more.
Marcus’ eerie gaze collided with hers. He smirked, knowing without words exactly what she was thinking. Deliberately, he sucked his thumb and forefinger into his mouth. He kept his steady, toe-curling pace, making sure to stretch Marguerite wide for a different kind of invasion.
Her mind coiled around the synchronicity of a recovering nihilist and a conscience-deficit assassin doing something as spiritual as making love.
***
Two years prior
“Where am I?” Marguerite winced and dropped her head into her hands. Everything was too much, sharp edges cut into darkness and indistinguishable from one another. The light from the small tableside lamp too bright, the metal chair too hard, the table too cold, the air too iron.
“An airplane hangar. Here, drink this. It’s not drugged. I swear. Look, the seal is still on.” Marcus waited while she took the water bottle from him, uncapped it, peered cautiously at the benign liquid, and took a swig. “You’ll feel less groggy very soon.”
“What time is it?”
“Four am.”
“Did we have sex?”
Still dressed in the same black suit and sky-colored dress shirt sans tie of before, Marcus answered her with a mischievous smile. “Not yet. Maybe not ever.”
“Did I get drunk?”
“Drunk? No, not drunk.” He apparently enjoyed their Q&A session if his long, drawn out answers were any indication. Marcus pulled out a chair opposite from her, considerate of her throbbing skull since he lifted it so the legs wouldn’t scrape the concrete.
“I don’t remember leaving the bar.”
He nodded. “And here we are.”
Marguerite’s scowl should’ve dropped him dead. “Here being an airplane hangar.”
“Exactly!”
She carefully closed the cap on her drink and placed it on the dingy table. Marguerite lifted her head and straightened her back. “No, not exactly. Why can’t I remember getting here? Why am I here? What do you want?”
“Interesting questions usually receive the same kind of answers. I found that out two nights ago with you, Marguerite. You ingested chloral hydrate. Only a little, itty, bitty bit.” He pressed his thumb and forefinger together in front of one squinting eye.
She understood him in reverse. “You drugged me.” She waited for her body to twist itself in fear knots. Nothing happened. “Am I still drugged?”
“No. You’ve been out for a while. Not the drugs. I think you needed the sleep.”
Marguerite noted his speech patterns resembled hers. She blew out a long breath. “Interesting.”
“Exactly.”
His beaming smile started a revolution in her colorless life. “I’ve gone insane.” She chortled loudly before cupping her head.
Marcus leaned over the table and pushed the bottle towards her. “Take another drink. It’ll help flush the last bit out. Good girl.” His gentle grin took a suicide dive. Marcus took on a stranger’s appearance.
What am I talking about? He’s always been a stranger.
“I’m going to ask you a very serious series of questions, Marguerite. I want a hundred percent honesty. Don’t lie to me, flatter me, or tell me what you think I want to hear.”
Her back twitched as if he traced her spine with a killing sharp knife. “I’m never in a flattering mood, Marcus. That is your name, right?”
He dipped his head. “I want to buy your time.”
Marguerite blinked slowly. She processed the words. Finally her stomach assumed the knotted position. “I’m not a prostitute. Did I give you that impression because if I did—”
Marcus held up his hand. “I’m not talking about buying you for a night just for sex. I’m talking about something a bit more long-term. Consider it an intimate relationship based on mutual interest. The sex will come as a natural result.”
“Cut the crap. Tell me straight.”
“Half a million a year. One year minimum. In addition, all personal expenses will be paid by me. This includes food, clothing, and entertainment. You leave the country tonight. No
Marcus’ eerie gaze collided with hers. He smirked, knowing without words exactly what she was thinking. Deliberately, he sucked his thumb and forefinger into his mouth. He kept his steady, toe-curling pace, making sure to stretch Marguerite wide for a different kind of invasion.
Her mind coiled around the synchronicity of a recovering nihilist and a conscience-deficit assassin doing something as spiritual as making love.
***
Two years prior
“Where am I?” Marguerite winced and dropped her head into her hands. Everything was too much, sharp edges cut into darkness and indistinguishable from one another. The light from the small tableside lamp too bright, the metal chair too hard, the table too cold, the air too iron.
“An airplane hangar. Here, drink this. It’s not drugged. I swear. Look, the seal is still on.” Marcus waited while she took the water bottle from him, uncapped it, peered cautiously at the benign liquid, and took a swig. “You’ll feel less groggy very soon.”
“What time is it?”
“Four am.”
“Did we have sex?”
Still dressed in the same black suit and sky-colored dress shirt sans tie of before, Marcus answered her with a mischievous smile. “Not yet. Maybe not ever.”
“Did I get drunk?”
“Drunk? No, not drunk.” He apparently enjoyed their Q&A session if his long, drawn out answers were any indication. Marcus pulled out a chair opposite from her, considerate of her throbbing skull since he lifted it so the legs wouldn’t scrape the concrete.
“I don’t remember leaving the bar.”
He nodded. “And here we are.”
Marguerite’s scowl should’ve dropped him dead. “Here being an airplane hangar.”
“Exactly!”
She carefully closed the cap on her drink and placed it on the dingy table. Marguerite lifted her head and straightened her back. “No, not exactly. Why can’t I remember getting here? Why am I here? What do you want?”
“Interesting questions usually receive the same kind of answers. I found that out two nights ago with you, Marguerite. You ingested chloral hydrate. Only a little, itty, bitty bit.” He pressed his thumb and forefinger together in front of one squinting eye.
She understood him in reverse. “You drugged me.” She waited for her body to twist itself in fear knots. Nothing happened. “Am I still drugged?”
“No. You’ve been out for a while. Not the drugs. I think you needed the sleep.”
Marguerite noted his speech patterns resembled hers. She blew out a long breath. “Interesting.”
“Exactly.”
His beaming smile started a revolution in her colorless life. “I’ve gone insane.” She chortled loudly before cupping her head.
Marcus leaned over the table and pushed the bottle towards her. “Take another drink. It’ll help flush the last bit out. Good girl.” His gentle grin took a suicide dive. Marcus took on a stranger’s appearance.
What am I talking about? He’s always been a stranger.
“I’m going to ask you a very serious series of questions, Marguerite. I want a hundred percent honesty. Don’t lie to me, flatter me, or tell me what you think I want to hear.”
Her back twitched as if he traced her spine with a killing sharp knife. “I’m never in a flattering mood, Marcus. That is your name, right?”
He dipped his head. “I want to buy your time.”
Marguerite blinked slowly. She processed the words. Finally her stomach assumed the knotted position. “I’m not a prostitute. Did I give you that impression because if I did—”
Marcus held up his hand. “I’m not talking about buying you for a night just for sex. I’m talking about something a bit more long-term. Consider it an intimate relationship based on mutual interest. The sex will come as a natural result.”
“Cut the crap. Tell me straight.”
“Half a million a year. One year minimum. In addition, all personal expenses will be paid by me. This includes food, clothing, and entertainment. You leave the country tonight. No
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