by Huss, JA
I sigh and look away. It sucks to admit it, but it’s true. I’m an outside friend, not an inside team member.
“Yes, I can see that from the way Spencer Shrike treats you.”
Yeah, thanks a lot, asshole. Thanks a bunch for reminding me I’m nothing to him. I mean, I had a great day fantasizing that Spencer cares, and now this jerk has to come in and hand me a reality check.
“They’re a team, those guys. Ronin, Spencer, and Ford. Right?”
“Yeah. And Rook.”
“And Ashleigh Li?”
I can only shrug at that. “I dunno much about her. I’m not even sure I like her. I never liked Ford much, but Rook loves him hard, so I try. But I’m not sure what kind of woman would marry a guy like Ford, to be honest. It bugs me.”
“Is he mean?” When I look over at Bobby, he’s got an eyebrow arched up in confusion. “He doesn’t come off as mean. An asshole, yeah. But from what I’ve seen, he’s not mean. But maybe I’m wrong?”
I’m careful with my answer because for some reason, I think this really matters. I think that if I say Ford is a mean guy, this might change something. It might change Bobby’s opinion of Ford. My opinion might actually matter.
Huh, that’s refreshing.
“No, I don’t mean it like that. I don’t mean he’s beating her or anything. But he’s a weird guy.”
Bobby visibly relaxes.
“Why are you so interested in her, anyway? It is Ashleigh that you’re mainly interested in, right?”
He takes a long sip of wine before answering. “I have my reasons.”
“Yeah, well, if you want me to supply you with any more information, you’re gonna need to tell me those reasons.”
Bobby’s laugh is both lighthearted and terrifying at the same time. “Veronica, we both know you don’t have any information. Spencer Shrike has gone out of his way to distance himself from you for years. You’re not on the Team, honey.”
I throw my napkin down on my place and push my chair back to rise—but his strong grip on my wrist holds me in place. “Let go,” I demand calmly.
“No, Veronica. Sit back down, we’re not done.”
“Look, I’m not sure who you really are or what you really want, but I’ll tell you what. I’m not gonna sit here and let you hurt me. So let the fuck go of my wrist or I will take you down.”
“Is that—”
I hammerfist him in the forearm, yank my wrist free, spin on my fuck-me heel and whack him in the side of the face with my other fist. I step back and wait for his attack.
He sits in his chair as the redness creeps into the cheek I hit. “So you’re a fighter,” he says matter-of-factly. I say nothing. “That’s all I needed to know.”
And then he waits. It’s my move. I can walk out or ask the question he just set up.
I opt for the question. “Why?”
Now he does stand. His napkin falls to the floor and for some reason I fixate on it for the second it takes for him to get close to me again. He grabs my upper arm this time, but instead of pulling away, I let him pull me close.
Close enough to whisper in my ear.
“I’m not on the Team either, Veronica. I’m not trying to hurt your feelings. I just need to know if you’re a free agent.”
“Free agent?”
“Because I’d like you to be on my team.”
The waiter clears his throat and we both look over at him. He’s carrying a tray of covered food.
“Please,” Bobby says, and this time he does guide me with a hand on my back. “Please, eat. We’ll talk. And then I’m going to take you somewhere and test you.”
“What?”
He pushes me forcefully back towards my seat at the table. “If you sit and eat, Veronica, you will get all the answers you require.”
“Hmmm…” I know that trap. All the answers I require.
“Sit,” he commands. “You’re in, I can see it. So stop with the posturing and be patient.”
I allow him to seat me again, and as soon as he’s back in his place, the waiter approaches with the tray of food. My stomach growls and then practically screams as the lids on the silver trays are lifted and I’m presented with a delicious Italian feast.
“I’ll eat,” I say as I pick up my fork and dig in. “But I want more than the required answers.”
When I look up from shoveling another forkful of creamy pasta in my mouth, Bobby’s stare is rigid and flat. “You’ll get the answers I choose to give. But I assure you, everything I tell you will be the truth. I do not lie. I don’t believe in lies. If I can’t tell you the truth you want to hear, then I believe in silence.”
