Page 4 of It Hurts Me

“Reputation is everything, Theo. And I’m not going to compromise it without substantial gain.”

Wrong answer. “Whether you tell me outright or I cut the answers from your throat, the outcome will be the same. But let’s do it your way because it’ll definitely be more fun.”

3

ASTRID

When I got home, the house was quiet and abandoned, like no one had been there for days. I flicked on the lights and hung my wet coat on the coatrack before I kicked off my heels. The kitchen island still had the bottle of wine I’d left there and the wineglass I hadn’t finished. My phone finally had enough power to turn on, so I turned it on, expecting text messages, but there was nothing.

I set my dress to the side for the dry cleaners and washed away my makeup. It was late and I was tired, but I wanted to stay up and wait for my husband to come home. The husband I hardly saw these days…

The man who’d changed my tire was still on my mind, battling the storm like he was a mighty oak that didn’t bend in the wind. He’d told me to get off the street, and those words still bothered me.

That was probably why I couldn’t sleep, because I was worried.

I sat on the couch with my favorite bottle of wine from Barsetti Vineyards. It was from the 2016 harvest, my favorite year. I sat there alone, looking out the windows and seeing the rain hit the panes. I was on the ground floor of our three-story villa, so I couldn’t hear the rain hit the roof.

I stared until I grew sleepy and pulled a blanket over me. I didn’t remember falling asleep, but at some point, I did. And I woke up when I heard someone else in the house. My eyes opened, and I sat up, looking at the man who stood in the kitchen through my squinted eyes. He had dirty-blond hair and blue eyes, and the sleeves of his long-sleeved shirt were pushed to his elbows. He opened the cabinet and pulled out a decanter of booze before he drank straight from the bottle.

He didn’t seem to notice I was there. “Hey.”

He finished his drink then released a quiet sigh. “Didn’t think you’d be awake.”

“I was worried.”

“Why?” He left the kitchen and joined me in the sitting room, taking the seat beside me. “It’s just rain, Astrid.”

“I know, but…I know you said you had something to do tonight.”

“I always have something to do.” I’d met him at a bar years ago, and we’d hit it off right away. We’d dated for a while, and then once we were serious, he laid a bombshell on me. He wasn’t an accountant—but a hit man. I’d broken it off because I was disturbed by what I’d learned, but he wouldn’t let me go, and then we got married shortly afterward. He never shared the details of his work explicitly, and when he left the house for days at a time, he didn’t give me an explanation. I met other men he worked with and understood it was a network rather than an independent job. But I didn’t know details because I didn’t want to know details.

It was better this way.

I didn’t want to know who he killed or why he killed them, but he told me they were always bad men who’d made enemies with their wrongdoing, that he wasn’t killing innocent people who were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I hoped that was the truth.

So, whenever he was gone, I always worried. He told me not to text or call, to wait for him to text or call me in case it put him in a compromised position. Those stretches of time when I didn’t hear from him were always the worst.

“How was the art thing?” he asked.

“It was fine.” I should tell him about the flat tire and that man who’d helped me, but for some reason, I didn’t.

“I’m going to shower then go to bed.” He left the couch and my side and walked off.

He used to grab me all the time, yank me into him and kiss me, but lately, he seemed disinterested in physical intimacy. He was always stressed or tired or distracted. “Is something wrong?”

He halted then slowly turned back to me. “It’s four in the morning, Astrid. It’s not okay for me to be tired?”

“That’s not what I said?—”

“Why would something be wrong?” he demanded, his voice rising.

“There’s no reason?—”

“You asked me for a reason. Did you not?” He didn’t raise his voice further, but it felt like he was screaming.

“You’ve just been gone a lot.”