowing another hitman before Charles decided I could go out on my own."

"So, you just . . . kill people for a living?"

"Well, that is what a hitman is, Baby."

Her eyes go blank as she stares at the window for a moment. I can see the gears turning in her head but I can't tell what she is trying to process.

"What made you decide to do this to them?" I ask, shoving a rangoon into my mouth.

"I needed more justification than what you saw?" she points out. She drops the eggroll onto the foam carton in front of her, rolling the grease and crumbs between her fingers. "The world wanted me to be a victim. There wasn't anyone that was going to come to save me. So, I decided I was going to save myself."