Pink Slip

by Katrina Jackson

  “Was it something I said?”

  Kenny’s body relaxed and he sighed. “Chanté put the knife down. What is wrong with you?”

  “I was making toast,” she said innocently. “This was the only knife I could find.”

  Kenny took two long strides to her and grasped the weapon from her hand. He then turned to Kierra and motioned between them. “Kierra, this is Chanté. She’s Asif’s asset.”

  Chanté bounced onto the balls of her feet. “Is that what he calls me?”

  “That’s what you are,” Kenny said, clearly exasperated.

  She leaned into Kenny’s side and purred. “It sounds a bit dirty don’t you think?”

  He rolled his eyes and moved away from her. “You think everything sounds dirty.”

  She smiled and turned to Kierra. “That’s the only way to live.” And then she clapped her hands together. “Who wants toast?” She turned around then and marched back into the kitchen. “Kenny, bring my knife,” she yelled over her shoulder.

  Kenny was shaking his head and he looked at Kierra. “She’s harmless. She’ll flirt with you and she might steal your watch, but that’s about it.” He gestured for Kierra to follow him into the kitchen, which she did, albeit warily.

  If Chanté noticed the tension rolling off of Kierra, she didn’t seem to care. She flitted from the toaster to the island in the center of the kitchen, expending a great amount of energy presenting the toast to them as if it were a culinary masterpiece. Kenny threw the very large knife in the sink, fished around in a drawer by the stove and then pulled out a butter knife. He showed it to Chanté and then placed it on the counter next to her.

  She smiled at him, “You’re an angel, you know that?”

  Kenny leaned down so that she could place a soft kiss on his cheek. He tried to hide the smile on his face, but couldn’t. Kierra wondered for a second at their relationship. And as if Chanté could read her mind she turned to her and pushed a plate of toast her way.

  “Don’t get any ideas. Kenny and I are just friends who happen to get off on loving people we can’t have.”

  “Be quiet, Chanté,” Kenny said, his cheeks turning a bright pink, a warning in his tone.

  Chanté handed him a plate of toast. “Don’t worry, babe. Your secret is safe with me.”

  “Secrets. Did I just hear my favorite word?” Asif yelled as he walked into the kitchen.

  Kierra noted the immediate change in Kenny and Chanté’s body language. Kenny took his plate of toast and sat next to Kierra at the island. He kept his eyes low and shoved the dry bread into his mouth, clearly wanting to avoid Asif’s attention.

  While Chanté, who had seemed like a ball of fairy dust come to life - menacingly large knife aside – straightened her back as if she was going to war. Or protecting her heart.

  “Mind your business, conman,” she said to Asif in a voice that had shifted from Midwestern polite to East Coast jaded.

  Asif leaned against the counter next to her. “You always say conman like it’s a bad word.” He reached out then and lightly touched the hem of Chanté’s shirt, which Kierra realized was probably his. “You’re always so mean to me.” He pretended to pout.

  Chanté turned to him then and said in a voice made of steel and frustration. “I treat you the way you want to be treated. You won’t let anyone be nice to you without paying a price,” she said. The words landed in the middle of the kitchen like an undetonated bomb.

  Kierra’s gaze fixed on Asif’s face. She awaited his answer as if she were watching a telenovela. Asif, who spoke almost incessantly – except for that time when Monica had knocked him out cold – was staring blank faced at Chanté.

  And then the front door opened loudly. “Honey, we’re home,” Lane called out.

  The moment between Chanté and Asif was broken. He moved to the refrigerator, opening it and staring inside, not bothering to actually reach for anything, while she turned back to the toaster, her earlier enthusiasm gone as if it had never been.

  “No,” Kierra whispered.

  Kenny reached for his second piece of toast. “Don’t worry, they’ll be back at it again in no time. Those two are a mess over each other,” he whispered.

  “Really?” Kierra asked, shoving a corner of toast into her mouth.

  “Unfortunately.”

  Kierra could hear Monica and Lane moving toward the kitchen, but she motioned with her hand to keep Kenny talking. His eyes moved to Chanté and then back. “It’s not my story to tell. But he doesn’t deserve her.” He said the last sentence loud enough for Chanté and Asif to hear. Both of their backs stiffened.

