Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 49989 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49989 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
Chapter Four
Priest didn’t know why he’d been cursed, but he had, clearly. Rather than listen to his request, Cleo wouldn’t be quiet.
“What’s your favorite color?” she asked.
This wasn’t the first time she had asked.
“You know I’m going to keep asking. I do think mine is purple. I don’t know why I like that color. I think I’m drawn to it, but then I love the color green. Not light either, it has to be dark, not a lime green, but the darker kind.” She talked for the sake of talking.
“You said you were tired.”
“I am.”
“Then go to sleep.”
Silence.
He wasn’t fooled.
She was waiting.
“I’m too nervous to go to sleep.”
There.
“Close your eyes and count sheep.”
“You do know that doesn’t work. I’ve been told to do that my whole life, and guess what? It doesn’t work.” She let out a huff. “Don’t you think it’s too dark?”
If he didn’t get any sleep, he was going to be even crankier than normal.
“What will make you sleep?” he asked, knowing deep down he was doomed from the start. Talking to her, even giving in a little, was asking for disaster.
“Tell me your favorite color,” she said.
“Black.” It was a lie. To have a favorite color meant he had time to care, and that wasn’t the case. He wasn’t a little boy anymore with the whole world ahead of him.
Gone was the innocence of life, and what remained was the cold dead soul he was now.
“You’re lying. No one loves black. Unless you’re goth, I guess. Oh, is that why you were a priest? You were into goth and stuff like that?”
“No.”
“Do you have a favorite song?” she asked.
“I don’t listen to music.”
“Please, everyone does. But, then again, I don’t have a favorite either. I like some songs but not a whole lot.”
He could imagine her wrinkling her nose. This was getting them nowhere.
“Would it help if I threatened to chain you up with the dogs?” he asked.
“You have dogs?”
Now he heard the excitement in her voice, and he’d had enough. There was no point in trying to fight this woman.
Throwing off the covers, he turned on the light and padded toward her. As he grabbed her arm, she let out a yelp, but he ignored it and dragged her to his kitchen. He dumped her ass in the chair and sat opposite her. At first, she looked behind her, then at him, and then back again.
“Is everything okay?”
“You don’t want to go to sleep. Fine. We won’t sleep. You’ll sit there and you’ll talk.”
She folded her arms beneath her breasts. “I don’t want to talk now.”
But he noticed she was still talking.
Did this woman not stop? Did she not have an off switch?
How could someone who’d come so close to death be so fucking chipper?
She’d watched him kill. She might not have seen the complete act, but any normal person would have screamed. They would’ve been a liability, not looking so fucking adorable, as if they were the best friends she appeared to be acting like.
She kept stealing glances at him. He noticed her gaze kept on dropping to his body.
Cleo liked how he looked. Not that he cared. His body was a machine, exactly how he trained it to be for years. No one could deny his attention to the finer details.
“You’re going to get very tired. I’m just trying to get to know you. We’re clearly stuck with each other.” She pointed between the two of them. “I might also like to add that when I’m nervous, I talk a lot.”
“You think I haven’t figured that out? Do you think I’m going to rape you?” he asked.
She frowned. “Ew, no, I don’t think that at all.” A pause. “Do you … want to have sex with me?”
He had no way of knowing how they even got onto this topic.
“I don’t rape women.” That was for the lowlifes, the scum-sucking bastards who deserved to have a slow death. Ones he was more than happy to grant. He would keep those men alive just to watch them suffer.
What he didn’t do was kill innocents, which was why Cleo, even with her constant chattering, was still alive. He had to wonder if other Killer of Kings men had this same trouble. Some of the men were married, but he wasn’t close to them. He liked to keep to himself, and the only ones he had any real contact with were Boss and Maurice. The others were just … co-workers.
“That’s good to know. Do you want a badge?”
“I could kill you,” he said.
“You would have done it before now.” She shrugged. “I feel we’re getting off on the wrong foot here. I’m not trying to irritate you. I think it comes naturally to me.” She forced a smile. “Hence the constant foster homes. No one could put up with me for any length of time.”