A frown appeared on Frank’s mouth. “What’s wrong? You look pale.”
On the verge of an attack, Lex pressed a hand against his chest. It felt like a phantom hand clutched at his lungs and refused to let go. Despite the pain, Lex was vaguely aware he had no shirt on and wore a pair of sweats far too big for him.
In another situation, he would be horrified. Lex had never been comfortable or proud of his body. Thinking of Frank stripping him of his stained clothes spiked the temperature in the room.
“Inhaler,” he managed to rasp.
Frank had that ready, it seemed. Rising from his seat, movements smooth and graceful, Frank took a couple of strides to the bedside table and handed him his inhaler. Gripping the device, Lex took a lungful of medicine, calming down instantly.
“How long have you had asthma?” Frank asked, curiosity evident in his voice.
“What is this? Twenty-one questions with a serial killer?”
Frank looked mildly offended. Lex didn’t know how to put it, but he expected Frank to react in a little more violent way when pissed. Some men were like that—stone cold on the outside but a torrent of emotions underneath. In the end, was Frank empty both on the surface level and underneath?
“I’d object to being called a serial killer.”
“Why’s that?” Oh, Lex knew he was crazy for carrying a conversation with his captor.
What else could he do anyway? If Frank would rather keep him like some souvenir instead of ending his life—scratch that thought. Lex was too terrified to go that direction.
“Serial killers are stupid. Oh, I’d admit. Some take careful measures, but not enough. Also,” Frank said with a disturbing smile. “They don’t get paid for their work. Plus, I don’t necessarily enjoy my kills.”
“Liar. You hunted me down like a predator and got off on it.”
Lex flinched when Frank sat on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers down his torso. Aside from his horrendous swelling face, Lex noticed he didn’t sustain a lot of injuries save for a number of bruises. Frank’s touch unnerved him. The killer didn’t press down on the purpling mass across his ribs. If ever, Frank’s touch was gentle, not intrusive.
“Stop that,” Lex whispered.
If Frank asked why, he couldn’t bear to say the words, that the killer’s touch was distracting, despite the fucked-up situation.
Frank instantly dropped his hand. Later, Lex would wonder why he didn’t kick and put up much of a fight. Only his left hand was attached to the cuff linked to the headboard of the bed. Making sudden moves wouldn’t get him anywhere though. Last night’s failure to escape from this monster proved futile.
If he got free, would Frank chase him down again?
“Tell me what’s going on in that mind of yours,” Frank said.
“If I run, you’ll bring me back again.” Lex wet his lips and finally had the courage to look Frank in the eye.
Emotions flickered there. Impossible. Frank was like a killing machine. Feelings didn’t touch the killer, except that hadn’t been entirely true. Frank hesitated last night and didn’t kill him. Did Frank leave him alive for a sinister purpose? A shiver crept down Lex’s spine.
If Frank killed for a living, was Lex merely an unlucky bystander who got in the way? Why spare him?
Lex continued, “I’m not going to fight you now. There’s no use. The moment you turn your back or make a mistake, I’m going to act. If you’re making sinister plans in your head right now, remember this. I won’t give up easily.”
Frank regarded him for a couple of seconds. There was strange pride in his voice. “Live to fight another day. I suppose I can admire you for that, but rest assured. I have no evil intentions. Well, maybe I do, but I have no intention of killing you.”
Lex’s mouth went dry. He told himself to give nothing away, to wear his poker face, but his courage was fast unraveling. Being way out of his league with this man was just one of the reasons. “Are you going to hurt me?”
“I just said I won’t. You’re not asking the right questions, Lex.” Frank spoke like a teacher displeased with his student.
“Why didn’t you kill me back there?”
“I wonder at that myself,” Frank replied, sounding like he was telling the truth. Lex thought the killer wouldn’t say more, but Frank continued. “Usually, the Organization expects us to clean up our own messes, and that includes accidental witnesses.”