  And then Monica walked into the kitchen with Lane fast on her heels. Kierra had never been so disappointed to see them.

  “Oh great we’re all here,” Lane said leaning against the island and grabbing at a piece of toast.

  Kierra shot him an angry glare and tried to resist the urge to smile when he furrowed his brows at her in confusion and then winked.

  “What’d we miss?”

  Kierra shook her head and turned to Monica who pinned her with an intense stare that reminded Kierra of last night, her knees slightly aching from the hard tile on the bathroom floor, Monica’s lips around Lane’s cock, her pussy pulsing around Kierra’s fingers. And then she smiled. And the sight of it caught Kierra off guard.

  “Good morning,” Monica said in a soft voice that was just for her.

  “Morning,” Kierra croaked back.

  “Oh my god, this is so sweet,” Chanté said, some of the life coming back to her voice.

  Monica’s smile faltered but Kierra’s didn’t. Just knowing that that smile was there, hidden beneath all of that stoic glaring, just waiting to reappear for her made everything else melt away.

  Well almost everything. “You two owe me $3468 for that writing retreat. And I want pain and suffering, but I’ll send you a bill for that when this is all over with an exact amount.”

  Monica frowned and looked at Kierra in confusion. Lane and Kenny chuckled. And Asif finally turned around from the refrigerator, his face returning to the relaxed nonchalance that Kierra recognized, even though he refused to look in Chanté’s direction.

  And Chanté leaned across the island with a large smile on her face as she stage-whispered, “If Stepanov doesn’t kill you, I really hope we can be friends.”

  Lane

  It was a good plan. Lane tried to remind himself of that. It was his plan in any case. But he really wished that it had been Monica’s. Lane was a good agent. He was a great agent actually. But he had no illusions about his character strengths. He didn’t lead. He didn’t want to lead.

  Being in charge came to Monica like breathing. It was the thing she’d been born to do. And ever since that night just across the street from campus when he’d been a bit drunk and grateful not to have been robbed of the $16 he had in his pocket – which was actually all the money he had until payday – he’d been dead set on following her wherever she led. And even with the errant bullet wounds and broken fingers and that one concussion, he’d never regretted it.

  Lane desperately wanted to be led in this moment. He’d been waiting for weeks for Monica to see the big picture and to come up with a plan and then point him in the direction of implementing it. It was how they normally worked, personally and professionally. But it was only in Ireland that he’d realized that Monica couldn’t do that. She hadn’t really been able to do that since their last night in Serbia. Losing Kierra had upset her balance and his normally even tempered and always focused wife suddenly was neither of those things.

  So after twenty years, it was Lane’s turn to step up and chart their way forward. Just this once.

  They were all crowded in the living room. Asif, Kenny, Chanté and Kierra were squeezed on the couch like children waiting for a scolding. He and Monica were standing in front of them detailing a ridiculously risky plan. If Monica had designed it, it would be more cautious. But Monica hadn’t and Lane was never more cautious
than he had to be.

  “This sounds nuts,” Kenny said, shooting a skeptical look at Monica as if to say “you approved this?” Lane could relate.

  “It sounds fun,” Chanté said.

  Lane looked at Asif; the question clear in his gaze, “Is she okay?”

  Asif shrugged and rolled his eyes, but his gaze stopped at an odd angle as he tried to look at Chanté in his peripheral vision without being noticed.

  Lane rolled his eyes. Wonderful, he thought, that’s exactly what this mission needs: more emotional entanglements.

  And as soon as he thought that, Kierra piped up in a small voice that he’d rarely heard. “So basically the mission is to dangle me in front of Stepanov like fresh meat?”

  “Yes,” Lane said.

  “Like in Serbia?”

  “Kinda.”

  “Exactly,” Kierra corrected. “Are all spies one-trick ponies or…?” She let the question dangle in a way that Lane knew was meant to get under his skin. Because she loved getting under their skin. And the awareness of it made him begin to harden in his pants.

