My heart stops, starts, then stops again.
Did he just say he’s been sent here to kill me?
A hot blush makes my cheeks tingle as a cold surge of adrenaline pumps through my veins, chilling my fingertips and toes.
I stare and try to process what’s happening.
He can’t be a hitman. He’s too handsome for that. Not handsome in the traditional sense like you’d see in a magazine, but in a purely masculine way that reminds me of a feral animal. The kind of man who could live on his own in the mountains and be just fine.
His eyes are steady, cold. Like a killer. And when I see the gun in his hand, I realize that’s exactly what he is.
This isn’t a prank; this is really happening. I’m about to die. But if I am, I’m not going down without a fight.
I try to move, but my body simply will not respo
