Page 83 of Crossfire
The sharp absence of his denial sliced through my chest.
Why was this happening? I thought my father’s death was a storm I had to walk through, that there would be another side to it, one that didn’t surround me in suffering and grief. What was the purpose of going through all of that if I was simply going to be killed like this?
I thought the universe had more of a purpose than that.
“I have to be at work at seven,” I pushed. “If I don’t show up, they’ll start asking questions.”
“You’ll call in sick.”
No, I won’t.
“Now, let’s start with something easy.”
“I’d like to sit up,” I declared, keeping my voice firm.
If he was going to make me go through this dog and pony show, he could at least make it easier for me to finish picking the knot of my bindings.
“My arms,” I explained. “They’ve been in an awkward position this whole time, and I’m starting to lose feeling in my fingertips.”
Lies. But sitting up would make it a lot easier to escape.
Grayson’s gaze darkened, roaming over my body with a storm of emotions. After a few seconds, he grabbed my upper arms, the unexpected contact sending a shock wave through me that made me gasp.
For a moment, with our faces separated by mere inches, everything stilled. His eyes slowly traced the contours of my skin before settling on my lips, lingering there just long enough to send my heart into a frenzy of confusion. It was a look filled with conflict, a war between his orders and the undeniable connection that pulsed between us.
A connection I didn’t want to feel, hated, even, but one that made me realize,He’s having doubts about going through with my death.
He was having doubts in my apartment, thus the abduction and kidnapping, but until this moment, I had assumed he’d squashed those doubts. After all, there was no way he could let me go—not without him going to prison.
Yet here, in the tension-filled silence, the possibility that he might release me seemed to hang in the balance—a thought as dangerous as it was exhilarating.
Grayson’s focus dragged up my face once more before he finally adjusted my position, guiding me to sit with my back against his headboard. Despite the bindings that held my arms and ankles, the simple act felt strangely intimate, a protective gesture that softened the harsh reality of our situation.
The part of my heart that was in a pathetic level of denial ached to feel his chest against mine, for him to become my protector again rather than my aggressor.
“Thank you.” The words tumbled from me before I had a chance to remind the feeble chamber of my soul,He’s been ordered to kill me.
No matter what I said, I needed to remember that we were not on the same team.
As Grayson walked to the other side of the room, seemingly putting the distance between us required to keep his head clear, I pulled at the knot behind my back.
“What are your political affiliations?” The tight tone of his voice was a jarring contradiction to the softness of the moment we had shared.
“I don’t have any,” I said.
“What about political donations?” Grayson said. “Make any to groups, even if you didn’t realize you were actually funding criminals?”
“You think I can afford to donate money when I’m behind on Grams’s bills?” The top of the knot loosened even more. “Besides, even if I had, isn’t the CIA more sophisticatedthan that? Wouldn’t they vet a target super thoroughly before murdering them?”
Grayson’s lips thinned. “Then, what were you doing in that garage?”
Oh my god.“I’ve told you a million times. Asked and answered. What wereyoudoing in the garage?”
He said nothing.
“You were there to kill someone,” I realized.
No denial.