“You’re somewhere you shouldn’t be, Katarina.”
“I didn’t see anything, I didn’t.” The way she kept her eyes from the left side of the room, where Vargas was bound and ready to be hanged, told me otherwise.
“You’re a terrible liar. Try again,” I suggested.
She swallowed. “Fine, I saw. I don’t care. I won’t tell anyone.”
“You won’t tell anyone? What about when the police question you? What about when Benedict and Pavol question you during therapy, maybe when you’re floating on whatever they give you?” I shook my head. “It’s not a risk I can take.”
“I hate him, too, though. I hate him so much?—”
“I don’t hate him,” I interrupted her curtly. “I don’t give a fuck about him. To me, he’s just a paycheck.”
I waited for her reaction to that confession. I was a contract killer. It was a bit of a conversation stopper, in my experience.
She wet her lips, and I watched her, unabashedly curious about everything that concerned her. Her and her unkissed lips. A virgin mouth at twenty-five years old in this day and age? Unheard of.
“I’ve killed a lot of people, and I haven’t stopped to ask why... so many, I’m a millionaire many times over. My hands are as blood-soaked as your angel’s voices told you they are.”
She swallowed hard, and I could see those words sink in. She was afraid of me. Of course she was. How could someone so sweet and pure not be afraid of a man like me?
“The only rules I live by are get the money first and leave no witnesses. You, my little stray, are putting me in a difficult position.”
A low moan sounded across the room. Vargas waking up. I pressed my gun into Katarina’s temple for a moment.
“Stay here,” I commanded, and rose.
Vargas slowly lifted his head, looking around in a daze. He hadn’t registered the rope around his neck yet.
I sauntered over to him.
“Good evening, Father. Thank you for not keeping me waiting too long.”
“What’s going on? Where—” Vargas glanced down and saw the rope. “Wait! What’s happening?”
“We’re playing a game.” I pointed the gun at him. “Now, stand on the chair, nice and slow. Be careful, you wouldn’t want to fall.”
Vargas blinked at me, my words taking a long time to penetrate. I jerked the gun.
“Hurry it up.”
He moved, carefully balancing on the precarious stool. It had three spindly legs. He had turned white as a sheet.
“What game is this?”
“Truth or dare. Which do you choose?”
“Truth, I choose truth,” Vargas cried.
“Why is Katarina in this room? Tell me the truth.”
“I had her brought here to discipline her. She embarrassed me in front of the director, and I’m sick of her. She’s clearly off her meds and running wild.”
“Did you hurt her? Where did you touch her?” I asked, my tone conversational, which was quite a feat, considering how much my blood boiled.
“I didn’t. She just woke up. I stuffed her in the cupboard so you wouldn’t see her, I swear.”
I glanced to Katarina for confirmation and stilled.