“We’re gonna kill someone, aren’t we?” I say offhandedly as I keep shoveling in the food. But it’s hard to miss the silence that follows that question.
Chapter Twenty-Four - Veronica
I do my best to ignore the fact that Bobby Mansi practically admitted he wants me to help him kill someone, but after we sit in silence for about ten minutes, he begins to explain.
“I am here for one purpose,” he says as he caresses his wine glass. “I have a goal. There are many ways to achieve that goal, and yes, one ends in killing someone. Will you have a problem with that?”
I continue chewing. Slowly. Methodically. I dab my mouth with my pretty napkin and then set it back down in my lap. I reach for the wine and take a small sip. I can tell Bobby Mansi is not used to being made to wait. But I continue to take my time, crossing my legs, leaning back, and folding my hands in my lap. “I’m not killing anyone. I’m not a murderer. So yeah, I actually do have a problem with that.”
“You won’t be killing anyone, Veronica. Unless I need help. Then, if you agree to be on my team, I’ll expect you to have my back. That’s something we need to get clear right now.”
I reach for the bread and pick off a small piece and pop it in my mouth. Why can’t I ever get a normal date? Why do I only get asked out by the Spencers and the Bobbys? Am I that unapproachable that the only men who want to date me are criminals? Why does my first real dinner date in three months have to turn out to be an invitation to murder?
There must be something wrong with me. I’m pretty. I’ve got a nice body. I’ve got a college degree, and yeah, I’m a tattoo artist, but seriously? And this Bobby, he doesn’t even like me. He wants me to be his backup in some crazy scheme. He’s playing on the fact that I’m not part of Spencer’s secret team. He’s hoping I feel left out, alone, vulnerable, and desperate.
And he’s right. I feel all those things.
“Will you have my back?” he asks again.
I don’t know what to say. Seriously. What does a person say when she’s asked if she’ll protect a man who might be trying to kill someone?
“Do you trust me?” he asks when my silence continues.
That’s an easy one, so I just answer. “No. Why should I trust you? I don’t even know you. You blow into town with money and buildings and offers. And I’m supposed to what, just jump at the chance to play cops and robbers with you? I mean, please. Give me a little credit.”
He smiles big at that, and his smile, good God. It’s quite nice. He’s a dark guy—Italian, he said. He looks Italian. His hair is thick and just shy of jet black. The shadow on his chin is just short of panty-dropping, that’s how sexy it is. And his eyes are bright with excitement.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” I ask suddenly. I need something from him. Something personal to ground me. Help me form an opinion.
“No, I don’t have time for girlfriends.”
“What do you do then? I need some details, Bobby. Give me something.”
“I’d like you to go for a drive with me, Veronica. It’s an hour east of here, in an empty field. You and I will be alone. But”—he stands and walks over to a case on a buffet table along the wall, opens it, pulls out a FN Five-SeveN and holds it out to me—“you can have your gun now.”
I just stare at him. Is he serious?
“You gonna tak
e it? Or just look at it? You know what this is, Veronica?”
“I know what it is.” I’m huffy about it, but fuck him. “Don’t talk to me about guns like I’m a girl.”
He shakes the gun a little, a signal for me to get up and take it from him. I push my chair back slowly, then rise and walk calmly across the room and accept the gun. I pop the magazine out—fully loaded with all twenty rounds—then check the chamber—empty. “It’s nice.”
He laughs. “Nice, yeah. It’s nice. So, would you like to accept my offer to test for me?”
“You want me to shoot for you? Right now? In the dark?”
His smile fades quickly. “The job’s happening tomorrow. I need to know if you’re on board tonight, otherwise I need to plan to go solo.”
“I need more information.”
“Come with me now and I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”
“Not everything, just what I need to know. Not good enough.”
“I’m paid to complete missions, but I’m also paid to keep secrets. I’ll tell you all the details you need to do your job, just as I was told all the details I need to do mine.”
