“Really.”
****
The bag was pulled off her head, but her eyes didn’t need time to adjust. There was only scant light coming from under the door that just closed. She was in an empty room on a metal chair. Her hands weren’t tied, so she stood up and looked around. Everything had happened so fast.
She’d been lying in bed when she thought she heard Priest come home. When he opened her door, her heart started to race. She was excited he was back, like she always was. Then the black bag had been forced over her head and she’d been dragged out kicking and screaming.
Cleo knew it wasn’t Priest because the man who’d taken her started talking to another when they got outside to a vehicle. When she’d screamed for Priest, the men chuckled.
These must be other men from the police station. They’d be extra mad one of their own had been killed. Maybe they’d take it out on her. What about Priest? What if they’d gotten to him first? Was he dead, alive, being tortured? She knew so little about him but still cared enough to be worried sick. Three weeks with him felt like three years.
She paced the room. There was nothing inside here besides the chair—just four walls, a concrete floor, and one door. No windows.
Her life had been hard but simple, and now everything had changed. She’d been thrust into the middle of something that had nothing to do with her. Cleo had no idea what would come next or if she’d even be alive come morning. All the uncertainty was toying with her head, making her uneasy and close to panicking. The only thing that had been constant in her life lately was Priest. He was a stickler for routine, and the familiarity was soothing.
This was the complete opposite.
She had no idea how much time passed. There was no way to know. But when the door opened, she was alert and standing in the far corner of the room. She’d never been tortured, so she didn’t know how good she’d be with pain. Maybe she’d be better than most because she’d suffered a lot of abuse in some of her foster homes. But if it entailed carving parts off her body, she’d cave faster than the next woman.
“Cleo Bennet.”
A man walked into the room. He had tanned skin and dark hair, and he was just as big as Priest, which said a lot. The door was left ajar, letting light and new air flood inside. His heavy boots punctuated each slow, deliberate step.
Cleo didn’t have a good feeling about this. She wondered if she could get past him and out the door, and her gaze kept darting to her potential escape route.
“Don’t even think about it,” he said. “I’ve lost count of how many trained assassins I’ve killed over the years.”
All hopes of escape faded. Everything Priest warned her about was happening. This guy was going to kill her to shut her up.
“Why am I here?” she dared to ask.
“Someone made a mistake, and we’re using you to teach him a lesson.”
“Priest. No, please don’t hurt him. I’m sure whatever he did, he didn’t mean it.”
He cocked his head to the side. “He told you his name?”
Cleo nodded.
“Interesting.”
“Did you hurt him? You better not have touched him.”
“That’s not your concern.” He walked around the room, calm and deadly at once. “Did you know he was groomed to join the monastery since he was born? Forced to leave his family at only eight years old?”
She slowly shook her head.
“He performed the marriage ceremony for my sister and her husband last year. I’m sure there’s a lot you don’t know about him. Hell, there’s a lot I don’t know about him. But what he has always been is reliable and efficient—until you. That’s a problem for us.”
“For who?”
He didn’t answer the question. She was so confused.
“You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. So I can understand Priest’s hesitation.”
“Hesitation?” Cleo asked.
“Witnesses don’t last long in our world. Too many questions. Too many complications. We don’t like it when things get messy.”