Now he was a machine, a soulless bastard only good for one thing—killing. His life was forfeit, and he refused to allow himself any personal pleasure. He didn’t deserve any rewards on Earth or in Heaven.
He stepped out of the shower and began toweling off. As he dressed, he remembered Boss’s call and knew he had to check his email. He needed to be sure the message had nothing to do with Cleo or the contract he’d just fulfilled.
Before he could get to his computer, there was a crash downstairs.
Priest managed to pull on a pair of gray jogging pants and rushed downstairs to the kitchen. He stopped dead, crossing his arms over his chest when he saw Cleo and her chair sideways on the porcelain tiles.
“Is this an escape attempt?”
She shook her head. “I tipped.”
He wasn’t buying it. “If you walk out of here, you’ll be dead within forty-eight hours. You’re playing a game, but you don’t know the rules or the stakes. Witnesses have very short shelf lives in my world.”
“I can’t do this anymore. I’m exhausted, scared, I have to go to the bathroom, and I’ve never felt so alone in the world.”
He didn’t speak, just stared down at her. Her long blonde hair was disheveled, her uniform askew and high up her thigh. With her hands still secured behind the chair, she wasn’t going anywhere. A tiny part of him could relate to her at this moment. He remembered when he had no one in the world, and that feeling was a fucking bitch he wouldn’t wish on anyone.
Priest didn’t know her full story, but he would as soon as Maurice filled in all the blanks.
He grabbed a knife off the counter and freed her wrists from their binds. “You can use the bedroom upstairs. It has an ensuite.”
“Okay.”
Priest pulled Cleo up to her feet. “I’ll order some food. You going to eat?”
She nodded. He prodded her forward up the staircase. All the windows and doors in his house were hardwired to his security system, so she wouldn’t be able to make a move without him knowing about it. There was no lock on the outside of the guest bedroom, so he’d have to remedy that tomorrow.
“Do what you need to do. Don’t leave this room until I come back,” Priest said.
“When are you coming back?”
The tone of her voice made her sound much younger than her age—innocent, scared, alone.
“Soon.” He didn’t owe her an answer, but something in him felt compelled to calm her.
He closed the door, checked the alarm system on his watch, then returned to his room so he could check on his email.
He signed into the secure portal.
Boss’s email was on top, so he clicked it. Killer of Kings often used this portal to send contracts, details, and pics. This email only had a name.
He narrowed his eyes, wondering what it could mean. At the bottom, it simply said, The one who started it all.
As soon as the realization struck him, his breath caught in his lungs. A wash of emotion he hadn’t felt in years kept him frozen in place. He stared at the screen, half in a trance. Had Boss actually found the man? The singular person who’d set things in motion decades ago?
What else could it mean?
How was everything related?
Priest had been drifting through life, with no focus, nothing to ground him in time. Now he had a name. That name gave him motivation, purpose, and he would have his revenge.
****
Cleo splashed water over her face after going to the bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror and didn’t like what she saw.
Her situation was completely messed up. What was even worse was the fact no one would miss her, no one would care that she’d disappeared. Her job would replace her within days—unless they found that body and blamed her. Would they actually think she was the murderer? It did look suspicious that she’d disappeared at the same time.
What did it matter?