I look down at the gun. It’s more than nice. Much more than nice. Expensive, both to buy and to shoot, because the ammo is unique. A cone-shaped projectile that acts more like a rifle cartridge than a bullet. My heart thumps a little at the offer. I feel like I’m in a movie. My life is morphing into something interesting and dangerous before my eyes. It’s far better than sitting around pining for Spencer.
I look back at Bobby Mansi and nod. “OK, I’ll go. But I’m not making any promises until I hear the details.”
Sixty minutes later we are still driving. It’s eleven thirty at night, it’s dark as hell, and I’m truly in the middle of nowhere. I have lived no fewer than ten rape/kill scenarios in my head. But that’s ridiculous. I’ve got a gun. A very powerful gun.
I’m sure Bobby has one too. Somewhere on him. But it’s not in his hand with his trigger finger resting alongside the barrel, like mine is. I flicked that safety off and loaded a round into the chamber as soon as I got in the car. Bobby was walking around to get in his side after holding the door for me—those rich-boy manners again—so he didn’t see me do it. But I’m sure he knows I’m ready to shoot his ass, should the need arise.
I’ve never shot a person but I’ve shot a hundred thousand rounds, at least. Spencer and I used to go shooting once or twice a week back when we first met. We’d spend the entire day at the gun club. I took a lot of shooting classes. I’m a better shot than Spencer is.
I still have a gun club membership, paid in full every year thanks to my ghost of a boyfriend. In fact, I’m still on his account. We just never go together. I’m not sure he even goes there at all—he has his own range on his farm. It’s just the back side of a dirt hill, but that’s all you need.
Bobby and I sit in silence the whole ride. I guess he’s not a music guy because he never turns it on. And when I steal some glances over at him every few minutes, his expression is distant and serious. Like he’s thinking very hard about things.
My grip on the gun tightens. God, I hope to hell I’m not setting myself up to be killed.
The car slows and we turn off on a dirt road. We bounce around on it for about a mile, then he stops and cuts the engine and we both get out. “We’re here.”
I look out at the total darkness. “How the hell are we gonna shoot targets in the dark?”
“You’re on the clock now, Veronica. Be quiet, watch, and then do as you’re told.”
My brows go up into my forehead. Jesus. Blunt much?
He opens his trunk and rummages around inside a duffel bag, then produces a contraption that looks like a bunch of laser pointers taped together. He sets it down on a table—table? I guess we’re actually somewhere legitimate. And then turns it on. Ten laser beams shoot off into the distance and rest on some sort of vertical platform. The points of light create a line of red targets.
“Shoot them,” he says in his all-business tone.
I check my barrel to make sure I’ve got a round in there, then lift the gun, sight the first dot and move my finger to the trigger. I pop off ten rounds, and with each release the pinprick of light blinks to signal I hit it.
I stand back and lower my weapon. Smiling.
God, I love shooting.
Bobby says nothing, simply moves the target slightly and then the pinpricks of light are farther away. “Twenty yards. Go,” he says.
I pop those off in rapid fire, then disengage the mag and hold it out to him. He gives me a smile this time, then hands over another loaded mag and moves the lasers again. “Let’s just get to the good shit, shall we? Fifty yards.”
I slip the new mag in, load the chamber, and disengage the safety. I fire all twenty rounds this time, starting over from the end after I hit the last dot. I pop the mag out and wait.
“You missed.”
“Only twice.” I shrug. “I’m not gonna apologize for missing two shots out of forty. I’m standing in fuck-me boots and it’s dark. Be reasonable.”
I catch his smile in the dim starlight.
“OK, I did my part, now you tell me who you really are. Let’s start with your name. I know it’s not Bobby Mansi. No one is stupid enough to come to town with an agenda to kill someone and use their real name. So spill.”
He hands me another loaded mag and I take that as a sign of trust. “Let’s see how much you’ve figured out first, then I’ll see if you need to know anymore.”
“That wasn’t the deal.”
“Adapt, Veronica,” he says dryly.
