He puts his hands in his pockets, close to the gun, but not quite touching it as he takes a couple of steps toward me.
“I don’t lie.”
He stops and leans against the cement railing next to me.
I let my eyelashes bat up at him, drawing him in as I lick my bottom lip. He leans closer, thinking I’m going to kiss him. I’ll do a lot to hunt a man. I’ll play my part, but I’ll never kiss or fuck a man I don’t want to, just to get what I want. That’s where I draw the line.
There will be no kiss.
“No, you’re just a blackmailing bastard who thinks he can threaten me and my family for easy money.”
His eyes blink in shock, and he reaches for his gun. But I’m faster.
I smash my champagne glass hard against his forehead. He palms the large gash while I take the moment to casually grab his gun.
It takes the bastard a few minutes to realize what’s happening; he’s so focused on the blood pouring down the front of his face, dripping into his eyes, spilling onto his lips and tux. He doesn’t realize I’m aiming a gun at his heart.
Slowly, he raises his hands.
“You’re not going to kill me.”
I remove the safety. “Why do people keep saying that?”
“Because it’s true. You don’t have to kill me. I’ll leave you and your family alone.”
“Why? Why did you target us? Was it just about the money, or was it more?” Please, don’t say it was about the blasted letter my father gave me before he disappeared from my life.
“I knew you two had money. I thought with your family’s political ambitions that you would just pay and move on. I never intended to harm you.”
He lowers his hands.
I don’t know why I’m letting him talk. This is all information I can get on my own. And I suspect he isn’t telling the truth. Just shoot him.
“Are you working alone?” I ask, instead.
He smirks, thinking I’m weak. It’s exactly what I need to be able to pull the trigger.
I squeeze.
Unfortunately, he moves just in time, and I only graze his arm. His eyes grow wide, and the air changes as he realizes I truly do intend to kill him. And there is no one to save him.
The city is too loud for anyone to put a thought to the occasional gunshot. And everyone in the party is already occupied. They don’t care about the outside world.
“Goodbye, Fitz.” I squeeze the trigger, but a loud movement to my side makes me turn.
Langston.
I frown as I realize what he’s done. The gun is battled out of my hand. Fitz holds the gun to my head.
I’m the hunter who never kills.
Because Langston is the killer.
That much will never change.
6
Langston