A chill ran down Lex’s spine. “What Organization?”
“It has another name, but most people refer to it as that. I suppose you can call us killers-for-hire. We’ll serve up revenge, murder, or blackmail for a price.”
How Frank said that pitch with a smile eluded Lex. Was that supposed to be a joke? Frank looked dead serious though, and Lex did see Frank dispose of that body like he’d done it a thousand times. A few pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. That night they first met, Frank had been expecting someone else. Was it a client?
So many questions swam in his head. Lex blurted the first one that came to mind. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Take lives. Do you get a kick out of it?”
“It’s a way of living, just like working at a law firm or being a barista.”
Lex could tell the killer was lying.
“Bullshit. Decent folks don’t do this kind of thing.” Lex knew he made a mistake when Frank leaned in close and gripped a handful of his hair.
“News flash, baby. I’m not a good guy. Some say I don’t have a soul.”
His mind raced. Frank might have spared him once, but testing his luck wasn’t racking him any brownie points with his captor. His primary goal was to live, to do whatever Frank wanted and find an opening. Then, he’d make his move. Lex could play the compliant submissive card until then… or so he thought.
Frank tilted his head upwards, forcing Lex to meet his gaze. Damn those cruel kissable lips. Lex opened his mouth, on the verge of begging Frank to give him another taste, just one, but he shut it.
“That’s not true,” Lex answered.
If he kept talking, his attraction to Frank would eventually die down. He watched the crime channel. Prisoners becoming inappropriately attached to their captors wasn’t all that uncommon, except his attraction started way before his abduction. He poured strength into his voice. Screw playing the weak card. He wanted this man to see he was far from defeated.
Lex continued, “You must have something good left in you if you decided to spare me.”
Frank raked his gaze up and down his body, and Lex didn’t require words to finally understand why Frank saved him. He might prefer death after all.
“You’re going to take those words back very soon.” Frank decided, releasing him.
“What will happen to me? Are you going to keep me?”
Keep me. Strange words to use, but Lex thought nothing of it. It had been awhile since he belonged to Dom, to someone else and part of him missed it. He was going crazy. That was the only explanation for it. He always associated safety and comfort with Dom, despite the lack of passion in the bedroom. Frank was like fire, dangerous and able to burn him inside him inside out if he wasn’t too careful.
“I’m going to make sure no one else saw you.”
“After that?” Lex pressed.
The look in Frank’s eyes scared him shitless and excited him at the same time.
“We’ll see. Why don’t you relax? You’re not going anywhere anytime soon, Lex.”
Chapter Six
Relax? Lex wondered how he could do that.
He studied the leather cuff on his wrist and wondered why Frank didn’t use handcuffs. Lex could work himself out of the cuffs within seconds, but where would he run? Pretty arrogant of the bastard to assume he would be too terrified to run.
Annoyed, Lex unbuckled the strap, breathing a sigh of relief once he got his hand free. His chest constricted. What was he doing? Frank might appear cordial, but what if it were all an act? The serial killers
on his favorite crime channel always had multiple personalities. Frank clearly made a distinction between killer-for-hire and a serial killer. The difference meant little to Lex.
Grabbing his inhaler, Lex took in a lungful and considered his situation. He didn’t hear a door opening, so Frank must be outside, although Lex couldn’t hear any footsteps. That didn’t mean anything. Frank probably mastered the art of walking with stealth or something.
Lex ripped the blanket from the bed and looked around the room. He walked over to the nearest window and peered out. Lex gulped. They must be several floors up.
He turned the knob to the bathroom, surprised by the black marble tiles and expensive fittings. The bedroom looked normal enough, minimalist and organized, like it came from a furniture catalogue or interior design magazine.
It seemed Frank saved up some cash for the bathroom. The tub looked like it could fit two, and the shower had a fancy-looking rain shower Lex didn’t mind trying out with Frank. He had a weakness for good bathroom spaces.
Shit. He lost his train of thought for a second there.