I shake my head and walk over to the car, leaning against the hood. The engine is warm and that feels good in the cold night air. My legs are bare, so I slide up and take a seat. “I think you’re Tony. I think you’re Ashleigh’s husband. You’re not dead, obviously, and you want your baby and girlfriend back. You’re here to kill Ford.”
He laughs. Like, a real that’s-fucking-funny laugh.
“And I gotta say,” I continue, “I’m not sure I can kill Ford. He’s weird. But I’m not gonna kill Ford. Or watch your back while you kill Ford. I might even like Ford. He’s growing on me. I love Kate. And he loves Kate. So I’m gonna have to decline. If you try to kill Ford, I’m on Team Ford.”
When I look up at him he’s smiling at me. “You done?” he asks, his eyebrows raised in amusement.
I shrug. “I’m done.”
“That’s some imagination you have, Veronica.”
“What’s your name?”
“Bobby.”
“What’s your other name? The name your friends call you?”
He tilts his head at me as he thinks and then shrugs. “You can call me Tet if you want. My associates call me Tet.”
“Tetrahedral? Tetra?”
“No. Tetro, like tetrodotoxin.”
Okay. “That poison-puffer fish stuff they eat for fun in Asia?” I have to turn my head so I can giggle privately. Because, come on. It’s a little dramatic, right? I compose myself and turn back. “Are you a good witch or a bad witch, Tetro?”
He puts a palm out, asking for my gun. I hand it back to him and he reloads. The look on his face when he lifts his eyes from the weapon reminds me of a predator and I’m instantly sorry I gave the gun back.
“I’m number six. In between poison mushrooms and mercury.”
I have no idea what that means so I just drop it because I’m not in the mood to get weird with a guy who has a deadly poison for a nickname in the pitch-black middle of nowhere and is holding my gun.
He hands me a scope, moves the lasers to another area downrange, then raises my weapon and turns back to me. “Ninety yards. That’s max limit for this gun. Watch carefully.”
I raise the scope to my eye, adjust it a little, find the targets, and then he fires, one after the other. And with each shot the laser blinks.
He lowers the weapon, hands it back to me, and then walks over to the trunk and
grabs a green canvas sack. “Here,” he says, holding the sack out to me. I take it and my arm almost drops to the ground because it’s so heavy. I lean down and open the drawstring to peek inside. It’s far too dark, so I reach in and feel around.
Boxes of ammo. And magazines for the FN Five-SeveN.
OK. He’s got my attention.
I look up at him and from this perspective, he looks every inch a killer. What the fuck was I thinking? My heart starts to beat wildly at the prospect of what he might expect me to do and it’s like he can read my reaction on my face. Because he leans down, grabs my shoulder, and pulls me close.
“Bomb,” he says in a very serious voice. Oh God, we both have dramatic mobster nicknames. “I’ve got a few more details for you, are you ready?” He urges me to stand.
I try to push back but he holds me firmly. “No, I think—”
“I’m a soldier.”
Oh shit, here it comes. I’m gonna get everything I asked for and then some hardass is gonna stalk me and kill me because I know things I shouldn’t. Dammit.
“But not the legitimate kind.” One arm wraps around my shoulder and then I’m turned so I’m facing him. A hand slides into the curve of my waist and rests on my hip, just a little bit underneath my jacket.
I almost forget to breathe.
“Usually I work alone. We all work alone. But I need a partner for this one. I’ve got two girls involved.”
My eyes flick up to his. “Rook and Ash?”
“Plus a baby.”
“Oh, shit.”
“And I need you because your friends, Bombshell—your friends are in a lot of trouble. And I don’t give a shit about this trial, what they did, why they did it, or how they’ll fix it. All I care about is my mission. I owe someone. This mission is how I pay them back.”
“Revenge?” I’m out of my mind scared to ask that, but I ask it anyway.
“I need you to help me get the girl and the baby, Veronica,” Bobby says, ignoring my question. “I came to town for Ashleigh and Kate.”