“You’re a vile excuse for a human being. I hate you.”
“That matters not at all in this equation. Although the prospect of a little demon fighting back does make my dick hard.”
I look away, focusing on a tiny gash at the bottom right corner of the refrigerator. I never noticed it before, but I’m desperate to find a distraction. Because I’m ashamed. Ashamed that I would like nothing more than for this despicable asshole to shove his hard cock into me. I’ve wanted him so bad for so long that I don’t know how not to want him—even when he’s behaving like a world-class prick.
“Why did you do it?” he asks, letting go of my hair.
I’m still thinking about his cock and not at all sure what he’s asking.
“Kill Archbishop Darden.”
We’re back to that. “He was the one who put that devil Creighton at St. Maggie’s.”
“So?”
“So, do you know how many women Creighton tortured and killed? In my book, Darden was just as responsible.” And that’s not even the half of it. That sonofabitch has been spreading evil for decades. “I spent hours with Kate at the hospital. I held her hand while she was being examined. Stood there and listened to the things he did to her. I listened to the fear in her voice and to the shame she’s going to carry for a long time—maybe forever. Shame that should not be her burden.”
Gray eyes me suspiciously. I need to stop talking.
“Let’s see if I’ve got this straight. You’re such a big fan of Kate McKenna that you decided to seek vengeance in her name. You murdered a man of God while he slept, because of loyalty to the sisterhood. Did I get that right?”
I don’t bother responding because he knows I’m not being entirely truthful, and it can only get worse from here. “It’s none of your damn business, asshole.”
He wedges his thumb under my chin, forcing me to look into the depths of those ice-cold blue eyes. “Pick number three,” he goads, snapping the waistband of my sweatpants. “Go ahead. Do it. I’m begging you.”
“I could kill you in your sleep, too,” I assure him sweetly, without a thimbleful of self-preservation. It’s not that I’m so brave—or foolish, for that matter. It’s that I’m confident he won’t hurt me.
“You could try.” He takes his hands off me and moves a few feet away, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed. “But you won’t. Because I’m promising you things you haven’t had in a long time. Things you enjoy.”
God, he’s insufferable. “And exactly what are those things?”
“Excitement. Fun. A chance to use your skills—all of them—for the benefit of humanity.” He watches me carefully as he continues ticking off the perks. “An opportunity for submission—an outlet for your deepest desires. That’s the icing on top.”
“In your dreams.” The words come out rough and low, and reticent, because for the last few years, that’s been my dream. But there’s no way I’m telling him that. It will just become one more thing to use against me. “Submission isn’t demanded—through extortion, no less. It’s given freely to those who earn it. You haven’t earned a fucking thing.”
“I’m well aware.” He captures my gaze and doesn’t let go. “But this is a mission we’re discussing. Not a relationship.”
I swallow the retort on the tip of my tongue. I’m tired and it’s not worth the energy. We both know I’m going to pick door number two. Maybe we’ve known it since the beginning. “I need more information before agreeing to anything.”
“I’ll read you in as much as I can when the time is right. First, you need to cut professional ties with Smith.”
Read me in? It’s a classified mission. A black op? Can’t be. “Who exactly do you work for?”
“The good guys,” he answers, without hesitation.
“That’s it? I’m supposed to quit my job and go on some half-cocked mission with you? I don’t even know who you are anymore.” His Adam’s apple bobs, but he doesn’t say anything. “Quit my job—hell. Are you even planning on paying me?”
“In cash?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, in cash. A woman’s got to pay her rent and eat. If you can’t promise—”
“You’ll be paid. In all sorts of ways, including cash.”
“I’m only interested in the cash. The rest I can take care of myself.”
Gray studies me with a wicked gleam in his eyes, as though he’s imagining me on my back, naked, feet sole to sole, strumming my clit for his pleasure. After several long seconds, his mouth twists into the mocking sneer of a predator who has cornered his prey and wants to spend some time toying with it before he eats. “You wound me, Delilah.”
“Your cock is nowhere near as magical as you seem to think it is. Doesn’t even warrant an honorable mention. But maybe they have a participation trophy for you.” I meet his eyes with a self-satisfied sneer of my own. “Someone had to tell you.”
He doesn’t say anything. But if that smug look on his face could talk, it would say, we’ll see how magical my cock is when you’re begging for it.
I need him to leave. It’s not that I want the damn thing pressing against his zipper. Not right now, anyway. It’s that I could be persuaded. And men with erections are not to be trusted. Ever.
“It’s late,” I say, turning off the light over the sink. “Are we done?”
“For tonight. Get in touch with me after you talk to Smith.”
“I haven’t agreed to anything.”
“Yes, you have.” He pulls a phone from his pocket. “Use this to contact me. Only this. My number is already programmed. The password is Sultan’s Palace. All one word.” He tips his head to the side. “Just like that night, you have the ultimate control. You just have to be prepared to live with the consequences.”
He opens the back door and steps out into the night. Seconds after the screen door bangs behind him, my new phone vibrates. When I turn it over, there’s a message with a series of images. They’re all of me with the archbishop.
I want to chase him into the darkness, all the way to the gates of Hell, and use the damn phone to beat some decency into him, but I don’t. Not tonight. But the moment will come. I can be cold and calculating too.
7
Gray
Before my feet hit the pavement, I send Delilah a reminder of the consequences if she goes rogue. Then I send another message.
GW: She’s in.
Unknown: How did you get her on board?
GW: Between me and her. Not your concern.
Unknown: If you ruin her, I’ll kill you myself.
GW: Fuck you, Smith.
8
Gray
TWO WEEKS EARLIER
It’s hot as hell, and sticky from all the rain last night. There’s not a soul back here, nor will there be, until the sun burns away the remnants of the storm. Wet brush overhead, pesky critters swarming, and no Wi-Fi makes Jessamine Café the perfect place for a clandestine meeting.