Biting his lip at the tiny window above the tub, Lex retreated back to the bedroom only to find Frank was back, with a tray of food in his head. The assassin looked amused, as if he expected Lex to find any possible escape routes.
“Just so you know, I have a pretty good security system installed. Take one step out of the front door and I will know you’re gone.”
Frank set the tray on the table next to the bed. The killer didn’t seem mad Lex took the restraint off.
The smell of freshly made Carbonara tantalized his senses and Frank appeared generous with his bacon and shredded Parmesan too. Lex’s stomach let out an embarrassing growl. Logic kicked in.
“How am I certain that there’s no poison or sleeping drug in there?”
Frank sighed and held out two fingers. “Firstly, I detest killing by poison. It’s fucking cowardly. Secondly, I don’t intend to knock you out so I can have my way with you. Sooner or later, you’re going to come to me of your own accord.”
Lex was at a loss for words.
Seriously? Was this arrogant bastard for real?
“Whatever.”
“The food’s going to grow cold,” Frank commented.
To prove he wasn’t afraid or intimidated being a killer’s captive, he dug at his food like he hadn’t eaten for days. To his surprise, Lex found he had an appetite.
“Slow down before you choke on a piece of bacon,” Frank admonished.
Mouth full of pasta, Lex snorted. As if such a thing would happen. Lex shoved another forkful when something got caught in his throat. Eyes tearing up, he dropped his fork. Frank mutely took the bottled water on the tray, popped the cap open, and handed it to him.
Lex washed the piece of pork down his mouth.
The bastard was grinning, as if he was amused by the show.
His stomach grumbled, still craving for more of the pasta’s creamy sauce. To his credit, Frank didn’t bring up the fact of Lex nearly choking earlier.
“Did you make this?” Lex asked for conversation’s sake.
“Sure did. Cooking’s one of my many talents.”
“Aside from ending lives, you mean.” Lex wasn’t sure when they arrived at this point—where he wasn’t afraid to say what was on his mind.
“What do you have against my choice of profession?”
“Everything.” Lex shoveled more food into his mouth, wiping the plate clean and downing the water after.
By then, Frank disappeared into the bathroom and returned with spare clothes and a towel.
“Am I your guest or your prisoner?” Lex asked, unable to keep the suspicion out of his voice.
“You’re both. Feel free to walk around the house.”
Lex frowned. “Outside is off-limits, I get it. You don’t have to remind me twice. I take a step out and your security systems would alert you, right? What’s going to happen? You’ll drag me back here and chain me to your bed?”
“This is for your own good, Lex,” Frank said softly. “If the people I work for find out I didn’t clean up my mess, they won’t hesitate to send another assassin after you.”
Trepidation swept through him. Lex might have not known the killer long, but he could tell when Frank was playing around or turned into his serious mode.
Frank sounded matter-of-fact when he continued, “If you want to die so badly, be my guest.”
Lex clutched at the sheets. Frank had been nothing but a gentleman and treated him with unexpected courtesy. Either that or Frank was a damn fine liar, using that bit to dissuade Lex from escaping. The best serial killers were good at mind games according to his favorite crime shows.
“If there’s no threat, you’ll let me go, right?” Lex pressed.
His heart skipped a beat when Frank’s eyes turned intense. “Am I that repulsive to you, Lex?”
“You terrify the fuck out of me,” Lex admitted.
“I’ll never hurt you. Others of my kind who enjoy cruelty would have you strapped to a chair with important bits and pieces missing.”
“That’s not what I’m scared of.”
“What then?”
“You know what.”
“I want to hear the words nonetheless.”
I’m terrified of my attraction to you. Lex kept his mouth shut, though.
“I’ll be heading out tonight to check the situation. If you’re in the clear, I’ll release you,” Frank said, changing topic. The killer arose to his feet. “You can have my bed. I’ll sleep outside.”
“W-wait,” Lex blurted. “I have a dog back at my apartment. He needs to be fed and he must be scared by now.”