  “Later,” Monica said, because of course she knew what Kierra was doing and what he was thinking.

  “Or now,” Chanté offered.

  “No please, later,” Kenny said, massaging his temples. “So basically, you three are gonna go to Stepanov’s favorite club and wait for one of his agents to show up?”

  “Not one of his agents,” Monica said. “Stepanov.”

  “But he hasn’t even been seen in public since Banovíc’s funeral. Why would he show up here and now?”

  “Because we’re here,” Lane said matter-of-factly.

  “And because we’ve sent him an invitation,” Monica replied.

  “Oh yea and that.”

  “What invitation?” Kierra asked pulling her legs beneath her to sit up taller.

  “We had Mrs. Wilde send the agent we caught in Ireland back to Serbia with a message for Stepanov to meet us here if he wanted to find out what really happed to Banovíc,” Monica explained. And then a second later she added, “Well she sent back parts of him.”

  Kierra shuddered.

  “So he’ll definitely be here,” Kenny said.

  “He’s already here actually,” Asif added.

  “You’ve confirmed that?” Lane asked. But Asif turned to Chanté and they all followed his gaze.

  She beamed under their attention. “Absolutely confirmed.”

  “How?” Kierra whispered.

  Chanté turned to Kierra, bouncing in her seat. “As it happens, Stepanov and his boyfriend have a standing engagement with a very close and personal friend of mine when they’re in town.”

  Asif grunted and looked away. Chanté ignored him and continued. “They showed up at the club late last night or I guess it was technically early this morning looking for him, but he’s in the Netherlands on a tour. They were not happy.”

  “What kind of club?” Kierra asked.

  Lane couldn’t see her face, but by the way her voice dropped and she leaned her shoulder into Kierra’s, he knew that Chanté was flirting with her.

  “Come by and I’ll show you.”

  Lane could feel Monica’s jealousy welling up inside of her.

  “Sorry does no one remember that this is a life and death situation?” Kenny asked, pushing up form the couch to pace the room. “Stepanov gets an assorted collection of body parts of one of his agents and an invitation to Berlin. He arrives in town to avenge his friend’s death, but the first thing he does is go to a strip club?”

  Chanté huffed, “Well now she knows what kind of club it is. Thanks, Kenny.”

  “And a Serbian dictator’s bff is trying to kill you,” he aimed at Kierra, “But all you can think about is flirting and fucking these two.”

  Chanté gasped, “So it is both of them? I wasn’t sure.” She turned to Kierra and whispered, “He never tells me anything good.” She waved dismissively in Asif’s direction.

  “That’s enough,” Lane said in a hard tone. But Kenny ignored him.

  “And you two,” he turned to Asif and Chanté, “literally just run into each other’s lives every few months as if you don’t know how dangerous the world is. I mean what the fuck? Is this really our team?” He aimed the question at Monica.

  “Enough,” she said in a deadly whisper that seemed to suck all of the air out of the room.

  Kenny seemed to realize in that moment all he’d said and his face flushed.

  “I’ll go check the weapons,” he mumbled and walked briskly away.

  The living room was silent after his departure for a few seconds until Chanté informed them in her usually bright voice, which Lane had long since learned was a wonderful misdirection and hid how cunning she really was, “Don’t mind Kenny. He just really needs to get laid.”

  Lane turned to Monica, his insecurities about this plan rising by the second. Because maybe Kenny did have a point. Is this really our team, his eyes asked.

  She simply nodded at him. If she felt any of his misgivings she didn’t show it. And he tried to focus on that. To follow as he always had. Hoping and praying that she wasn’t too comprised to protect them from themselves.

  sixteen

  The rest of the day passed by in the most boring way. Kierra and Chanté bunkered down in the living room to watch German movies with strange English subtitles that never made sense, while the spies flitted past them preparing for tonight’s mission. They barely stopped to talk or even acknowledge their presence. Kierra found herself smiling as Chanté rolled her eyes each time someone rushed from one part of the townhouse to another, especially if that someone was Asif.

