I smile lightly, shaking my head. “Well sure, that’s what I came here for,” I answer, my voice tinged with sarcasm. “But mostly I’m eager to see how you plan to make me confess something that doesn’t exist. You see, I’m not like Woodard, who blows his load the second the panties drop. Or Izabel, who still has a lot to learn—”
“Is that what you think of her?” Nora says with a hint of accusation. “That she’s just a little girl, trying to make a name for herself in this deadly underground world that she just”—her eyes harden with emphasis—“Doesn’t. Quite. Belong in.”
She smiles and holds up a slender finger.
“Or, is there something more going on?”
I laugh. “Let me stop you right there,” I say, pointing at her. “If you’re getting around to accusing me of being in love with my brother’s woman or some dumb shit like that, then you’re gonna be very disappointed.” I shake my head at the absurdness of it.
Nora just sits there, smiling at me, and it makes me uncomfortable as much as it irritates the shit out of me.
“No, of course not,” she finally says, also with sarcasm. “I’m not implying that at all. You shot her once. You despise her, right?” There’s challenge in her question. “And for what?”
“I don’t know,” I say, growing more irritated the more she talks. “You’re supposed to be the one who knows everything; why don’t you fucking tell me?”
“Jealousy,” she says, “or perhaps the more suitable word would be heartbreak.”
I feel my eyebrows crumpling in my forehead. I reach up absently and scratch the stubble of my face.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Truly, I have no fucking idea.
Nora’s eyes soften on me for a moment, causing further confusion.
“You’re jealous of your brother because he has something that you don’t”—I grit my teeth behind closed lips—“because he has something you once had. And it still kills you to think about her to this day.”
I round my chin, my breathing getting thicker. “You’re pushing the wrong buttons, bitch.”
“Oh, I know,” she says matter-of-factly and unafraid, “but then that’s the whole point, isn’t it?”
Both of my hands come down on the table, a loud bang resonating within the room.
“Why don’t you just get to the point,” I rip out the words, grinding my jaw. “In fact, let me spell this out for you—I’m not going to willingly start talking about shit in my past; I don’t care about your threats. And I still have no secrets. Shit I don’t like to talk about—yeah, we all have that—but secrets, something I’m supposed to be ashamed of or embarrassed by; there’s nothing.”
“This isn’t all about shame or embarrassment or guilt, Niklas, this is also about pain.”
Suddenly, Nora is no longer the conniving blonde bitch sitting across the table from me; something shifts in her eyes and I can’t help but feel like she’s trying to be…consoling.
But I don’t fall for it.
I get up, pushing the chair back a little across the floor, and I begin to pace. My anger turns to soft laughter.
“You’re a good manipulator,” I say, smiling, “I’ll give you that, but I’m the wrong man to be trying that skill out on.”
“You loved her so much,” she says, ignoring me. “A man who—as astonishing as it is—had a harder time falling in love than even Fredrik Gustavsson. Fredrik, no he sought love all his life. He wanted it because he was alone in his own dark and brutal world, and had always been—that man needs love to survive.” She stands up and begins to walk toward me slowly. “But you, Niklas, you never wanted any part of it. You stayed away from it at all costs, didn’t you?”
“Are you asking?” I say, my angry eyes following her every move. “Is this where you fish for information to use against me, pretending to know, but really not knowing for sure?”
“Say what you want,” she goes on, “but it’s the truth and you’re not denying it.”
Maybe I should’ve denied it straightaway, because now—fuck; she knows what she’s doing.
“Sit down,” I tell her, pointing my gun at her again.
“Oh, Niklas,” she says with a sigh. “I can tell you’re not going to be as easy to convince.”
I step toward her, the gun pointed at her head, but she stands her ground. I swallow down an angry knot, but three more replace it.
“Sit. The fuck. Down.” I press the barrel of my gun against her forehead, pushing her backward toward the table. Her ass presses against the edge of the metal and she can go no farther. Consumed by anger, I close the space between us and press my body against hers, moving the barrel of the gun underneath her chin, shoving her neck back.
“You won’t shoot me,” she says and I can feel her breath on my face. “And you will tell me what I want to hear before you leave this room.”
I shove the gun deeper into her throat, forcing her head back farther. My blood is on fire, pumping through my veins like acid. My teeth hurt; I’ve been grinding them for the past several intense minutes.
I cock the gun, my finger on the trigger.
“Dina Gregory will die if you don’t cooperate.”