“Describe him to me.”
“Five-year-old Welsh Corgi—”
Frank looked thoughtful. “Patches, right?” At Lex’s surprised look, Frank explained, “You mentioned him when we had dinner. I’ll take care of him.”
“You remembered that little fact?”
“I have a good memory. Being observant and noticing the little details helps with my line of work.” Frank’s teeth looked very white when he flashed Lex a smile. “I’ll bring him here to keep you company.”
“Be careful, Patches doesn’t like strangers.”
“Aw, Lex. You actually sound like you care.”
Frank left the room, leaving Lex to stare at the open door. Minutes later, he heard the front door shut. Another man would try to find new avenues to escape. Concoct some devious plan maybe, but he huddled in bed, bringing the blankets to him.
Eventually, Lex dragged himself out of bed. Taking Frank’s advice, he gave himself a little tour. The walls of Frank’s living room were lined with an assortment of guns.
Lex brushed his fingers over a row of them. Frank trusted him this much? Did Frank believe Lex didn’t possess the guts to use one of the assassin’s weapons against him?
Well, the killer was right. Lex dropped his hand back. He couldn’t stomach the thought of taking a life. Besides, it wasn’t so bad here. It wasn’t like Frank chained him in some underground dungeon. Fuck the sensors in Frank’s home.
He could march right out the front doors at this very second, but what if Frank was right and another killer waited for him?
His chest heaved. Lex was on the verge of another panic attack. Racing back to the bedroom, he grabbed his inhaler.
“Breathe in and out.” Hearing the sound of his own voice helped.
Lex settled for a cold shower. Letting the icy water course down his head and body, he recalled Frank’s words. If Frank confirmed there was no threat, Frank would release him. No harm, no foul, but if Frank insisted on keeping him, Lex would resort to other measures. Taking any of the guns in the living room would be easy, but he prayed to God it wouldn’t come to that.
Feeling tons better about his decision, he put on the spare clothes Frank left him. They were two sizes too big, but felt comfy, making him conclude they belonged to Frank.
Back in Frank�
�s bed, he wondered if Frank would snuggle next to him when he came back.
Lex cursed himself. Something was definitely wrong with him.
Would Frank really fulfill his promise to let him go if the coast was clear?
“He’s lying,” Lex whispered.
Captors would say anything to make their prisoners compliant. Why did some part of him wish Frank would keep him a little longer?
****
Tonight, Wicked nearly gave up on his usual routine of stalking his rival. He was glad he didn’t. For some reason, Frank seemed on edge. From the moment Frank exited his apartment, Wicked tracked him.
Frank returned to his last kill site. By now, the alley had been swept clean. How strange.
Frank seemed to inspect the area far too long, sparking his curiosity. Last night, Wicked knew Frank encountered a hitch, a witness. A guy like Frank who was all efficiency and business would have eliminated the threat right away.
Was Frank merely checking the site to check if he’d mess up? The Organization’s clean-up crews were pros, just like them. They wouldn’t leave any incriminating evidence behind.
Things were about to get interesting, Wicked knew it in his gut. So, he continued tailing Frank, continuing to keep a safe distance. Unlike the last time, Frank didn’t seem to notice anyone was following him.
Something on your mind tonight, fucker?
Frank’s next stop was some apartment three neighborhoods away. Frank didn’t break in, but simply lifted the welcome mat near the front door and entered. Did the apartment belong to a friend, perhaps some relative or lover?
Wicked knew Frank had his share of fuck-buddies.
The Organization didn’t give a fuck who their assassins fucked, as long as their lovers were kept in the dark about what they did. On the rare occasion loved ones unearthed the dreadful little secret—assassins were expected to clean up their messes. There was an anomaly in Frank’s usual pattern, and Wicked wouldn’t rest until he found out why.
Frank exited the unit half an hour later, with a small brown and white sausage-shaped dog under one arm.
Worth the Price Page 4
