Lost Cause (Killer of Kings 8)

He shrugged nonchalantly.

“I don’t know anything about you besides your name, which I doubt is a real name, and the fact you used to be a priest. Oh, and you kill people and take innocent women hostage.”

Had she gone too far? What if he got angry with her outburst?

He raised an eyebrow. “We’re similar, you and I,” he said. “We both have no one. My family was taken from me and your—” He stopped mid-sentence.

“You can say it, I’m sure you already know, anyway. I was abandoned, an unwanted infant with no history to track.”

He took another bite of food. “I can find out, if you want to know your parents.”

She shook her head fervently. “No! And if you already know, keep it to yourself.”

“Why?”

“They don’t deserve to know me, and I don’t want to know them,” she said.

Cleo had a shit life with a childhood that nightmares were made of. Any thought of meeting or reconciling with the parents who abandoned her to that fate were of no interest to her. She’d gotten by, made it to twenty-four with no help from anyone. With any luck, she’d add more years to her life, but right now, nothing was certain.

“It was just a suggestion,” he said.

They finished their food without any more conversation. She had a lot of questions in her head but was afraid of the answers, so she kept her mouth shut. Once they were done, he began tidying up, putting stuff in the trash and sink and wiping the counter down. It was odd to watch this vicious killer do something so simple, so normal.

“Are you tired?” he asked once finished.

“Very tired.”

“You’ll be sleeping in my room,” he said.

For a second, she had an internal panic attack. Was he going to rape her, force her to sleep with him? Cleo was a virgin, and her nerves were starting to run rampant.

“What about that spare room?”

“I don’t have a lock for it yet, and I can’t trust you,” he said.

“Why not?”

“You’ve tried to escape at every opportunity. I won’t be able to sleep well if I’m babysitting you all night long.”

She followed him without speaking. His bedroom was different from the rest of the house with rich colors and dark brown wood. She spun in circles as she tried to take everything in.

“Don’t get too comfortable.” He tossed some blankets onto the sofa under the window. “You’re taking the couch.”

“Good.”

He narrowed his eyes as if insulted. Surely he knew he was God’s gift to women, so her comment shouldn’t have any weight. She was nobody, and he was certainly out of her league—well, if he was a normal guy and not a killer.

Priest began stripping off his clothes, tugging off that black t-shirt, and tossing it into a hamper near the door. He turned and looked over at her.

She gasped, realizing she’d been staring at him with her jaw slack.

Cleo whirled away, almost stumbling, and fiddled with the blankets on the sofa. She couldn’t even look in his direction or she’d focus on the way his muscles flexed every time he moved.

“Make sure you stay put. I have alarms on all the doors and windows.”

“But you trust me not to hurt you while you’re sleeping?” she tested.

“Do you?”