  As the sun began to set, Kenny reappeared from wherever he’d been hiding. He pointed to Kierra, “You need to go get ready.” And then he turned to Chanté, “And I’m supposed to take you to your place and then to work.”

  Chanté’s ever present smiled dipped. “I thought Asif was going to do that?”

  Kenny shifted under the question, clearly uncomfortable, but Kierra could tell by his frown and the look in his eyes that what he told her was the truth; he wouldn’t lie to save her feelings and that made Kierra like him immensely. “He said it would be best if I did it.”

  There was a moment of silent communication between them before Chanté turned to Kierra and hugged her. “See you soon.” And then she bounced up from the couch and grabbed Kenny’s arm, “Come on tall, awkward and handsome.”

  Kenny’s sigh made Kierra laugh. But when they were gone his earlier words came back to her because he was right. If Chanté’s intel was correct and Stepanov was in Berlin, then it was time to get serious. Kierra especially needed to get ahold of herself because it was technically her life on the line; her life that had been on the line for months without her even knowing it. She trudged up to the bedroom on suddenly heavy feet and moved into the bathroom, stripping her clothes off as she went.

  She was in the shower, lathering her body, wondering if maybe she should call Maya and remind her that she’d agreed to wipe her hard drive in the event of her death, when there was a knock on the door. Kierra leaned out of the shower and called, “Who is it?”

  “Us,” Monica said.

  Kierra sighed. Maybe she could get her head on straight after her shower. “Come in.”

  The door opened and Monica and Lane walked into the bathroom. Their eyes washed over what little they could see of her body as she peaked around the glass partition. She let them stand there and stare hungrily at her for a second before she cleared her throat.

  “Did you two want something?”

  Lane expectedly smirked, “You. But that’s a given.”

  Kierra clenched her thighs together out of their line of sight.

  “We need you to be ready in an hour,” Monica said, her eyes glued to the steamy partition as if willing it to clear so that she could see the rest of Kierra’s body.

  “You need any help in there?” Lane asked playfully, draping an arm around
Monica’s waist.

  Kierra moved from behind the partition, displaying her wet, sudsy self. By this point, putting herself on display for them felt as natural as breathing. Monica absentmindedly licked her lips.

  “Have you refunded my money?”

  “Is that another condition?” Lane asked.

  “Yes. But also it’s only fair.”

  Monica smirked and turned to leave without another word. Lane followed, looking at Kierra’s body one more time. Kierra frowned at the closed door.

  When she’d finished showering, Kierra breezed into the bedroom without a towel, expecting to find Monica and Lane waiting for her. Instead there was a yellow dress on the bed and they were gone. She was disappointed, but the dress helped distract her.

  Kierra ran her fingers along the soft fabric and shivered, imagining the way the soft jersey would feel gliding over her skin. She’d just pulled it over her head when Lane walked into the room.

  He was wearing a gray business suit that accentuated the gray at his temples. His crisp white shirt was open at the neck. Kierra wanted to lick him there. He wore a thin black belt at the waist, which only accentuated his slim hips and the length of his body, which oddly brought to Kierra’s mind the length of his dick.

  There was a shoe box in his hands. He stopped to admire the way that the dress hugged her curves. “Monica picked that out,” he said, his voice full of pride. Which made Kierra’s nipples tingle.

  “I know,” she replied. “If it had been you, I’d be standing here in just a leather thong and studded pasties.”

  He smiled, but swallowed hard, clearly conjuring that image in his brain. “Not the right look for tonight’s club. But maybe another time,” he said eventually.

  Just then Monica pushed into the room and it was Kierra’s turn to swallow the lump in her throat. She was wearing a slightly oversized tuxedo jacket dress that left a lot and a little to the imagination all at the same time. The dress was open at the neck, exposing a large patch of her chest, but the lapels were just high enough that Monica’s small breasts unfortunately remained covered. The hem hit her thighs at just the right point to be publicly decent but Kierra knew that when sitting it would not be nearly as respectable and that made her mouth water. Her light brown legs were shiny and her ankles looked delicate in a pair of pumps that seemed somehow sexy and dangerous and exposed a lot of toe cleavage. They had to have been Lane’s idea.